The scorching heat of the August sun beat down on the Spanish countryside, forcing the two men to remain under the protective cover of a derelict veranda. A faint breeze made the veranda slightly more tolerable than retreating into the old farmhouse it fronted.
“Anything?” asked MacDuff from underneath a wide brimmed hat. He sat lazily on a chair propped up on its hind legs with the back leaning against a bullet pocked wall in a vain effort to sleep.
“Nothing. Bufford and his men are still trying to fix their truck,” reported Sean from behind a set of binoculars. “Without success.”
The sound of horses brought MacDuff’s chair back down to all four feet as he shook out of his lethargy. He quickly checked for the pistol tucked in his belt at the small of his back out of habit. Seeing that it was Patrick and Liam, he went back to his relaxed state.
“Anything?” asked Pierce as he approached the farmhouse, removing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forehead.
“Nothing,” repeated Sean, passing him the binoculars.
“They’re still working on the truck?”
“I almost want to go down and fix it for them, just to get moving again,” Liam quipped as he sat down beside MacDuff after seeing to the horses.
They had been camped out at the abandoned farmhouse for the past two days, awaiting their quarry to continue their journey. But a broken truck had put a halt to the chase. What had begun as a challenge in tracking had turned into a challenge to stay patient and vigilant.
“I’m glad we swapped our truck for those magnificent beasts or we’d probably be stranded like them,” observed Pierce.
After arriving in Seville, the Brown Pack had immediately begun their preparations for trailing Bufford and his men. MacDuff had sent Sean to acquire a mode of transportation, while Liam had wandered off to scrounge for local supplies. Both men had returned to the look out perch Pierce and MacDuff had occupied in time to witness the emergence of the various packs. In randomly timed intervals, a different pack would leave the villa that contained the portal back to the Manor. They all seemed to blend into their environs easily, not attracting any attention from the locals.
Bufford and his men finally exited the Manor at dusk, moving quickly to the back of the building as soon as their feet hit the stone sidewalk. Without any warning they abruptly emerged around a corner in a chugging truck, turning down the narrow cobbled street. Luckily Pierce and MacDuff had been prepared and were able to offer a pursuit, running out to a side street where Sean and Liam were waiting in a car of their own. A difficult pursuit ensued as pedestrians, carts, and wagons clogged up the streets, slowing the progress of both vehicles. This however turned into a blessing, as Sean was able to both keep his distance and maintain visual contact of the truck ahead.
Within an hour they followed Bufford to the edge of Seville and headed north into the dark Spanish countryside. Although the wide empty expanse provided a clear view of their target, Pierce realized that it offered Bufford the same advantage. Noting the full moon and general ineffectiveness of the headlights, Sean turned them off and backed off even further, hoping to stay inconspicuous.
It was initially a good plan, but almost proved calamitous a couple hours later as they drove through a winding stretch of rough road. They had lost sight of Bufford’s truck for twenty minutes, slowing to navigate the road safely. According to their map this was the only real road in the area, so they weren’t worried about Bufford taking a side road. Finally MacDuff suggested they turn the headlights back on to gain some time, arguing that they would appear like a new vehicle.
Sean turned the headlights on as they rounded the next curve and accelerated from their slow pace. However as soon as they emerged from the curve, they found themselves passing a small cantina on the side of the road. The gravel lot in front of the building contained an assortment of vehicles and patrons. Pierce swore as their car barrelled past, watching Bufford and his men walking towards the cantina from their parked truck.
Unable to stop without drawing attention, Pierce ordered them to continue driving. Consulting their map, MacDuff spotted a village ahead. After a quick discussion they all agreed that following Bufford across this terrain in a car would prove more difficult as they continued. There were too few roads and not enough traffic to blend in for an extended pursuit. So they traded their car and some coins at the village stables for four horses and a mule. They then purchased some food at the tavern and continued their journey on horseback.
MacDuff consulted the map again and found a good observation point which would provide them with a clear view of the road as they waited to pick up Bufford’s trail when he and his men passed by.
Although motor vehicles were not new to the area, horses had been traversing the land since time immemorial. Therefore there were only a few roads passable by truck and a multitude of horse trails and paths that crisscrossed the countryside, allowing Pierce and his men to take shortcuts. The road Bufford was taking snaked its way north, sometimes sidestepping east or west for two kilometers for every kilometer forward. Since it was the only main road in the area, Pierce and his men could take an almost direct route north, stopping at intervals to observe the progress of their target’s struggling vehicle.
This continued for a day and a half, until Bufford’s truck refused to start one morning when they emerged from a quick rest in another small village. Pierce and his men had stopped to rest at an abandoned farmhouse on a ridge some distance north of the village. The spot allowed them to discreetly watch both the village and the road for a few kilometres in either direction.
“Any thoughts on where he’s going?” asked Sean as he took the binoculars back and returned to his vigil.
“North,” mumbled Liam from underneath his own hat as he mimicked MacDuff’s attempt to rest on a leaning chair.
“Where’s the map?” questioned Pierce as he searched around the veranda.
“What are you thinking?” Sean asked as he took a map from the bag beside him and handed it to Pierce.
“I’m thinking that Bufford had the truck ready to go when they emerged from the portal. And despite the current setback, it seems he picked one that could handle the terrain. From the look of this map, it doesn’t get any easier further north.”
“You think he’s going to continue north?”
“Well this isn’t his destination,” observed Pierce, motioning to the small village below them. “North is the only way he can go. So he’s got to be going to at least Merida, it’s the only thing around here.”
“I agree. We pack up and head for Merida while they’re stuck here” This came from MacDuff who had roused himself after listening to the pair’s discussion.
“We should wait until evening and then head out,” offered Sean. “I’ve seen a couple Nationalist patrols today. Even though we’re staying off the road, the added cover will be beneficial.”
Everyone nodded in assent, as they had already witnessed the work of the Nationalists on their journey. The very farmhouse they we’re squatting in had probably been cleared out by the Nationalists during their bloody march north the year before. The quantity and dispersal of the bullet holes in the walls testified to a very violent and indiscriminate attack.
They were all dressed as civilians, clothed in a myriad of dust coloured outfits. They were also travelling with an array of camera’s and notebooks, as they were trying to cover themselves as international journalists covering the civil war. In order to further support this fact, they had been forced to leave their heavy weapons in the villa and travel with just their pistols and knives. MacDuff had argued that since their real goal was to track and observe Bufford, and not kill the mysterious Reaver; rifles would only complicate things if they were stopped.
Both Liam and Pierce had warmed to their task and had actually done some journalistic work on their journey. Liam had taken many photographs of the countryside, careful not to take anything that might be too inflammatory to a Nationalist search. Pierce mean
while was writing notes and phrases, citing the struggle against socialism.
Everyone rested as well as they could through the midday, with at least one of them on guard and watching the village below for signs of activity.
Pierce found himself on duty as dusk followed the setting sun. A multitude of warm coloured rays fought to remain above the jagged horizon before him and the faint appearance of stars began to illuminate the sky. The action of the past few days had prevented him from coming to terms with the enormity of his current situation until that moment. He suddenly felt frozen by the fact that he had travelled through time and space to the Spanish Civil War, and was currently tracking a Colonel of the American Civil War. His mind was awash with thoughts of wonder, doubt, and even a little denial. But the impossibility of it all seemed inconsequential as he sat on a hard wooden bench on the bullet riddled farmhouse veranda.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours, he shook himself from his reverie and focused on the present situation. He rose from the bench and entered the main hall of the farmhouse, where the others were sleeping on thin bedrolls. He moved down the line, lightly kicking their feet to wake them.
“If you want to keep that foot lad,” uttered MacDuff gruffly behind closed eyes, “you’ll keep it to yourself. I’m awake.”
Pierce gave a laugh and kicked it anyway, gaining some chuckles from the other two and then MacDuff himself.
“You’ve got the map and compass Sean, so you take point and head off first,” ordered Pierce as they all emerged from the farmhouse. Despite just waking, they were all alert and ready to ride. “Our destination is Merida.”
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 63
