Free Seven Steps to the Sun by Fred Hoyle, Geoffrey Hoyle Page B

reaching the giant intersection he walked under the arches of the fly-over and onto the down ramp of the east-bound traffic. He lay on the verge looking for a good point to take a run at a truck. He noticed that on the entrance to the motorway there were traffic signals flashing red, and then green for a moment, and then back to red. He watched for a while until he saw their purpose. On red it meant that there was traffic on the motorway in the slow lane, but on green it was clear to proceed. Traffic coming off the fly-over was very good about obeying these signals and would slow right up until it saw the go-ahead. All he had to do now was to wait for the right truck coming off the ramp, with no vehicle following it and he'd have a chance to climb aboard.
    Mike lay there in the damp grass feeling very miserable as the dew seeped through his clothes. The last forty-eight hours reminded him of a Chekhov play. It seemed strange that Leadbury had given him such a good chance to escape. Perhaps it was set up so they could shoot him on the run and obviate the difficulty of disposing of him.
    A group of trucks came over the fly-over and slowly down the ramp and, as the last one went slowly by, he stood up and ran in behind the trailer. Fortunately the load was covered by some sort of canvas, securely fastened. He took hold of a strap and pulled himself up. When the truck accelerated he nearly lost his grip but doggedly climbed to the top of the load where he wriggled his legs under the strap and lay down flat. The wind that whistled over him was cold, and he soon began to shiver in his damp clothes. The truck moved on at great speed for about half an hour, then slowed. Mike turned his head and his heart missed a beat. Up in front there seemed to be a check point. Lying flat and still, he wished that he could stop his heart thumping as they reached their turn in the queue.
    'Where are you from?' said one of the uniformed men.
    'Southampton,' came the reply from inside the cab.
    'Going through to London?'
    'Yep. Chiswick depot.'
    'What are you carrying?' asked the official.
    'Lettuces,' came a laughing reply from the cab.
    'O.K. don't lose that valuable load,' said the official, moving back from the vehicle. The truck ground off in bottom gear. Mike was relieved that the check spot was only for the truck and not him. Must be for vehicles moving from one zone to another.
    It was about half an hour later when the truck swung off the motorway onto the Chiswick fly-over. Mike slid his legs from underneath the strap. The truck slowed up as it turned onto the northern ring road. Mike jumped backwards, landed on his feet but, misjudging the speed of the lorry, fell forward into the road. He rolled to a stop, picked up his bruised and battered body and rushed for the safety of the verge as another large truck thundered towards him. He would have never recognized this great expanse of motor road as the old north circular. He followed the direction signs to Hammersmith, walking along with a jaunty gait.
    'Want a lift?' said a voice alongside him. Mike clenched his fists and turned as naturally as he could. A man's head appeared from the door of an electric taxi.
    'I'd love a ride, but I've run out of money,' said Mike, smiling and shrugging his shoulders.
    'That's all right, mate. I'm off duty and on my way home,' said the driver.
    'Where are you going?'
    'Shepherd's Bush,' replied the cabby.
    Mike hadn't really wanted to go back to the vicinity
I
>l his arrest, but the offer of the lift was too tempting.
    'Well, if you could drop me as near as possible to Notting Hill, that would be very kind.' He'd go to Notting Hill, to see if he could find evidence of Pete's death. It was a mad decision in the circumstances. I le would have to be very careful. The taxi gathered speed and they silently passed through the sleeping city.
    'Been on a gambling spree?' asked the driver, with a cheery smile.
    'Something like that, they nearly had the shirt off my