![]() Now it was time to go back to the wood again and He backed into the yard, tipped the trailer, watched the logs showering out, bumping into a sprawling heap, one or two bowling away as though they sought to escape the splitting axe and the Rayburn. It ran before and it'll run again, like a desert jackal. Pull yourself together, Gilbert was probably killed soon after we last saw him, jumped by that dog of Gwyther's in the same way that it killed the calf. ![]() He glanced back to where he had left the chainsaw, began edging towards it. If you're not on the alert the whole time you're likely to end up dead, just like Gwyther would have killed me. 'We've got to keep a watchful eye out,' Trite, an understatement. Because if you had you'd probably be dead now like Gilbert in the wood. It was beyond anything other than a human being to open it. It fitted tight, too tight, so that more often than not you had to jerk it free to open the door. He knew the door had been closed when he left because he had fetched the chainsaw out of there before breakfast and had replaced the stout gate-hook in the 'eye'. Chainsaws were noisy things, they let all and sundry know exactly where you were and you wouldn't hear if anything crept up on you. 'What on earth are you talking about?'Īll the same he fetched the saw, kicked it into life and began cutting up a thick trunk, a deafening whine that showered sawdust everywhere. 'What Who?' His mouth went dry and the sweat inside his T-shirt was suddenly cold. 'I heard somebody in the shed so I locked the door.' She clung on to his arm. In addition to that it means that they've now found us, they know exactly where we're holed up.' And everything they've stolen is something that could be used as a weapon. They went in the shed over there, rummaged around, then came out again and left the door swinging open, just like it is now.' ![]() If only Jackie had been there awaiting him. He climbed back up to the wheel, started on the bumpy journey back home. Within an hour the trailer was full of neatly sawn cylindrical birch trunk. No, but whatever killed him might still be around, lurking in the undergrowth, creeping up on you Damn it, he's dead, he can't hurt you now. He wished again that he'd brought the shotgun.
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