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〃Plane…crash…； 〃There's no smoke。〃
〃Those are human voices。〃 Mick's instinct was to leave well alone。 He could read about the tragedy in a newspaper…he could see the pictures tomorrow when they were grey and grainy。 Today it was too fresh； too unpredictable…Anything could be at the end of that track； bleeding…〃We must…〃 Judd started the car； while beside him Mick began to moan quietly。 The VW began to edge forward； nosing through the river of blood； its wheels spinning in the queasy； foaming tide。
〃No；〃 said Mick； very quietly； 〃please； no 。 。 〃We must；〃 was Judd's reply。 〃We must。 We must。〃
Only a few yards away the surviving city of Popolac was recovering from its first convulsions。 It stared； with a thousand eyes； at the ruins of its ritual enemy； now spread in a tangle of rope and bodies over the impacted ground； shattered forever。 Popolac staggered back from the sight； its vast legs flattening the forest that bounded the stamping…ground； its arms flailing the air。 But it kept its balance； even as a mon insanity； woken by the horror at its feet； surged through its sinews and curdled its brain。 The order went out： the body thrashed and twisted and turned from the grisly carpet of Podujevo； and fled into the hills。
As it headed into oblivion； its towering form passed between the car and the sun； throwing its cold shadow over the bloody road。 Mick saw nothing through his tears； and Judd； his eyes narrowed against the sight he feared seeing around the next bend； only dimly registered that something had blotted the light for a minute。 A cloud； perhaps。 A flock of birds。
Had he looked up at that moment； just stolen a glance out towards the north…east； he would have seen Popolac's head； the vast； swarming head of a maddened city； disappearing below his line of vision； as it marched into the hills。 He would have known that this territory was beyond his prehension； and that there was no healing to be done in this corner of Hell。 But he didn't see the city； and he and Mick's last turning…point had passed。 From now on； like Popolac and its dead twin； they were lost to sanity； and to all hope of life。
They rounded the bend； and the ruins of Podujevo came into sight。
Their domesticated imaginations had never conceived of a sight so unspeakably brutal。
Perhaps in the battlefields of Europe as many corpses had been heaped together： but had so many of them been women and children； locked together with the corpses of men？ There had been piles of dead as high； but ever so many so recently abundant with life？ There had been cities laid waste as quickly； but ever an entire city lost to the simple dictate of gravity？
It was a sight beyond sickness。 In the face of it the mind slowed to a snail's pace； the forces of reason picked over the evidence with meticulous hands； searching for a flaw in it； a place where it could say： This is not happening。 This is a dream of death； not death itself。
But reason could find no weakness in the wall。 This was true。 It was death indeed。
Podujevo had fallen。
Thirty…eight thousand； seven hundred and sixty…five citizens were spread on the ground； or rather flung in ungainly； seeping piles。 Those who had not died of the fall； or of suffocation； were dying。 There would be no survivors from that city except that bundle of onlookers that had traipsed out of their homes to watch the contest。 Those few Podujevians； the crippled； the sick； the ancient few； were now staring； like Mick and Judd； at the carnage； trying not to believe。
Judd was first out of the car。 The ground beneath his suedes was sticky with coagulating gore。 He surveyed the carnage。 There was no wreckage： no sign of a plane crash； no fire； no smell of fuel。 Just tens of thousands of fresh bodies； all either naked or dressed in an identical grey serge； men； women and children alike。 Some of them； he could see； wore leather harnesses； tightly buckled around their upper chests； and snaking out from these contraptions were lengths of rope； miles and miles of it。 The closer he looked； the more he saw of the extraordinary system of knots and lashings that still held the bodies together。 For some reason these people had been tied together； side by side。 Some were yoked on their neighbours〃 shoulders； straddling them like boys playing at horse back riding。 Others were locked arm in arm； knitted together with threads of rope in a wall of muscle and bone。 Yet others were trussed in a ball； with their heads tucked between their knees。 All were in some way connected up with their fellows； tied together as though in some insane collective bondage game。
Another shot。
Mick looked up。
Across the field a solitary man； dressed in a drab overcoat； was walking amongst the bodies with a revolver； dispatching the dying。 It was a pitifully inadequate act of mercy； but he went on nevertheless； choosing the suffering children first。 Emptying the revolver； filling it again； emptying it； filling it； emptying it…Mick let go。
He yelled at the top of his voice over the moans of the injured。
〃What is this？〃 The man looked up from his appalling duty； his face as dead…grey as his coat。
〃Uh？〃 he grunted； frowning at the two interlopers through his thick spectacles。
〃What's happened here？〃 Mick shouted across at him。 It felt good to shout； it felt good to sound angry at the man。 Maybe he was to blame。 It would be a fine thing； just to have someone to blame。
〃Tell us…〃 Mick said。 He could hear the tears throbbing in his voice。 〃Tell us； for God's sake。 Explain。〃 Grey…coat shook his head。 He didn't understand a word this young idiot was saying。 It was English he spoke； but that's all he knew。 Mick began to walk towards him； feeling all the time the eyes of the dead on him。 Eyes like black； shining gems set in broken faces： eyes looking at him upside down； on heads severed from their seating。 Eyes in heads that had solid howls for voices。 Eyes in heads beyond howls； beyond breath。 Thousands of eyes。
He reached Grey…coat； whose gun was almost empty。 He had taken off his spectacles and thrown them aside。 He too was weeping； little jerks ran through his big； ungainly body。
At Mick's feet； somebody was reaching for him。 He didn't want to look； but the hand touched his shoe and he had no choice but to see its owner。 A young man； lying like a flesh swastika； every joint smashed。 A child lay under him； her bloody legs poking out like two pink sticks。
He wanted the man's revolver； to stop the hand from touching him。 Better still he wanted a machine…gun； a flame…thrower； anything to wipe the agony away。
As he looked up from the broken body； Mick saw Grey…coat raise the revolver。
〃Judd…〃 he said； but as the word left his lips the muzzle of the revolver was slipped into Grey…coat's mouth and the trigger was pulled。
Grey…coat had saved the last bullet for himself。 The back of his head opened like a dropped egg； the shell of his skull flying off。 His body went limp and sank to the ground； the revolver still between his lips。
〃We must…； began Mick； saying the words to nobody。 〃We must 。 。 。〃 What was the imperative？ In this situation； what must they