Free Brother in the Land by Robert Swindells

running.
    One man, a sergeant maybe, gave orders and they made a human chain, passing stuff from hand to hand up the steps while three of them scurried backwards and forwards, chucking it into the truck. There was a heck of a lot of stuff down there, but they cleaned us out in about twenty minutes while I choked under this guy’s arm and Dad lay cursing on the floor.
    When they were through, the man in charge said something through his mike. They hauled Dad to his feet and began dragging him towards the truck.
    ‘Hey!’ I twisted, trying to free myself. ‘Leave him – he didn’t make any trouble!’
    The grip tightened round my throat and the guy said, ‘You were warned. We’ll have you along too, if there’s any more of your lip!’
    I struggled wildly as they bundled him over the barricade and lifted him, kicking, into the back of the truck. The soldier’s arm was like a band of steel across my throat and he squeezed till I nearly blacked out. When all the others were in the truck he flung me to the ground and ran, vaulting the counter. By the time I got up, he’d scrambled into the APC.
    The truck started moving, and the driver of the APC gunned his motor. I ran to the barricade, half-crazy, screaming at the top of my lungs. The APC fell in behind the truck and both vehicles lurched away down the street.
    I cleared the counter and ran after them. Thin blue exhaust hung on the cold air and I ran through it, shouting God knows what in my terror.
    The vehicle accelerated, pulling away from me and I suppose I was forty yards behind the APC when it blew up.
    There was this terrific bang. I was lifted off my feet and flung onto my back. Bits fell all round and I rolled over, wrapping my arms round my head. The air was full of dust. I thought I heard voices, but when I tried to open my eyes the dust stung them, blinding me. I struggled to rise as tears ran down my face.
    I was on my knees when the second explosion came. Debrispattered onto the ground and I threw myself flat. The next thing I knew, there were shouts and footfalls and I staggered to my feet, dashing water from my eyes with my knuckles.
    The APC was on its side, burning. Beyond it stood the truck, tilted to one side. Ragged men swarmed round it. Someone was dragging the driver down from the cab.
    I stood gaping. My head reeled and I felt sick. Men were on the truck, chucking our stuff down to others who ran with it into the ruins. A man on a pile of rubble yelled, ‘Make it snappy!’ It was Rhodes, the PE teacher at school.
    I remembered Dad and cried out, running towards the truck. I was by the APC when Rhodes yelled ‘Stop there!’ He came over.
    ‘What d’you want, Lodge?’ he rapped. He wore a submachine-gun round his neck instead of his usual whistle. He was even wearing his maroon tracksuit. He’d never liked me.
    ‘My dad, sir!’ I gasped. ‘He’s on the truck.’ He shook his head.
    ‘Not any more, lad. There’s nothing you can do for him now.’
    I stared at him, shaking my head; unable to take in what he was telling me.
    ‘C’mon laddie, move away.’ He said it as though he’d found me loitering in the cloakroom. I didn’t move. It was like one of those nightmares where you’re caught up in a sequence of random events and you want to run but your legs won’t work. He came towards me and I saw him raise the gun and still I couldn’t move.
    At that moment a figure emerged from the ruins away to my right, leading a donkey. ‘All right, Rhodes.’ He called. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Twenty-one
    It was Branwell, the man who’d spoken to me by Mum’s grave. He came over. ‘Here, take this.’ He held out the halter to Rhodes. I knew from the way he said it he was mad at him. Rhodes took it and Branwell said, ‘Get it loaded up. Food only. Hide the rest. And make it quick, that truck’s overdue now.’
    Rhodes led the animal away and the old man looked at me. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘He’s a damn