'I know what you mean, Murph,' Lexy said, wisely stopping short of the whole truth, which was that he wanted his mammy.

'Here, we're no' movin'.'

'That's why I woke you up.'

'What time's it?'

Lexy pointed the torch at his watch. 'Half eleven.'

'Shite, man. We've been asleep for 'oors. I wonder where we are?'

'Dunno, but they've no' come back in for their gear yet, otherwise we'd be fucked. I ended up lyin' oot here, in plain sight.'

'Whit did ye dae that for?'

'Tae get away fae your fartin', probably.'

'Cannae help it. It was the beans.'

Wee Murph hadn't let on about the torches before the truck set off again last night. Instead, he had waited until they were well underway and then scared the crap out of Lexy by holding one under his chin and suddenly 296.

switching it on, going 'Muahahahaha' at the same time.

Once Lexy had scraped himself off the ceiling and been cajoled out of his subsequent huff, the pair of them put the new-found lighting to use in a further hunt through the crates, reckoning they were safe from interruption as long as the vehicle remained in motion. The search came to a sharp halt when they discovered the baddies' store of provisions, containing several loaves, three six-packs of scoosh, a variety of tins and, crucially, a can-opener. With neither of them salivating at the prospect of cold Cream of Mushroom, they had opted for pork'n'beans, helping themselves to a tin each along with a few slices of dry bread. It was after this banquet that tiredness started taking over from adrenaline, though it was a miracle Wee Murph didn't blow all the blankets away with his exploding arse before the pair of them nodded off.

'Half eleven, man.' Murph said. 'It's nearly Friday lunchtime. Ma maw an' da'll be worried sick.'

'The polis'll probably be oot lookin' for us.'

'Man, we need tae get oot o' here.'

Murph stood up and began walking towards the rear of the truck, the beam of his torch pointing the way.

'Where ye gaun?'

'There' a wee hole in that shutter. I'm gaunny have a keek through it.'

'You'll never get your arse up that high.'

'Very good. I says a keek, no' a keech.'

'I know.'

Lexy followed on behind, using Murph's beam for guidance. They had agreed not to use both torches at once in order to save battery power. Murph was pressing his face against the shutter, where there was indeed a tiny hole between two of the slats, probably made by rust.

297.

'Let's have a look.'

Murph stepped aside and allowed Lexy a shot. He closed one eye and squinted through the gap: he could see trees and bushes, with a steely grey colour visible behind through breaks in the foliage.

'No' much tae go on,' said Murph. 'We could be roon the back o' the school for aw I can see.'

'Hing on, I 'hink that's watter.'

'Watter? Where?'

'Through the trees. I 'hink we're by a loch or somethin'.'

'Gie's another swatch.'

Murph returned to the spyhole. 'Dunno, man, that could be the side ay a warehoose. Or a big puddle.'

'Doesnae matter where it is as long as we're stuck in here, though, does it?'

'Nae sign o' the baddies, but. I think they've ditched this.'

'They wouldnae ditch the truck if it's got aw their gear inside it.'

'I'm no' sayin' they'll no' be back. I'm just sayin' they're no' here the noo. Let's see if we can get this 'hing opened.'

'Got you, Murph. Let's fin' somethin' tae wedge up the shutters.'

Murph trained his torch around the walls and over the crates.

"The drills/ Lexy remembered.

They pulled the blanket away and examined one of the machines.

'Could we drill oor way oot?' Murph asked.

'Aye, if ye can get through a hole six inches across.' 'Aye, awright, I only asked. Whit aboot drillin' through the lock?'

"The lock's doon at the flair. The lowest these 'hings can 298.

reach is aboot two feet. We need tae look for somethin' tae use as a crowbar.'

'What aboot thae spare hingmies?' Murph asked. 'Look.'

Murph pointed his torch at the drilling machine's chassis, where there sat a rack accommodating three smaller heads of different lengths and girths. Unlike the fearsome, huge, razor-toothed ball of steel currently attached to the shaft, these resembled chisels, presumably for more precise cutting.

They grabbed one each and returned to the door, where they spent a few sweaty and frustrating minutes failing to force the tapered blades between the floor and the rollers.

'Hing on,' Lexy said. 'Gimme that wan as well.'

'How?'

'I'll show ye.'

Lexy took the smaller of the makeshift chisels and rested its tip against the desired point of entry, then began hitting its base with the other shaft. This was more of a success, in as much as it gouged a groove in the wooden floor and allowed the drillhead underneath the shutter, but when he tried to apply some weight, it just slipped back out amid splinters and dust.

'Fuck.'

'Try again, you're gettin' there.'

'Okay.'

After a few more minutes of Wee Murph playing the spider to his Robert the Bruce, Lexy gave up while he still had ten fingers.

'It's nae use. It's stuck solid.'

Wee Murph inevitably had a few goes himself before coming to the same depressing conclusion.

'Tight as a camel's arse in a sandstorm,' was how he put it, giving Lexy a much needed giggle.

299.

'Right enough,' Lexy reflected, 'if they were leavin' aw this gear lyin' aboot in the back ay a lorry, they'd make gey sure it was well locked up.'

'The padlock's probably the size ay a binlid.'

'Shite, man, whit we gaunny dae?'

'Whit aboot the guns?' Murph asked. 'They still there?'

'I'd doubt it. There was that much comin' an' goin' yesterday.'

'Aye, but they were loadin' stuff, no' takin' it away. C'mon.'

Murph made for the other end of the truck, pointing his torch at the draped blankets covering the lattice. He stuck his head behind the sheets, Lexy only able to see the end of the beam dancing against the inside of the cloth.

'Are the two of them still there?' he asked.

'Aye. I 'hink they were a breedin' pair, but.'

Lexy came closer as Murph pulled up the blankets, the torchlight revealing more metal than Margaret Gebbie's smile.

'Fuck me.'

There were six machine guns and six shotguns, all lashed tightly to the lattice using Velcro-fastening straps.

'D'ye want to try shootin' the padlock off?' Murph asked gleefully.

'Naw. That only works in the films. If you fired wan o' thae 'hings at solid metal, it could ricochet roon here an' blaw your heid off. That's if it didnae set off aw the explosives.'

To Lexy's surprise and relief, Murph seemed to take this on board without a fight.

'Somethin' very bad's goin' doon, innit, Lexy?'

'Aye.'

'I wonder who they are. The IRA or somebody. The UHF, wan o' them lot.'

300.

"They didnae sound Irish.'

'Well, mebbe they're thae muslin mentalists ye keep hearin' aboot.'

'Could be/ Lexy agreed. 'We never got a look at them. Sounded English, but.'

'Whit's that got tae dae wi' it? Hauf the Soothside o' Glesca's muslins.'

'Bad bastards, whoever they are. Aw these guns. Aw this gear.' Lexy sighed, the enormity of it weighing upon him, and with it a realisation that added to his burden: 'We've got tae dae somethin'.'

'Aboot whit?'

'Tae stop them, I mean. Whitever they're plannin', folk are gaunny get kill't. That's what I'm bettin', anyway.'

'Whit can we dae? We're stuck in here.'

'Aye, but we're stuck in here wi' aw the gear they need. I 'hink it's time we began actin' oor age.'

Wee Murph grinned. 'Ye mean start vandalism' stuff?'

'You read my mind, Murph.'

They agreed that it would be in the best interests of remaining lead-free if they made the damage inconspicuous. Neither of them fancied messing about with the explosives, and even if they had known any way of disabling the stuff, the fact that half the packets were now swimming in pish was a further disincentive. Instead, they set to work on the drill rigs. The machines themselves were formidably sturdy beasts, but Murph identified the point of least resistance as being the control panel. Lexy balanced his torch on one of the lattice strats while Murph removed the cover panel from around the joystick and keypad, using a screwdriver from a small toolkit he'd found in the same crate as the torches. He ripped out all the wiring, stabbed some holes in the circuit board, then screwed the cover back in place.

301.

Totally Donalded/ he declared, before repeating the procedure on the next one. Lexy, meanwhile, pulled back the blanket from what they had assumed was a third drill, but which was in fact a mobile electricity generator for powering the other two.

'Better be careful wi' this,' Lexy warned.

'Ach, bollocks tae it,' Murph disagreed, flipping open the cover and setting to work inside with one of the drill- heads. 'Hand us that other drill hingmy/ he requested. Lexy complied. Murph bent over the contraption once more. Neither of the drillheads returned, but he did emerge with a rubber fanbelt and a clutch of loose components, which he chucked into the wooden crate at the front that he had first used as a toilet.

Murph then made for the weapons cache, pulling a machine gun from the lattice and holding it at waist height.

'Whit ye daein'?'

'Check it out, man. "Come an' meet my leetle friend." Gerrit?'

'Christ's sake, don't fuck aboot wi' thae 'hings.'

'It's awright, they're no' loaded. Aw the ammo's in the crates. Hey, check this. Daow naow naow naow.'

Murph was now pretending the weapon was a guitar, and started singing a song, something about bikini girls with machine guns.