“What! No! I knew it was yours! You swapped because of the bath! Mum told me! Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Only, I recognised you right away—back at the airport. I went to see Finding Peace three times. I’ve got the cover you did for…I wanted to take some photos—Jesus, do you know how much I could get for a photo of Ben Rider in bed with a man?” He seemed to sense he’d said the wrong thing and added hastily, “But you were alone.”
Ben bent over Lars, up close and personal. “You creepy little fuck. You touched me up.”
Nikolas roused from contemplation of his hand. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It wasn’t relevant. I thought it was a ghost.”
“I—I—Look, I’ve come here to warn you!”
“Warn us about what? So far you’ve really made things better!”
“The old man. The American. He’s gonna put you out. In one of the huts. The meat locker, which is metal and has a secure door. Convinced my mum you probably killed my dad as well. That you’re gonna kill us all. But the hut—it’s…You’d freeze to death.”
“Like Penny Cooper?”
Lars hung his head. “I tried to dress her again, to keep her warm, but she was already…Oh, fuck. This is all my fault. I only wanted to help my mum and dad.”
Ben paced away from the self-pitying scene. He wasn’t really angry about the fingers on his cock. He knew what the real horror was, but he didn’t want to think about that.
He didn’t know anything about rabies either.
Nikolas had fallen twice coming back to the hotel. Was a virus already eating at his brain? Was there a cure? All Ben knew about rabies was that large St. Bernards got it from bats. Suddenly, his taste in books didn’t seem nearly so useful.
“There’s a vaccine, yes?” Ben asked. Both Nikolas and the boy looked up at him, frowning, so he added to clarify his thought process, “Rabies! Treatment? Something?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s incurable once you’ve got it. And you foam at the mouth and run away when people offer you water?” He apparently decided to shut up again and looked uneasily at the open grill. “I need to go.”
“Yeah, so do we.” Ben began to move toward the opening, but the young man held his hand out to stop him.
“No. There’s nowhere to hide they wouldn’t find you. I was thinking…let them put you out in the locker. I’ll hide everything you need inside with the spare key.”
“Need? Need for what? To do what?”
Lars appeared to think what needed to be done was obvious. “Escape. To the town.”
Ben swallowed.
Nikolas suddenly stood up. “Yes. That’s an excellent plan. I think it’s time we left here.”
Ben glanced between them. “You’re both mad. We can’t reach the town on foot from here. We don’t even know the way.”
“No! See, that’s what I was thinking—there’s a GPS in the Hagglund. Take it with you. And it’s shorter on foot the direct route. We always drive in the scenic way for guests. It’s only, maybe…I don’t know…an hour? Maybe half that for you guys.”
They heard voices outside the door.
The boy slithered into the grill. Nikolas knelt to push the cover back, but he couldn’t lift it. Ben did it for him and knew he didn’t need to point out that Nikolas’s incapacity hardly added veracity to his enthusiasm about the escape plan.
He told him anyway in a furious whisper in Danish as the door swung open and George and Mattie Mayberry came in holding guns on them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nikolas watched the strange scene play out as if he were an actor in the wings, waiting to step forward on cue. Dissociated wasn’t something he’d experienced often before—he hadn’t had the luxury of ever not having to be hyperaware of his surroundings. Sure, he usually wasn’t concentrating on what other people were so insistent upon, not really listening to conversations, not taking in movies he was supposed to be, always somewhere a little off to one side, thinking his own thoughts, living his own more unique life. But even asleep, he was more alert to what was happening around him than he seemed to be now.
He’d started feeling ill in the Hagglund. Why not? He’d almost had his arm ripped off—which was the story he’d begun to form in his mind to tell Miles and Emilia; how Ben had pulled his arm out of the bear’s mouth and then reattached it with his sneaky SAS skills. Emilia wouldn’t believe any of it, obviously, but Miles would. Miles had done an extensive study on DIY surgery through YouTube and was a goldmine of very interesting and useful information on things that could be done with a Swiss army knife and dental floss. And safety pins.
Nikolas wished Miles were here. He could ask him how long it took to die of rabies.
Rabies.
Fuck.
It was so…disappointingly American.
Why couldn’t he have got a decent, civilized, European ailment?
Ben was considering the two people with guns, deciding if it was better to take them out here and now or wait until they were out of the confined room. Nikolas could tell this simply by the way Ben held his body, the way his eyes scanned and assessed, weighed and measured.
He braced himself for Ben to make his move, to back him up, but then things became a little fuzzy, and he didn’t hear or see the explosive movement of Ben Rider going into action, which he was looking forward to.
He was a little puzzled, therefore, because Ben wouldn’t normally see an old man and a woman with a broken nose as much of a threat, even with guns. Then it occurred to him that Ben was holding back for him. He frowned and gave himself a once over and concluded that he was horizontal and not on the bed, which led him to suspect he may have fallen over.
The next thing he knew, he had a superb view of Ben’s backside. Upside down, albeit, but still, worth the uncomfortable position slung over his shoulder. He’d always known Ben was strong, but hell, he didn’t think he could carry himself down these stairs. And that thought started him chuckling, which earned him a hissed, “Fucking hell! What happened? You fainted. Are you all right?”
As there were no grammatical errors in this he concluded Ben had spoken in English. Ben’s Danish was one of Nikolas’s secret amusements. It was like subtitles on an illegally downloaded movie—something you could vaguely understand, but missing the nuance of any accuracy whatsoever. He replied in kind, “Passed out, I think. Girls faint. Put me down, Ben.”
Ben levered him carefully to the ground, and that’s when Nikolas saw the guns still expertly levelled at them. He and Ben exchanged a brief glance and confirmed by that tiny contact that actually doing anything about this situation was, as yet, impossible. This wasn’t fiction—you didn’t disarm someone standing a good distance away from you who was armed and clearly very willing and able to shoot you.
Ben sat down next to him on the bottom stair and asked George Mayberry in a neutral voice, “What now? Why all this? You killed him in self-defence. Anyone can see that.”
Nikolas snorted. “Premeditated. Trust me.”
Ben turned his head slowly and Nikolas winced. He added unconvincingly, “But the authorities will clearly see it as self-defence, I agree.”
George Mayberry waved the gun in the direction of the front door.
Ben regarded the old man and the weapon for a moment longer. “No.”
Mayberry considered him just as carefully and pulled the trigger. A piece of the wooden wall to one side of Ben’s head exploded, his face catching the splinters, blood immediately beginning to seep down his cheek. Nikolas surged to his feet, but to his complete dismay, he discovered he was still sitting exactly where Ben had put him. He tried again, but nothing. He raised a shaky hand to Ben’s face, but Ben shook him off. “I’m okay.”
Mayberry indicated with the gun once more.
“My friend needs to get to a hospital. He may have…he’s sick…”
“I sure hope he is. Man looks like that and ain’t sick’d be a worrying thing. Strip.”
Ben jerked
his attention from Nikolas to the old man. He didn’t need to ask for that last command to be repeated—the incredulity in his expression said it all.
“You want me to demonstrate my ability to use this gun again? Won’t be a little trickle going down your face, pretty boy. I said strip—not you.” Mayberry waved the gun to cover Nikolas for a moment. “You look about as dangerous as roadkill.”
Nikolas wasn’t sure whether this was an opportunity or an insult, so he leant to one side and vomited instead of thinking, and then sank his head into his hands while Ben complied with the old man’s demands.
He knew that he was really sick now—and it wasn’t the vomit that had given it away either. He didn’t take the chance to watch Ben Rider strip. It was the first time in…how many years had they been together? He began to try and work it out, but the next thing he knew he was being gently woken, and Ben was pulling him once more to his feet.
“Why are you in your shorts? It’s cold in here.”
Ben gave him an odd look. “Come on.”
“I don’t need to be carried.”
Ben nodded but held onto his arm, leading him across the lobby toward the front of the hotel.
The doors suddenly blew open, and Claire came through, bundled and steaming from the cold. “They ready? Why’s he like that?”
Mayberry replied, “Wanted him disabled like the other one. Easiest way. Fetch his clothes. Don’t aim for him to freeze to death.”
She nodded absentmindedly. “Have you seen my son?”
“Nope. Move.” Mayberry waved his gun yet again, and Ben guided Nikolas through the airlock and out into the polar night. Ben immediately drew in a huge, sharp breath at the intense cold on his bare skin. The shock of the temperature woke Nikolas a little too, shook him out, and made him focus. He pulled his arm from Ben’s shaking hold and pushed him a little to make him move faster.
Nikolas had to admit that a meat locker always had ambience. He liked atmospheric places. He preferred being the person who chose them though. As soon as they were forced over the threshold, Ben’s clothes landed in a heap behind them. He needed help getting them on, and as Nikolas was trying his best to do this one-handed, the door shut and they heard it being locked. Ben took over his own dressing, but Nikolas could feel that Ben’s frozen hands were almost useless. But he could also sense Ben’s rage, which was fuelling him in other ways, keeping him strong. “Help me find my lighter.”
Ben began to rummage through Nikolas’s jacket and eventually they had a small illumination in the freezing container.
In the corner, under a tarp, they found the spare key, a couple of flashlights and two sets of narrow, cross-country skis and boots. Poles had been tossed hastily to one side. Lars had apparently considered that this was all they would need.
Nikolas put his hand on Ben’s arm. “I’m okay. We can do this.”
Ben gritted his teeth and replied with a clenched jaw, “You’ve fainted twice. You’ve thrown up. You’re running a temperature and you’re shaking.”
“Maybe. But I’m also dying, Ben, and I’d like to get to a hospital.”
Ben bit his lip. “This can’t be happening to us again.”
Nikolas started to exchange his boots one-handed. “Help me. Please. In half an hour or so it won’t be happening. We’ll be in Longyearbyen. Quite safe.”
“Nikolas…” Ben fixed the last boot and began helping with the skis.
“Hmm…?”
“You do realise that you’re being rational? Helpful? Polite? Calm?”
Nikolas frowned, watching Ben working on his own skis. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying! Nothing is wrong.”
Ben didn’t reply. He checked the flashlights and stowed them in his pocket. “Half an hour?”
Nikolas grinned then frowned at the effect this appeared to have on Ben. “Thirty minutes. Come.” He wrinkled his nose. “On.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ben headed straight for the Hagglund, following the trail they’d made returning from it. He didn’t use the flashlight until they were well past the hotel. Ignoring the grizzly remains still decorating the snow, he removed the GPS unit from the dashboard.
He did all of this on autopilot, his mind spinning dizzily between possibilities. He considered leaving Nikolas safe in the Hagglund and going alone to Longyearbyen to fetch help. But his experience with the police in Denmark had made an indelible impression on him. He foresaw hours of questioning before anyone took him seriously, the whole time Nikolas would be…
He rejected that plan. They stayed together.
He pondered returning to the hotel and taking George fucking Mayberry out of the equation. He could do it, of course. But there was the tiny sliver of a chance that he might be injured in the process. His ear was still ringing from the shot that had embedded in the wall inches from his face. A deliberate shot from a range of twenty or so feet—George Mayberry was clearly an expert marksmen. Ben couldn’t afford to be disabled. Not now. He was the only thing standing between Nikolas and…
So there was no alternative.
Thirty minutes? One hour?
Flat snow and ice.
They had the GPS now, and he could see Longyearbyen on it…
But…Ben glanced over at Nikolas. He was chatting pleasantly to Nils. It really didn’t bode well. Nikolas appeared…intoxicated, like a man on the verge of insensibility trying to convince everyone he was entirely sober. He walked with a swinging, off-balance gait. He was switching between languages without apparently noticing. And then there was the falling over thing.
Lastly, of course, there was the bear.
Ben hadn’t forgotten their new friend.
He didn’t know much about polar bears, but Ben was fairly sure they could smell blood.
“Leave Nils be, Nik. You’ll get him on your skis.”
Nikolas stepped daintily away.
But on the plus side, Nikolas had been born on skis. He was superbly fit and strong, and he did seem very motivated to get to the town.
Ben had never enjoyed situating appreciations in the army—weighing factors, listing options, deciding on a plan. He’d been a grunt—let the officers earn their money. But this was different. This was visceral and real, and Nikolas’s life hung in the balance. Which option got Nikolas to a hospital first? This one. It was a no-brainer. They had to do it.
“Come on. Just follow me.”
“Okey dokey.”
§§§
They’d been skiing for about half an hour when Ben knew they’d picked up a companion.
It tracked alongside them about fifty feet away, parallel to their route, as if it was going to Longyearbyen on business and had decided to join them for their pleasant company.
Ben glimpsed it more as a moon shadow on the blue-black landscape than an actual thing, but he knew it was there nevertheless. He didn’t mention it to Nikolas. Nikolas had seen enough of this bear, up close and personal, and didn’t need the distraction.
He also hadn’t told Nikolas what else he’d discovered in the Hagglund. It had occurred to him when he’d first seen the guns that if they had rifles for bears at the hotel it wasn’t inconceivable that they had them in the vehicle as well. He’d almost convinced himself that this was why Nils had stopped and opened the door—to shoot the bear. He hadn’t found a gun, but he had acquired a flare pistol and six cartridges.
Nikolas had halted again.
His need for rest periods was concerning. Half an hour should have seen them there, and yet they didn’t seem to have moved at all according to the tiny screen Ben was following. He didn’t want to push Nikolas too fast. It broke his heart to see the stoic expression on the pale features, to lay a frozen hand on his burning forehead and have it shaken off with a throwaway comment Ben couldn’t understand because Nikolas, in his fever, had reverted entirely to Russian. They needed water, but the boy had not thought to provide any. As soon as they stopped like this, the bitter cold seeped back in, despite the warm
th they generated by skiing. Ben squatted alongside Nikolas, two dark shapes in the endless night, and laid a hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“Ben?”
Ben started, lost in his own terrifying thoughts. “Shh. Just rest.”
“No, I want to tell you about my will. I’ve been thinking I must tell you, because you won’t think to—”
“Shut up.”
“See, that is what I—”
“Nik…”
“No, don’t Nik me. This is important. It’s all yours—when I’m gone.”
“Shut up. You’re not going anywhere.”
“There’s no cure, Ben. I don’t think anyone has ever survived. I’ve been trying to remember and other than someone they packed into ice, I don’t think—Only eight people in the whole world have survived. ”
“I mean it! Shut up or—” Something moved a little out of range of his full vision, and Ben turned his head slowly, squinting. He laid his palm over Nikolas’s mouth and sensed a tension flow between them. He slid his other hand inside his jacket, and he eased out the loaded flare gun.
The bear didn’t charge. It sauntered up.
It swaggered into their huddle as if they’d invited it to join them for the rest.
Ben had no idea what was the best thing to do—shoot at the creature, attempt to hit it? Or would that only piss it off and make it attack? He desperately missed Nikolas, which was intensely worrying, as he actually had Nikolas’s shoulder under his other hand.
In the end, he fired the flare over the bear’s head. There was a huge whoosh, the gun kicked back in his hand, and a stab of pain shot through his head as the intense light illuminated the scene before he instinctively shut his eyes. Residual white light flared in the privacy of his personal darkness. He could hear his heart, his pulse thumping overly-fast, and then he opened his eyes.
The flare was sizzling, twisting and flicking around on the ice like a demented firework, but there was no bear. He stowed the gun. Five flares left.
He hauled Nikolas to his feet. “You okay?”
Nikolas nodded, but his legs seemed to give out on him, and he fell back onto the ice. Ben bent and caught him under the arms, helping him to stand once more. He touched their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, baby, but you have to stay on your feet. Please.”
John Wiltshire - [More Heat Than the Sun 07] Page 13
