Free The Wicked Go to Hell by Frédéric Dard

it’s going out, we can start walking along the base of the cliffs. It’s perfect. The cops will never think of looking for us along the shore… In their tiny minds there are sheer cliffs and the sea below… It won’t occur to them that you can walk along the foot of the cliffs for eight hours!”
    Hal gave his comrade an admiring look.
    “You’re full of ideas, and that’s a fact!”
    “I got ideas, sure have,” said Frank.
    And as he took the arm of his fellow fugitive, he repeated:
    “If it’s ideas you want, I’m your man!”
     
    They were almost dead on their feet when a faint dawn began to break far out at sea. Walking on fallen rocks and shingle is exhausting. Several hours of staggering along, of sleepwalking progress across mounds of scree, had sapped the last of their strength.
    Frank dropped down onto the accumulation of round black stones which turned the shore into a virtual moonscape.
    “I’ve had it!” he said. “I’m all in!”
    Hal sat down beside him for a moment, then snorted:
    “Pull yourself together, man! Sooner or later we’ll find a place to hide. So far, we’ve been doing just fine… You came up with the great idea of walking along the shore. Brilliant!And we’re not leaving any tracks either. The only thing is that any minute now the tide will start to turn and we’ll have to find somewhere safe…”
    “Let it turn! Let the sea come all the way up and then you won’t have to go looking for the perfect hiding place—you’ll have it here, deep beneath the waves! There’s no better bed than the seabed.”
    Hal’s answer was to grab Frank under the arms and force him back onto his feet.
    “Hey! You’re a grown man! So start walking!”
    “Listen, Hal, it’s not just being exhausted… I can’t see. You’ve got no idea what it’s like walking in the pitch black… with all these damn rocks that move when you step on them!”
    “I dare say,” murmured Hal.
    While they talked they’d set off again along the line of the shore.
    The light was strengthening. A zone of deep purple marked the point on the horizon where the sun would soon come up. The air was crisp and cold… Gulls flew over them, gliding with easy grace and uttering their raucous cries which hurt the ears.
    Hal looked despairingly over the long stretch of shingle, the sheer cliff fringed at the top with stunted grass, the foaming sea as it slowly encroached on their closed world. He was beginning to lose heart. What was the use of staggering on, of the bursts of energy required of them and the sudden fits of crazy hope?
    They had set themselves an impossible task. They were doomed from the start. There was no way out.
    Frank collapsed again.
    “Jesus falls for the second time,” he muttered, and then added: “I’m thirsty.”
    “Here, try a swig of whisky,” suggested Hal, who had taken good care not to leave the bottle behind.
    Frank raised it to his lips. The whisky tasted very strong. It coursed through his belly and a warm sensation spread right through him. It felt good, very good. It felt as good as death when we want it and it comes to us…
    “Good God!” exclaimed Hal.
    “What’s up?” croaked Frank.
    “I don’t know if I’m seeing things, but I can make out an island a couple of hundred metres farther along.”
    “An island?”
    “A small one… There’s a sort of little hill on it and a few trees…”
    “It’s a mirage,” sneered Frank.
    “It’s real!”
    Hal scoured the horizon.
    “Yes, a small island… At low tide you can probably walk there without getting your feet wet, or not very. At the moment I can see water, not much… all round it.”
    “And at high tide it’s completely underwater!”
    “Did you ever see an island with trees on it that was completely submerged?”
    “No, you’re right.”
    “So come on, man!”
    Frank groaned as he got to his feet.
    They turned and walked straight towards the sea, setting their backs resolutely to the cliffs.
    At