The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  Nikolas shook his head. “Nothing. Come, I agree, let’s go.” Ben moved a little way to the right to get a better look and then jerked his head back. Nikolas would have saved him the discovery if he could. It was Jonas Terry. Or his skin, anyway. The giant was nailing Jonas to the cabin door. Warning? It was effective if it was. Nikolas heard Ben swallow a few times and put a hand on his back. They edged away from the lip of the hollow. Nikolas eyed the dead sentry, picked up one filthy leg and dragged the body back with them through the mud. When they were well clear of the men’s camp, he stashed him out of sight and covered the tracks as best he could.

  They kept a brisk pace back to the island and called out softly as they approached over the roar of the rain-swollen river. Ulyana Ivanovna and Samuel Terry were standing on the bank waiting for them. Jackson and Lucas were sitting some way away, Lucas digging angrily at the ground with a stick. Ulyana Ivanovna began to cry and talk in a stream of Russian to Nikolas. Ben turned questioningly to Samuel, and he sobbed in a shaky voice, “Sean’s got Emilia. We think he’s going to hand her over.”

  Before Nikolas could voice his fury, Jackson spoke up from his place on the ground. “I told Sean what you told me, that the girl wasn’t to be taken alive.” He looked up despairingly, angrily, at Nikolas. “Fucking hell, man, we’re not all like you! Did you think I could kill a little girl? Shit. I told Sean. I thought he’d be able to if it came to it. Fuck!” He snatched Lucas’s stick off him, as if the irritating digging was the cause of all his problems.

  Nikolas cursed. “This is my fault.”

  One punch, and it had now done so much harm.

  A hand rested on his arm and he raised his eyes to Ben. There was absolutely no accusation in their steady gaze at all, only total trust and approbation. He closed his eyes for a moment, giving thanks yet again for Ben’s unfailing belief in him and set about planning to rescue Emilia. His fault or not, he was the only one who could help her.

  But it was dark, it was thundering down with rain, and he had no idea which way Sands had taken the girl. There was nothing he could do until daylight came.

  § § §

  Sean Sands didn’t know the way to the enemy’s encampment, so he did the only thing he could think of. He dragged the girl deeper into the forest and made a fire. He reckoned they’d be found pretty soon. Emilia lay on the ground, bound tightly around the wrists and secured to him by a cord. Dumb bitch, he hadn’t even had to gag her. It’d been so damn easy. He couldn’t believe what Jackson had told him at first. Kill the girl before she was taken. What the fuck? Who would want a dumb little bitch like her? But then it had all made sense to him. He’d seen her in a whole new light. Seen what all men see.

  They wanted her. That was what this whole fucking nightmare had been for. For one dumb redhead. So, hello? Give her to them! Maybe get a truck, some food…hell, maybe even a ride to the nearest town.

  He’d come back for the others. Jackson, of course. Maybe. Lucas. Possibly.

  Pretty boy.

  But it wasn’t really the kid’s fault. It was his: the giant fucking cunt.

  So, wasn’t this nice little payback?

  Sean grinned and poked the fire, imagining poking Nikolas.

  He’d wanted to fuck up pretty boy. That’d been his plan for revenge—knew that would be as effective as actually getting Nikolas. Hurt one, hurt the other. But pretty boy hadn’t been as easy to get as he’d thought. Even injured, even in pain—and hell, Sean knew pain on a face when he saw it—the English guy had been alert, wary, fast.

  Fucking hell, were they breeding super-fags somewhere?

  No, pretty boy, Benjamin, with his lie-me-down-and-fuck-me eyes wouldn’t be the blond’s karma.

  Red would. And she was going to work just fine. He’d seen the way the Russian watched her. Sheesh, if fags wanted kids they should stop fucking each other up the ass! What do faggot sperm say when they can’t find an egg? “Can’t see for shit in here.” Oh, God, it was priceless. So, Sean knew very well what would hurt the Russian almost as much as his boyfriend going down.

  He poked the fire once more. Would this goddamn rain never stop? He hated this forest almost as much as he hated the Russian. They were sort of the same in his mind sometimes. The menace and size of the damn place and every time you turned around there he was, emerging from the darkness like a character from some dumb horror movie.

  He was doing the kid a favour really. She didn’t want to be stuck up in some damn logging camp with that old witch. She’d be better off here. She’d probably enjoy it, the little freak, with her damn slingshot. At least she didn’t fucking talk. Rubies and pearls and a price beyond measure, his ass. The only woman worth having was a silent one. Open their goddamned mouths and what came out? Pile of shit about your drinking and getting fat. What the hell did they know? Sitting on their useless lazy ass all day while he went out to police all that city shit. Well he’d showed her. Up and got himself a real nice number now. Hey, what’s the difference between a jellyfish and a lawyer? He giggled to himself. One’s a spineless, poisonous blob, the other’s a form of sea life. Ah, you couldn’t make it up. Sean fucking Sands working security for lawyers, the dirtbags. Spend your whole fucking life cleaning up the shit nigger lawyers make and what did they go and do? Went and made one fucking president, that’s what.

  The Russians had the right idea. Man could go far in a place like this. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t take that truck out right away. Maybe he’d stay for a while. Little hunting. Show these wood-dwellers some real God-fearing American hunting shit. But first he had to find them. And not be found by that blond bastard. Because sure as eggs were fucking eggs, Sean knew Nikolas would be coming after them.

  He hunkered down in the rain and mud and cursed his life, his current situation, but most of all, the blond bastard who was the cause of all his woe.

  § § §

  Back on the island, despondency settled over those remaining, which hadn’t been there before, even with the fear they’d already experienced. At least then they’d had purpose, if only running away. Now they could only wait. Ben and Nikolas did the best they could to fix some shelter from the rain, and all six of them huddled in. Ben had never been so grateful he’d made the effort to learn Nikolas’s language, because he doubted Nikolas would say much to him otherwise in such close quarters, and certainly not the things he did say. Ben knew Nikolas was just exhausted, that the one quick hour of sleep he’d managed to seize hadn’t been nearly enough. Exhaustion made him punch drunk and with that came a need to talk, to try perhaps to explain himself to Ben as he’d never done before. He started to tell Ben his theory the men were ex-Soviet army deserters from Afghanistan, but before he’d gone very far, Ben was hearing about some of the things Nikolas had witnessed in that accursed country.

  What had been done to Jonas and Ruben Terry had at least been done by men who perceived they’d nothing left to lose, by men who were themselves victims of a failed system. The Afghan women he’d seen torturing Russian soldiers had no such excuse. Ben didn’t catch all his meaning, as his Danish hadn’t covered these extreme situations, but he got the gist. He sensed what Nikolas was working around to. Nikolas believed what was inside these men was inside him, too, that he’d be like them if he’d not met Ben. And this, unbelievably, led to Nikolas confessing for the first time in six years how much Ben meant to him, how much he needed him. How much he loved him. Exhausted and depressed, Nikolas had no bullshit left, and he told Ben the honest truth, and it didn’t matter whether they were speaking Danish or Russian or any other language, because Nikolas was speaking the language of love. For once, Ben was glad they weren’t alone, for if they had been, they’d have been making love now, and that, in some ways, would detract from this moment. They’d never had a problem with the physical expression of what they felt for one another. But now, stripped of that defence, that distraction, there could only be thought and feeling and expression through words.

  Ben would have responded, wo
uld have confessed some of the things he thought but rarely tried to say, but when he shifted slightly so he could see Nikolas behind him, he discovered Nikolas was asleep. He’d passed out, his arms around Ben, his head resting on Ben’s shoulder. Ben knew in this one moment, despite the horrors they’d endured and the fear of what was to come that he’d never been more content. He’d been wrong when he’d told Nikolas that if he had his way they’d stay in bed forever, making love. It had taken this, this great Russian taiga and all its fearsome power, for Nikolas to finally find his perspective on their relationship.

  When he woke after six hours of deep sleep, Nikolas was his usual self again. He ruffled Ben’s hair and told him he needed a shave. He denied everything he’d said and accused Ben of becoming far too gay for his own good. Ben didn’t care.

  Nikolas was his Morning Star and nothing Nikolas now said or did could lessen the brilliance of his fallen grace.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The rain had completely obliterated any signs of Sean or Emilia. All they could do was assume Sean had retraced their steps to the point where they’d lost Ruben. It was very cold this morning, the taiga reminding them forcibly winter was coming. Frost had whitened the earth; spiders’ webs were crystallised and beautiful, covering the ground. There were four of them tracking Sands, Jackson and Lucas, Ben and Nikolas. Samuel they’d left with Ulyana Ivanovna, who seemed to have aged overnight.

  When they reached the rest place, they began a meticulous search of the area. Nothing.

  Nikolas turned to Ben and said in Danish, “We must go to their camp, if they get the girl they’ll eventually take her there.”

  Ben grabbed his arm and replied desperately, “Eventually! When they’re done with her!”

  “I know, but this forest is vast. If we can’t track her, then we’ll have to go to the cabin and wait until she comes to us.”

  “Let’s go then!”

  “Not you.” He took the hand that was on his arm, then took both Ben’s arms in his and shook him slightly. “You can’t come, Ben. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re limping.”

  Rolling around in the mud with Nikolas the day before hadn’t helped Ben’s leg at all. It was puffy, hot, and he hadn’t had to tell Nikolas that it hurt like hell again—Nikolas could see it in Ben’s strained, pale face. “Go back to the island. Do not wander around on your own looking for her.” Ben gave him one of his special expressions, reserved for Nikolas’s most patronising comments. Nikolas gave him exactly the same one back. They knew each other very well. Nikolas knew that was exactly what Ben had been planning to do. Despite the urgency of the situation, the horror of what could be happening, they smiled at each other, laughing a little.

  Ben poked Nikolas’s chest. “You don’t get to be boss in this relationship anymore. I met the real you last night, remember?”

  Nikolas took the finger. “And he’s still the boss of you, Benjamin, and he always will be.” He bit Ben’s finger until Ben twisted away, laughing again.

  “Promise me, straight back to the island.” Nik was obviously thinking of Jonas, of Ruben, and his face was almost grey with worry.

  Ben nodded. They kissed briefly, entirely unconcerned Jackson and Lucas had been standing there, watching this small exchange. Nikolas told them to run, and the three of them disappeared into the dark, silent forest, toward the cabin.

  § § §

  Ben punched a tree in frustration as he watched the forest swallow the three men.

  He was the fastest, the fittest, and the best fighter of them all (although he didn’t, obviously, share this belief with Nikolas), but he was being reduced to nothing better than dead weight. He couldn’t bear the thought of being left behind again. But then he thought about the girl. What he wanted paled into insignificance compared to what she needed.

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew his leg had become infected once more, and he hadn’t eaten properly for days. He wasn’t fighting the infection. He headed directly back toward the river, emerging a little way along from the island onto the white, frosty ground.

  And that’s when he saw it…something brilliant red on the white ground. Blood? He knelt and then picked it up. It slithered like a little coiled, crimson snake in his fingers. A lock of Emilia’s hair, and it’d been neatly sliced off, perhaps with a surgical blade…perhaps with the surgical blade knife she’d made for herself and wore concealed beneath her jeans, strapped to her thigh.

  He searched the ground, walking out in circles. And there was another, and another some distance away. As easy to see and follow as a blood trail. “Oh, you clever girl,” he murmured. He began to limp as fast as he could, following the trail the desperate girl had left.

  After half an hour the ground began to rise. He could see a rocky outcrop and smell a fire. He crawled to the edge and peered over. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

  § § §

  Sean knew he’d out-smarted the blond fucker when morning light came, and he realised his plan had worked. Two men emerged out of the tree line and stood watching him as he crouched by the fire. They’d clearly seen the girl. Nevertheless, he pulled her to her feet and pushed her out in front of him. He backed off, a clear message he was offering her to them. Now where was his fucking truck? Four wheel drive with sport suspension, if they could swing…well, huh…

  This was the first time Sands had seen these men for himself.

  He twitched his nose and hefted his belt a little.

  He’d pictured Boyd Crowder with a funny Russian accent.

  This wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

  Very carefully, he began to back away as they approached the girl.

  They must have been about his age, but they were prematurely aged by hardship and savagery. One of them was smiling at the girl, and his teeth were broken and green. They were wearing skins and fur with a few articles of barely recognisable former clothing. He could smell them from the edge of the clearing. Sean reckoned he’d been a little optimistic about the truck.

  It occurred to him a split second later that he should have maybe focused on the skinning-alive thing.

  As soon as he reached the trees, he turned to run. A man was standing right behind him, grinning. The last things Sean remembered seeing were teeth: rotten and black and stinking.

  § § §

  Sean Sands returned to consciousness and to pain. He jerked his eyes open. He was lying on his side in the clearing. The three men who’d come for the girl were squatting around him about ten feet away. One of them had the kid, her bright crimson hair twisted around his hand. Sean staggered to his feet and put a hand to his head. He was bleeding. “Hey, guys, you’ve got the girl, yeah?”

  It was like trying to reason with one of the dark pines that towered around the clearing. One man tipped his head to the side, studying him. There was nothing in his eyes Sean could read, and he’d been reading gangbangers and grifters for over forty years. He started to edge away once more, and they watched for a while, until he turned to run, and then something caught him a stinging blow to his head. He whirled around. Two men were on their feet, cheering their companion, who was holding the kid’s slingshot. Sean backed off again, tripped over a root, and as he was scrabbling to his feet, another rock shot off the slingshot. This one caught him on the bridge of his nose, shattering it. It was agony. He tried to howl but got a lungful of blood, which he began to spit out. The next stone caught him above the ear. He went down again. They were circling around him, the girl being pulled along by her hair, resisting. If he could make it into the forest, only two of them would be able to follow. As if reading his mind, the next shot took him on the knee. He felt his kneecap shatter, and he went down again. He held up his hands to protect his face and caught a stinging blow on his knuckles. He looked up despairingly, and for one brief moment wished he could see the blond giant coming through the darkness to rescue him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ben could see Sean Sands on his hands and knees, blood c
overing his face. It was as bright as Emilia’s hair, which was wound like a coil of crimson rope around one of the men’s hands. As he watched, he saw this man suddenly jerk to one side and yell something to the others. He held up his bleeding hand, incredulous. Emilia fell back on the ground, scrabbling to get away, her little stabbing knife in her hand. Ben groaned. She’d drawn their attention away from their sport with Sean to her. All three men began to circle her. One darted a hand out and pulled at her jacket. She stabbed at him, but he pulled it off her shoulder. Another came from behind and finished the job, waving the captured jacket like a flag around his head. They were well into this new game now: strip the girl. She rose into a crouch, her tiny knife ready.

  They could have disarmed her in a moment, but it was more fun to leave the kitten her claws, more challenge. One made a feint, she went for it; he got hold of her T-shirt and yanked it. She caught him across the wrist, and he pulled away, screaming and laughing and showing the cut to the others. She gathered her ripped T-shirt and made stabbing motions at them all. One, the biggest of the three, the one who’d held her hair, came closer. His hands were at his belt, undoing it. Her eyes tracked the motions of the hands like a broken-winged bird watching a circling cat. Her courage failed her, and the hand holding the little knife began to shake. The men were laughing, all now beginning to undo their belts, but Ben came out of the tree line and took the biggest man down. He was nothing more than a ghost of a shape so fast did he move, but the sound of a neck snapping was audible and very real across the open space.

  Ben rose to his feet, his teeth a feral snarl, and he went for the second man. He stabbed toward the throat, but the man brought up his arm at the last moment and deflected the blow, catching a terrible cut across his face. Ben yelled at Emilia, “Run! Run, Emilia. Don’t stop. Run, now!” She obeyed him. She scrambled to her feet, dodged the man who tried to catch her and disappeared into the darkness. It swallowed her whole, and then there was just Ben and the two heavily armed men, and he could barely stand. He went for the injured man again, and they rolled. He felt the other one kicking him in the back, an arm around his throat trying to pull him off. The smell was incredible. It made him gag. Something hit him hard in the back. He had the other man in a headlock now. The savage eyes were bulging. The second man was bending to pick up his axe. Ben increased the pressure on the man’s neck but had to dodge the axe, and the man staggered to his feet, choking. They both came for him.