Free The Angry Hills by Leon Uris Page B

they remained standing unconscious—there was no place to fall. Everyone began stripping, literally tearing his clothes off. Their bodies became slimy and rancid-smelling. The odors of urine and dung added to the agony.
    In the next hour Mike buckled over a half dozen times. Soutar rubbed his temples and the back of his neck. When he blacked out Soutar slapped him back to consciousness. Now, nearly half the men were unconscious and the others groaned in agony.
    The sweat fell into Mike’s eyes, blinding him. Each jerk of the train sent stabbing pains through him and a wall of men bashing against him.
    In the late afternoon Soutar began to weaken. Mike had marveled at the stamina of the little Scotsman. He held Soutar up by the scruff of the neck. Soutar wheezed and gasped for air.
    The blistering heat continued through early evening.
    Soutar and Morrison alternated in keeping one another alive. There were two dead men in the car now.
    Evening...
    A fragment of blessed relief as it began to cool. The smell was long past the unbearable stage. Mike and Soutar had vomited till there was nothing left.
    Men began to fall atop one another. The weak ones on the bottom, close to death, unable to move...
    Darkness finally came. By now Mike would have jumped off a rocket to the moon.
    “We go now,” Soutar gasped.
    “Suppose—suppose they stop the train?” Mike croaked.
    “They won’t risk it for one or two strays. If they stop they’ll have a mass outbreak, and they know it....”
    Mike lifted Soutar to his shoulders. Soutar smashed the butt of his pistol into the screen. It ripped away.
    “You go first—double back down the track for me. Allow a good two or three minutes for the train to pass.”
    Mike nodded.
    “Give us a hand, lads, we’re going to break for it.”
    Several pairs of hands were on Mike, lifting him. Mike caught hold of the top beam of the car. He swung his legs through the small opening. His hands slipped from the beam and the soldiers shoved him through.
    The cool rush of night air was like a tonic. Mike’s head cleared. He clung to the outside of the car, hoping the train would slow for a curve. But his grip gave way and he was hurled into space.
    The ground came up and hit him with horrifying force. He bounced and rolled over a dozen times. Mike lay still for a few moments and then scampered down the rail bed and fell flat as the train sped past.
    He looked down the line. He heard the crack of a rifle report. Mike didn’t move until the sound of the wheels died and all he could hear was his thumping heart and muted breath.
    Crouching, he scooted up to the tracks. How strange, how very strange, he thought. He felt no pain at all. Everything was wonderful and he felt lightheaded, as though he had drunk a half dozen martinis. He moved down the rail as if walking on a cloud. He felt good—real good...
    He followed the ribbons of steel. It was dark, save when a quarter moon flirted in and out of a mass of clouds.
    “Soutar,” he called in a loud whisper, “Soutar!”
    He heard a moan from the tall grass beyond the tracks. Mike crept toward the sound.
    Soutar lay face down. Mike knelt beside him and turned him over. He was dead.
    Mike went through his pockets. They were empty. He took Soutar’s pistol and put it in his belt. He dragged the body over the tracks towards a woods. Soutar’s legs dripped blood.
    In the woods Mike dug a shallow grave, rolled the body into it and covered it with loose earth and branches.
    Athens—Athens—get to Athens—Dr. Harry Thackery... Mike tried to stand but tottered against a tree. The woods started to spin as he wavered, trying to keep himself upright. I’ve got to get to the water—clear my head—stop the spinning...
    He staggered through the woods to the beach. Down the beach he saw the lights of a village. People... Greek people—friendly—they’ll hide me—get to the village...
    The lights of the village began to spin madly.
    Hurt—hurt in the