Bolan and Steven stared uncertainly at the land about them, already the sting being taken out of the sun and the light fading into semi-dusk and smudging the distant mountains. ‘He’s right,’ said Bolan. ‘If we make a fire we do it close to the bus.’
And the two of them trotted hastily after Wade.
13
The Devil Behind, His Dogs out Front
The woman trained her binoculars on the tiny, silvery speck of the coach. It was barely visible because of the effects of the shimmering heat and the glare of the dying sun slanting in her direction as it continued sinking lower into a thin strands of wispy clouds that burned a fiery orange, and hovering spectrally just above the point where the land blurred into the heavens. It looked like the sky had caught fire, but she knew it would be short lived. Soon night would be upon the land, and that was a dangerous time to be abroad.
She slipped the binoculars into the case that hung from her belt, picked up her backpack and slipped her arms through the straps, adjusting its weight. She checked her watch. Twenty minutes tops before it was as black as hell. The dark didn’t bother her too much, for her confidence was boosted by the night-vision goggles she carried in the backpack. But the creatures bothered her immensely. The bonesnappers, as they were affectionately known. Night was when they emerged from their underground lairs, searching for food, fired by a savage bloodlust horrifying to witness. She’d seen what damage they could do first hand. So no, she didn‘t want to be caught out in the open regardless as to how well she might be able to see them coming with her night-vision equipment. You might see them, but if they came at you in a pack you were virtually defenceless against them. Even with her L85A1 assault rifle and large amount of spare ammunition magazines she carried with her she knew she wouldn’t last long without finding some kind of place to hole up. Once committed the bonesnappers rarely gave up until whatever it was they hunted had been chased down and killed. Sometimes, it seemed, they’d do it just for the fun of it.
Her camouflaged combat fatigues had been specially designed for, and were perfectly suited, to this particular environment. Her lightweight metal helmet, equipment belts and pouches, the backpack, her assault rifle, even her close-fitting boots, had all been given the same dusty-grey camouflage treatment. It helped – the bonesnappers didn’t have a great sense of smell, but their eyes were keen, especially so at night, so anything that helped her stay hidden from sight was more than welcome.
She quickly checked over her gun, removed and put back the 30-round magazine, more out of habit than a desperate need, as she’d already performed the necessary checks a number of times already. But her weapon was her life. Without it, or if it malfunctioned, she was dead. Out here she was on her own, no backup. That’s just the way it was. But these excursions into the Heights didn’t get any better. If anything the tension cranked up even more with every trip till she felt physically sick with the nerves.
So why put yourself through this, she thought?
Because you’re the best, she told herself, not out of some kind of misplaced vanity, but because it was true. Everyone vouched for it. But that made her even more valuable, and some were reluctant to let her go in. What would happen to all they’d worked for if anything happened to her? Think of the consequences. Sure, she did, often. No, scratch that – all the time. It never left her mind. But she had to do it. They knew she had to do it, too. So she just got over the nerves and went in and they let her go. What else could they do?
She heard the sound of the trucks before she saw them. A faint, dull sound, like rolling thunder in a faraway land, bouncing off the mountains behind her, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sounds were coming from.
She dropped to her knee, making herself as small as possible, snatching the binoculars from out of the pouch and scanning the horizon where the jagged mountains were assuming a purple, bruise-coloured aspect.
The sound faded and it fell quiet again.
Had she imagined it? Surely her entry into the Heights hadn’t been detected. She’d spent a great deal of time and effort working on new systems to help block evidence of their incursions to the outside world. No one should know she was here. How on earth had they managed to spot her?
Don’t get too excited, she told herself. Maybe it is my imagination after all. This business screwed your mind something terrible the longer it went on, and let’s face it, girl, she thought, you’ve been at this longer than most. How many missions is it now? Christ, too many to count.
She heard the sounds again. Yes, definitely the rolling of heavy vehicles. Somewhere out there. But where?
She soon spotted them. Two large trucks – armoured personnel carriers, she thought – kicking up dust and headed in her direction. Two miles away, a tad more, she reckoned.
Hell, they picked their time. Ordinarily she’d have lain low for a while, gone to ground, but night was not far away, with all the danger that brought. And then there was the coach. She couldn’t have them discover her real purpose here. If they knew Samuel Wade was her next target then it would all be over for him. The only thing she could do was lead them away from the area, from the coach, but that meant revealing herself to them and hoping she could outwit them and return when the time was right. More than that, she also had to find cover before the bonesnappers came out of hiding. That was cutting things fine. She had hoped to get to Wade sooner, take care of him and get back home. All neatly done and wrapped up. Another one in the bag. And certainly get it all over and done with before anyone locked onto her presence and showed up.
Well the best laid plans, and all that, she thought…
She shouldered her weapon, went over to a battered, dust-covered motorcycle and sat astride it, gunning the engine. It growled powerfully as she gave it some throttle.
Okay, boys, time for a game of cat and mouse, she thought, pulling down the goggles from the helmet and fixing them over her eyes. With a backward glance at the sun as it hovered over the darkening land she opened the throttle and the bike raced over the uneven land towards the two trucks, riding the rise and fall of the ground as if she were on a jet-ski ploughing through angry waves.
As she got to within a mile from the two trucks she turned on her bike’s lights and pulled up in a cloud of dust, a hail of stones flying from her tyres. She waited, the purr of the engine the only sound to break the silence. Come on, she thought, you’ve got to have seen me by now.
With a satisfied chuckle she saw the first truck turn towards her, its headlights also turned on and flashing like twin beacons as the vehicle rode the peaks and troughs of the harsh landscape. She heard the muffled roar of their engines as the occupants hit the gas pedals.
Now her nervousness gave way to exhilaration as she swivelled the bike round and shot off at right angles. They followed, as she knew they would, but they’d not be able to catch her if she could maintain this breakneck speed without hitting some kind of boulder or gully and coming off, trashing both the bike and herself in the process.
She checked the makeshift compass fixed to the bike’s instrument panel and gave it all she dared, looking back every now and again to check on her pursuers’ progress. They’d taken the bait and were headed away from the coach. That much was good. But the dusk was quickly giving way to full-blown night, and the motorbike’s headlight was not going to be enough to navigate by with any degree of safety. She came to a hasty stop and drew out her night-vision goggles from her backpack. Not the easiest things to wear and ride a bike with, she thought, but it sure as hell beats breaking both legs if she hit an unseen obstacle and came off.
She turned them on. The world was transformed into one of blacks and greys, the land clearly visible for miles around, the shrubs and thickets showing up like crouched spirits rising from the underworld. Stars pricked the night sky, twinkling energetically as if getting excited by the chase playing out beneath them.
The bike raced on, its engine roaring, the woman fighting to maintain her seat as sh
e hit a gully and sped up an incline at the other end, the wheels of the bike lifting into the air momentarily as she mounted the steep bank.
She was gradually putting a little distance between them, she thought with satisfaction, and turned off the bike’s headlights. No doubt they’d have night-vision capability as well, and sniper capability, but the small shape the bike made against the desert would make their job difficult, especially if she could increase the gap even further.
What really worried her at this moment in time, however, weren’t the two trucks; it was the thought of bonesnappers. They could run as fast as a cheetah if they had a mind, and on this terrain they might be able to outrun even the motorbike. What’s more, if they came at her in a pack, from both sides, she wouldn’t know anything about it until they were on her and ripping out her throat. The entrances to their underground lairs were everywhere. For all she knew she could be riding straight towards one now and never even know it. That terrified her. But what the hell could she do?
With the devil behind her, and his dogs somewhere out in front, the woman gritted her teeth and bent her head low over the bike’s petrol tank, swallowing down the fear that rose hot and sour in her throat.
14
The Pits of Hell
‘See? More lights!’ said Steven Lindsey, pointing and almost dancing on the spot. ‘You see them?’
Sure he saw them. Headlights? Could have been some kind of vehicle riding the uneven ground, Samuel Wade thought, peering into the dark. Difficult to say at this distance.
‘It’s gone now,’ he said, ‘whatever it was.’
‘Then we’ve got to light this fire,’ Steven said, racing about to gather up what little brushwood he could find, mainly the dried husks of the thorny grey bushes that grew in abundance. It was a puny attempt at a bonfire, Wade thought, but he refrained from saying anything to dent the youth’s enthusiasm.
Night had fallen fast. One minute the sky seemed to hover on the edge of dusk, and in an instant it was pitch-black out there. The cold came with the night, the heat disappearing almost immediately. People’s breaths came out in telltale clouds as they first welcomed the change in temperature, relishing the cooling air, and quickly began to shiver with the intense cold that followed. They abandoned their joint staring at the twinkling, faraway lights in favour of the relative warmth of the bus. Only Steven Lindsey, Martin Bolan and Samuel Wade remained outside, Wade watching the young man piling up the few sticks he could find. Bolan bent down to give him a hand.
Wade glanced to the sky. The stars were sharp and bright. Then he frowned. He couldn’t locate a single constellation that he knew. Not even the friendly blink of the North Star. In fact it was as if the entire map of the night sky had been stirred into chaos by a mischievous god’s celestial spoon. The discovery sent a fresh shiver down his entire length, and it had nothing to do with the encroaching cold.
‘You could give us hand,’ Bolan said to Wade, disturbing his thoughts. ‘It’s worth having a go. The kid’s right. Whoever it is out there might see us and come to our rescue.’
Wade wasn’t so sure. He’d had an uneasy feeling ever since he first saw the blinking lights. Something gnawed at his guts. Why the hell did all this feel so damn familiar?
Yes, that’s right – familiar. Like he’d been through some of this before. The insane stranding of a bus in the middle of an alien landscape, the long road, even his fellow passengers – each of them leaked inexplicable familiarity. He stared wordlessly into Martin Bolan’s enquiring eyes. He’d known this man less than twenty-four hours and yet he felt he’d known him a lifetime. How could that be?
‘The lights could have been anything,’ Wade said. ‘I’ve seen the desert play all sorts of tricks on the mind.’
‘If one person had seen them then I might have agreed,’ Bolan said, ‘but unless we’re all party to mass hallucination then I think we should give it a shot.’
Wade shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
Bolan glanced at Steven as Wade went back to scanning the dark. There was nothing to differentiate where land ended and sky began, except for the stars. The darkness was complete. And Wade didn’t like the idea of them being outside the bus one tiny bit. He could almost sense something was stirring with the coming of the night. A mindless malevolence that was in the process of emerging from whatever hellish pit it had spent avoiding the heat of the day.
Steven had stuffed screwed-up balls of newspaper into the tiny pyre. ‘Has anyone got a lighter? Matches?’ he said breathlessly.
Bolan blinked. ‘Damn – no, I don’t smoke.’ He dashed onto the bus. ‘Anyone got any matches or a cigarette lighter?’
There was a universal murmuring of no. Keith Hartshorn was keeping quiet. His girlfriend Cheryl was sitting scrunched up against the window, gazing vacantly out into the night.
‘We ought to eat,’ said Paul Kennedy tiredly. ‘I though we were about to share out the food.’
‘We’re going to light the fire, see if we can attract attention,’ Bolan said. ‘Mr Hartshorn – you’re keeping quiet. Have you got any matches?’
‘Maybe,’ he returned sullenly. ‘I’m with this guy here when he says we ought to eat. If you don’t share out the food then I’ll do it myself. People are starving in here while you and Captain Mainwaring are out there are playing Davey Crocket, king of the wild frontier.’
‘We’ll eat just as soon as we can,’ Bolan said. ‘You want to be rescued or not?’
With a low growl that issued from deep within his throat, Hartshorn pulled out a lighter. Don’t go mad with it – it’s all I have and I’d like a cigarette with my meal, if you don’t mind?’
‘Fine,’ said Bolan, dashing back outside and bending to the small bonfire.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Wade quietly without looking at the man.
‘I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of here,’ Bolan said, flicking the small plastic lighter into life. He put the flame to the edge of a piece of newspaper.
‘Seriously,’ said Wade, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Whatever killed the bus driver is still out there. Those tracks mean those animals have been in this area, and might still be out there.’
‘Then a fire might keep them away. That’s what happens, isn’t it? Wild animals don’t like fire.’ He fanned the flames, watching them spread out across the paper.
‘This is something different…’ said Wade.
‘And how’d you know that?’
Okay, so he didn’t know. It was a deep-seated hunch that clawed at his stomach. Or maybe he was letting everything get to him. His senses honed to battleground sharpness again as he struggled to comprehend and contend with the mind-numbing challenges facing him – facing them all. His world flipped upside down. Even the bloody stars, those arbiters of sameness, of tranquil harmony, were out to confound him.
Hartshorn came to the bus’s door. ‘Are we gonna eat, or what?’
‘Yeah, we’ll eat,’ said Wade. ‘In a minute or two.’
‘Our stomachs are scratching the floor back here,’ Hartshorn said. ‘Well sod you, I’ll sort it out myself.’ He went to the driver’s cab where Bolan had stored the carrier bag filled with the food and drink they’d collected earlier.
‘Leave it, Hartshorn,’ Wade said.
‘Play your games if you want to, but I’m famished and I’m gonna eat. Tell you what, I’ll take back what I gave you. I’ll eat my own stuff and to hell with all this boy-scout, all-for-one crap. It’s your own damn faults if you didn’t bring anything with you.’
‘Damn you, Hartshorn,’ said Wade, pounding up through the doors and grabbing hold of Hartshorn’s wrist. ‘Put the bag down. We’ll eat soon.’
The bonfire began to take hold, the flames flickering quickly through the dry tinder. Steven Lindsey whooped with a kind of primitive joy.
‘She’s going!’ he said.
Hartshorn tried to yank his wrist free and the contents of the carrier bag spilled on the floo
r of the bus.
‘Hell, can’t you give it a rest, just the once, Hartshorn?’ Paul Kennedy called from his seat. ‘You’re not the only one on this bus that’s tired, hungry and scared!’
Hartshorn was sifting through the fallen items. He picked up a bag of crisps and two chocolate bars. ‘These are mine, and I’m going to eat them whether you like it or not!’
Wade punched the man in the face and he tumbled backwards, clutching the point of contact, his eyes wide with surprise.
‘I said put it down,’ Wade ordered. ‘We’re all going to share.’
‘Yeah?’ said Hartshorn, rubbing his cheek. He glowered at the rest of the passengers, who stared straight back at him. ‘You see what kind of man he is?’ he said. ‘You see that? He thinks he can order us around, do what he likes to us. Well when we get back I’m going to sue your arse off you for GBH you bastard!’ He held up the food. ‘These are mine!’ he said, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘Cheryl, come here!’ he demanded. She appeared reluctant to leave her seat. ‘I said come here!’
‘Why, Keith? I mean, why can’t we share our food with everyone else?’ she said.
‘You get over here at once!’
She demurely walked down the aisle of the bus, pausing before Hartshorn. ‘What are you going to do, Keith? Come and sit down, let me take a look at that cheek…’
‘I don’t need a fucking nurse! We’re leaving!’
‘What?’ Cheryl said. ‘We can’t leave!’
‘Well I’m not staying here with this madman. It’s not as hot now, we can walk, find our own way out of this crap. Head out towards those lights we saw. Maybe there’s a town out there. This guy just gives me the creeps.’
‘That’s foolish, Hartshorn, and you know it,’ said Wade, his knuckles throbbing from where they’d crashed into the bone of Bolan’s swelling cheek. He’d regretted doing it, but it was too late now. He’d let his temper get the better of him yet again. But he failed to convince himself he was doing it for the good of the group; it had felt good to land one on Hartshorn. He shouldn’t have let go of his self control like that, and he could see from the worried expressions levelled in his direction that he was fast alienating himself, in spite of his best intentions.
Armageddon Heights (a thriller) Page 12
