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    A stretch of roadway clear of people was coming up ahead. Unusually clear! Gildas suddenly experienced an attack of nerves. His sixth sense began to yammer and he wrenched the steering wheel sharply just as he heard a roaring from behind. As the heavy truck lurched and overshot the kerb, Gildas struggled to regain control, dimly aware of a yellowish object whizzing past only a few feet from his shoulder. He slammed on the brakes. The engine lost way and stalled. Gildas released the brakes, pressed the clutch and released it again while he fiddled with the gear lever. The engine caught, stopped then caught again. In a panic Gildas pressed the clutch and throttle hard at the same time, relieved to hear the old engine roar and knock loudly in response. A loud crash sounded from up ahead.

    Looking up he saw a faded yellow earth digger embedded into the rear of the truck in front. Swarms of men, many armed, were in the process of jumping off the body frame of the digger, where they had been clinging from ropes and chains, and running forward to the front of the damaged truck. The driver of that truck could not have failed to notice something was amiss and had responded by accelerating, dragging the earth mover along behind by its wide shovel which had passed under the rear of the truck and wedged itself between the axle and floor.

    Struggling to keep the rebellious engine at maximum power and slipping the clutch as well as he could, Gildas bounced the truck along the rough ground at the edge of the road trying to catch up with the depleted convoy. Stick figures scattered, survival temporarily taking precedence over energy conservation. His conscious mind, taking the elements of self-preservation into account, ordered him to get the hell out of it but a vengeful despair and hatred of the very people he was trying to help overrode this. The guard sitting behind him reached forward, wound a window down a little, rested his rifle barrel on the glass and commenced firing steadily at the attackers. He was a very good shot. Men jerked, spun round, fell. Some went under the wheels. He could hear and feel the unmistakable soft "flump" of flattening human bodies. He drew alongside the digger. As the truck’s front wing passed in front of its big rear driving wheel (flat as a pancake, he had time to notice) he pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and rammed it squarely in the middle, just under the driver's cab.

          With a cracking squeal the truck's wing crumbled and dug into its own front tyre. It rasped and squealed, cutting a ragged slot through the tough tyre rubber and metal reinforcement, finally reaching the interior.

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