Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  ‘Lead the way,’ she said.

  Frank watched them as they walked across the clearing towards a path near the cable car wheelhouse, the crunch of their footsteps steadily diminishing. A moment later, they disappeared into the shadows beneath the trees, and were gone. Beside him, Rafe turned away and limped over to lean back against the car.

  A sigh of wind swirled between them, sending a shiver of rustling movement through the dark trees, before passing away into the distance to leave a deathly quiet.

  Frank glanced over at his friend.

  ‘What do you think this is all about?’ he whispered.

  Rafe lifted his head, then shrugged.

  ‘Dashed if I know. It’s Groth’s party, and he plays his cards pretty close to his chest.’ He hesitated, then lowered his voice. ‘But you can bet it’s something to do with the German… situation that we discussed.’

  Frank considered this, then frowned.

  ‘Okay, but why did he take Molly with him? I mean, if it’s dangerous…’ He trailed off, looking back towards the trees.

  ‘I think Molly’s the only one who can identify tonight’s visitor,’ Rafe said, softly. ‘Met him before somewhere.’

  Frank nodded to himself then fell silent. Rafe and him were just backup.

  Pushing his hands down into his coat pockets, he moved away from the car, his feet crunching slowly on the dirt. Above the trees, he could see the mountains more clearly now, the snow-capped heights still dimly lit by the last light of dusk. He stared up at them, so vast and majestic, trying to judge their true size, wondering about the view from those mighty peaks.

  Everything down here so tiny and insignificant.

  Rafe stirred and came over to stand beside him.

  ‘Smoke?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Frank said. He turned and accepted the cigarette, lifting it to his mouth.

  Rafe took one for himself, then struck a match, illuminating his face with a bright warm light.

  Somewhere in the distance, there was the sharp crack of a gunshot. It rang out across the silent treetops, echoing back off the mountainside.

  Rafe dropped the match and stood blinking in the sudden darkness. Frank whirled around to face the path, his hand going instinctively to his pocket, fingers wrapping themselves into place around the gun.

  ‘That sounded close,’ he whispered.

  ‘Shhhh!’ Rafe lifted up a hand for silence, and they both stood absolutely still. For a long moment, neither of them breathed as they strained to listen, but there was no noise except a faint rustle of the wind among the trees.

  Frank put a hand on his friend’s arm.

  ‘What do we do?’ he hissed. ‘Do we check it out, or stay here?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Rafe whispered. ‘It didn’t sound like it was very far away, but…’

  He glanced down at his walking stick then shook his head in frustration.

  ‘Oh hell. You’ll be quicker without me.’

  Frank looked at him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Rafe told him. ‘Whatever it is, it’s happening over there. Just be careful, will you?’

  Frank gave a grim nod. Drawing his gun, he jogged stealthily across the clearing, moving on the balls of his feet to lessen the sound, eyes sweeping the darkness before him. Passing in under the shadow of the wheelhouse, he flattened himself in against the side of the wooden building for a moment, listening. Then, he darted quietly over to the beginning of the path and plunged into the gloom. Trees closed in around him as the path climbed, but the ground was soft underfoot here, and soon the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, nervous and urgent. He crouched low as he ran, trying to see into the blackness between the pines, but it was hard enough to make out the twists and turns of the path. And then, as he rounded a bend, ducking down to avoid a low-hanging branch, he came suddenly to a fork where the way split into two.

  No!

  Stumbling to a halt, he peered out into the forest shadows, trying to remember which direction the shot had come from, but it was impossible. He couldn’t even be sure which way he was facing any more. Standing still, he listened hard for a time, but there was no sound.

  What the hell was he supposed to do? Molly and Groth might be in trouble, but if he got it wrong now…

  Frustrated, he turned this way and that, pointing his gun at the darkness, straining to see, straining to hear, but there was nothing.

  Shit!

  Taking a step backwards, he turned and started back along the path, breaking into a run as he followed it down the slope. He had to get Rafe; maybe they could take one fork each.

  Something on the ground caught the tip of his shoe and he went sprawling forward, almost falling but somehow managing to stay on his feet. Cursing under his breath, he slowed his pace a little, watching his footing now, breathing hard. The path led him on, twisting down through the forest, until he glimpsed the dipping black lines of the cables overhead, and the sharp silhouette of the wheelhouse. Bursting into the clearing, he turned towards the car, ready to call for Rafe, but the shout died in his throat as his eyes picked out two shapes in the gloom. Twenty yards in front of him, a dark figure was kneeling over something – no, someone – lying on the ground. They were struggling, movements frantic, the prone man’s legs kicking at the ground in futile desperation. The kneeling figure hissed something, then grabbed his victim’s head and slammed it down hard into the ground, blonde hair shining against the dirt.

  Rafe!

  Stifling a cry, Frank sprinted forward, leveling his gun at the shadowy attacker.

  ‘Nein!’ he screamed. ‘Verschwinde! VERSCHWINDE!’

  Immediately, the figure twisted round towards him, letting Rafe’s head fall back. One hand went to his coat and there was a momentary gleam of light on the barrel of a pistol…

  Frank squeezed the trigger hard. The muzzle flash burned bright against the darkness, and the recoil slowed him, as the deafening noise of the shot echoed up into the night sky.

  A second flash erupted from his gun, a second booming report, as he closed the distance between them… then a third, and this time he saw the dark figure jerk backwards, slowly pitching over to slump onto the ground and lie still. Frank descended on him, kicking his pistol skittering away across the ground, but the man was finished, his pale face slackening into a vacant expression, unseeing eyes staring upwards as a dark stain bloomed out across the front of his shirt. A last bubbling rasp escaped his lips and he fell silent.

  Wrenching his gaze away, Frank turned his attention to Rafe, crouching down to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘Hey buddy, you okay?’

  Rafe’s eyes were closed. There was a nasty-looking cut on his cheekbone, and blood glistened on his busted lip. He didn’t respond.

  ‘Rafe?’

  Kneeling down, Frank eased a hand under the back of his neck, trying to cradle his head, then felt the sticky warmth in Rafe’s hair as it spread over his fingers.

  Oh please, no…

  ‘Come on,’ he pleaded. ‘Say something, will you?’

  Nothing.

  A cold dread began to grip him. He tried to find a pulse – first at the wrist, then at the throat – but his own heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t feel anything else. In desperation, he leaned right down, putting his cheek close to Rafe’s open mouth… then sighed with relief as he sensed the faint warmth on his face. His friend was breathing.

  It seemed like hours before he heard the others returning. Over at the edge of the clearing, Groth emerged from the path, followed by Molly; both were grim faced, both had their guns drawn.

  Seeing him on his knees, Groth hurried over, and stared down at Rafe.

  ‘Scheiße!’ he growled. ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Yes,’ Frank said. ‘He’s hurt but he’s breathing.’

  Molly halted a few feet away, an anguished expression on her face.

  ‘What happened?’ she demanded.<
br />
  ‘We heard a gunshot,’ Frank explained, motioning back towards the path. ‘Rafe said to go and see if you two were okay.’

  Groth glared at him, then turned away, his eyes sweeping warily round the clearing.

  ‘You left him alone!’ he hissed.

  ‘I know, but…’ Frank shook his head. ‘Anyway, I went up the trail but when I came to the fork, I didn’t know which way to go. I listened but I couldn’t hear anything, so I came back here. That’s when I saw him.’

  He pointed over at the corpse. Molly walked around him to peer down at the body.

  ‘He was on top of Rafe, smacking him into the ground.’ Frank bowed his head. ‘I… I think I yelled at him, but he pulled a gun on me, so I shot him.’

  Scowling, Groth glanced over at Molly.

  ‘Is he dead?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘Any idea who he was?’

  ‘A friend of the one we met, I should think,’ she said, turning back to look anxiously at Rafe.

  Groth shook his head slowly.

  ‘What a damn mess.’ He stood for a moment, deep in thought, then turned and pointed down at Rafe. ‘Get him in the car. And check him over, make sure he isn’t bleeding!’

  Nodding numbly, Frank scrambled to his feet and, with Molly’s help, managed to get his hands under Rafe’s armpits. Half lifting, half dragging, they managed to haul their friend across to the car. Molly stretched out and opened the door.

  ‘Gently,’ she warned. ‘Careful with him.’

  Straining together, they lifted him and bundled him into the back seat.

  Frank straightened up, breathing hard, but Molly immediately ushered him aside.

  ‘Let me see him,’ she insisted, quickly unbuttoning Rafe’s shirt and sliding a hand inside to check for other injuries.

  ‘Mr Rye,’ Groth called softly. ‘Give her some room. You can come and help me with this one.’

  Frank looked round, then walked back across the clearing to where Groth was crouching down, going through the dead man’s pockets.

  ‘What are we going to do with him?’ he asked.

  Groth didn’t answer. Standing up, he walked a few paces away, then stooped again to retrieve the attacker’s gun. Studying it for a moment, he frowned, then slipped it into his coat pocket.

  Frank was staring at the body. The dark patch had spread all across the dead man’s shirt now, gleaming wetly in the faint light. The face, still staring upwards, looked so ordinary…

  ‘Hey!’ Groth was standing beside him, snapping his fingers impatiently. ‘Get his legs.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Frank bent down, flinching as he touched the lifeless ankles, realizing he had to adopt a stronger hold. Grimacing, he forced himself to grip more tightly, his fingers pressing into the dead skin.

  ‘You have him?’ Groth asked, taking the dead man’s wrists.

  Wordlessly, Frank nodded.

  ‘Okay then…’ Groth grunted.

  Together, they lifted the corpse, struggling as it sagged between them. It seemed unnaturally heavy, and Frank strained to keep it off the ground.

  ‘Over there.’ Groth indicated with his head. ‘In the trees.’

  They scuffed their way slowly across the dirt, hauling their burden up and over the grass at the edge of the clearing. Stumbling on beneath the shadow of the branches, pine needles soft underfoot, Groth finally dumped the body down behind a large tree, leaving it sitting propped up against a broad trunk.

  ‘Good enough,’ he muttered, straightening up and rubbing the base of his back.

  The dead man’s eyes were still open, staring out into the darkness. Frank shivered and looked away.

  They started back towards the car. Groth paused at the edge of the trees, turning around and listening, then stepped into the clearing.

  ‘You took his gun,’ Frank whispered. He wasn’t sure why he said it.

  ‘Ja,’ Groth said, walking ahead of him. ‘We make use of it. Next time we have to shoot someone, if a German gun can be found beside the body… well, it gives the police something to think about.’

  Molly stepped away from the car as they approached, her face troubled.

  ‘Well?’ Groth asked.

  ‘Nothing other than the head wound,’ she replied. ‘But that looks really bad. I’m worried he may have fractured his skull.’

  Groth’s expression darkened and he clenched his fists. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be about to yell, but instead he lapsed into a brooding silence. Finally, glancing down at his watch, he appeared to reach a decision.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he snapped, walking round and pulling open the driver’s door. ‘I was thinking maybe Basel, but it has to be the hospital in Bern. Come on; we work out how we deal with this on the way.’

  Molly glanced at Rafe, lying slumped in the back of the car, then turned to Frank.

  ‘You get in on this side of him, and I’ll go on the other, so we can hold him steady, all right?’

  ‘No problem,’ Frank told her.

  Groth started the car and the headlights blazed out, piercing the darkness and lighting up the gap at the bottom of the clearing. Lurching forward, they set off at speed, the car bouncing down the narrow dirt road.

  Sitting in the back seat, holding their friend between them, Molly met Frank’s gaze for a moment, but quickly looked away. Turning her body towards Rafe, she smiled at him and murmured, ‘Just sit back and enjoy the ride, you careless clod. You’re going to be all right.’

  But Frank had seen the fear in her eyes. He stared out at the winding road ahead of them, and willed Groth to drive faster.

  22

  The city was in darkness as they rounded a long downhill bend and raced past the first outlying houses.

  ‘Not far now,’ Groth called over his shoulder. ‘How’s he doing?’

  ‘Just the same,’ Frank said, his arm around Rafe’s neck, keeping him upright.

  ‘Okay,’ Groth growled, accelerating slightly. ‘You need to take his gun and any papers or identification out of his pockets. And clean him up a little, get some of the mud off.’

  Frank turned to Molly and frowned. The gun and the papers made sense, but why did they have to clean him up?

  ‘There’ll be questions at the hospital,’ she explained. ‘We can’t tell them where he really was or what he was doing so… oh, I don’t know… we’ll say it happened somewhere in the city… he got into a fight, or had a fall...’

  ‘Say you were told he fell, but you didn’t see it,’ Groth called back. ‘You think he had been drinking but you’re not sure. The less specific you are, the better for everyone.’

  Molly nodded thoughtfully, then looked hard at Frank.

  ‘It happened down by the river somewhere… there’s trees and grass down there and that’ll help explain the mud.’ She leaned over and began emptying Rafe’s pockets, then glanced up again. ‘Oh, and we flagged down a passing car to bring him up to the hospital, all right?’

  ‘Okay,’ Frank murmured. Bracing himself against the door, he held Rafe steady with one hand, and tentatively reached into his friend’s pants pocket with the other.

  They skirted around the northern side of the old town, rattling down a succession of empty cobbled streets, before sweeping round onto a bridge that crossed the railroad tracks. Groth flung the car through a couple more sharp corners before turning into a gated driveway, the headlights illuminating a large signboard that bore the words Inselspital Bern below the hospital crest. They pulled up in front of a modern concrete building, very long and several stories high. Blackout blinds gave the place a foreboding appearance, but there was a dim light visible at the entrance porch.

  Groth left the engine running and twisted round to look at Rafe.

  ‘Let me know how it goes,’ he said.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Frank asked, reaching for the door handle.

  Groth shook his head.

  ‘I have to go and tell Mr Dulles what’s happ
ened, that everything is screwed,’ he said, frowning. ‘I should probably have gone there first, but…’

  Molly reached forward and placed a hand on Groth’s arm.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Really.’

  Groth met her gaze, then looked away.

  ‘Go on,’ he muttered. ‘And call the Herrengasse number when you have any news.’

  Frank clambered out and, looping Rafe’s arm around his neck, managed to maneuver him from the car. Molly slid across the back seat after him. Stepping out, she draped Rafe’s other arm over her shoulder to prop him up, then pushed the car door closed with her foot.

  ‘Can you manage?’ she asked, as they struggled with their unconscious companion.

  ‘Yeah,’ Frank grunted, starting slowly towards the entrance. ‘Just help make sure I don’t drop him.’

  It was well after midnight. Frank and Molly sat side by side on a row of four wooden chairs, wedged against the wall of a long, empty corridor. The whole place stank of disinfectant. Rafe had been lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away almost as soon as they arrived, while they’d been left to fill out some paperwork with a yawning nurse. Now, they’d been sent here to wait.

  ‘You okay?’ Frank asked, breaking the silence. His voice echoed off the bare walls.

  ‘Yes,’ Molly said woodenly, her eyes staring straight ahead.

  Somewhere nearby a door slammed, and they heard the sound of footsteps on the hard, polished floors, but the footsteps were receding, and soon they were left alone in the oppressive stillness once again.

  Frank watched her for a while, then leaned forward to rest his forearms across his knees.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘I feel so bad about all this.’

  Molly said nothing for a moment, then turned towards him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  Frank bowed his head.

  ‘It was a mistake. I should never have left him there on his own.’ He paused, then sighed. ‘I’m the reason he’s in here now.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She bent down to meet his eye. ‘You saved him, Frank. You’re the reason he’s still alive.’

  Frank glanced up and gave her a grateful smile.