Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [47]
As he moved towards the van door, the constable caught hold of his arm and jerked him round. "Now, just a minute, sir. I'm afraid I'll ..." The words died away as a look of complete astonishment passed across his face. "You're Brady," he said stupidly. "Matthew Brady."
The engine stopped again and somehow there was something utterly final about it. There was a moment of complete stillness and then, as the fingers started to tighten on his arm, Brady struck out wildly at the big, genial face and ran into the fog.
Once out of sight, he forced his way through the hedge and ran across a ploughed field. He came to a fence, clambered over, and kept on going. After he had covered half a mile, he stopped and slumped down to the ground under a tree in a small copse.
There was no sound of pursuit, he hadn't really expected any. By now the constable would be at the nearest telephone, nursing his smashed mouth and passing on his news to his superiors. Within an hour, two at the most, every able-bodied man in the district would be looking for him and he was trapped. Trapped with his back to the sea. His one chance was to reach Harth, steal a boat and reach Shayling Island.
He started to walk, but the fog was so thick that he lost his sense of direction completely after the first hour. He didn't feel tired, but there was a slight ache in his legs and his stomach felt empty.
He finally decided to have a rest and sat down under a tree and smoked his last cigarette. A small wind lifted through the trees, bringing with it a good salt smell of the sea. A sudden thrill ran through him and he scrambled to his feet. If he kept on walking straight into the wind, he would come to the shore. After that, he only had to follow the coastline to reach Harth.
He started forward and there was a sudden cry from somewhere on his left. He turned, crouching, as three men emerged from the fog and paused on the edge of the trees.
"Stand where you are!" one of them called.
As Brady turned to run, a shotgun roared and lead pellets sang through the trees above his head. Behind him a dog barked excitedly, but he kept on going, scrambled over a fence and found himself ankle-deep in marsh water.
As he progressed, it grew deeper until he was floundering knee-deep, the brown water churning about his knees. He kept on moving over to his left, pausing occasionally to listen to the cries of his pursuers, but finally they faded and he was alone.
He could hear the waves breaking on the shore long before he saw them and then he came up out of the marsh, over a small sand dune and down on to the shore.
He started to trot along the wet sand as rain began to fall, lightly at first, and then with increasing force. Soon the fog started to lift.
He was beginning to feel tired and once he fell. When he got up, his legs were trembling slightly but he forced himself to break into a stumbling trot again.
His mouth was dry and there was a slight ache somewhere behind his right eye, but he kept on going because he had no choice. The hounds were in full cry now. It was with a sense of shock that he found himself knee-deep in water. At this point the sand ended and the sea swept in close against jagged rocks.
On the other side of them stood a boathouse stoutly constructed of weathered grey stone with a slipway running clear into green water.
A headland jutted out on the other side of the tiny cove and beyond it, chimney smoke lifted into the grey morning. When he turned and looked out to sea, there was Shayling Island, half-veiled in a curtain of rain.
He slid down the rocks knee-deep into water and plunged towards the slipway. The wooden door of the boathouse wasn't padlocked, but he hadn't expected it to be. Fishing communities were the same the world over. Boats were never kept under lock and key. Emergencies were too frequent.
He opened the doors wide and moved inside. There was a heavy fishing cobble which needed at least three men to handle it satisfactorily, but at one side, he found a small sailing dinghy.
The wind was freshening, lifting the