“Across there then back against the wall, Wiggo. They know where we are now. And my guess is they’ve just told the beastie’s rider our location. We’ve got thirty seconds to get the fuck out of here.”
They crossed the chamber at a full-out run into the alley directly opposite, Banks slowing just long enough to leave another horizontal gouge on the wall. They’d made maybe thirty yards in when another bellow from the crowd rang out and the raptor’s roar came from behind them; the beast was at the central chamber and on their trail.
Wiggins had got the idea now, leading and heading right, marking the walls as they went. The roar of the raptor faded behind them then got louder again; the rider had taken a wrong turn then corrected it. Banks wondered if the youth on the back of the raptor was smart enough to see their markings on the walls and recognize them for what they were then pushed the thought away; now was no time for second-guessing. He followed Wiggins, both of them running flat-out, clinging close to the right-hand wall.
They came to a tunnel a minute later, the only enclosed area they’d come across so far. The far end was only dimly visible thirty, maybe forty yards ahead. Wiggins headed in but Banks shouted him back, slowing to a walk.
“Careful, Wiggo,” he said. “Just because we haven’t seen any booby traps yet doesn’t mean there aren’t any. My gut’s telling me this isn’t all it seems.”
He was proved right seconds later. At the limit of being able to see as the shadows gathered, they almost stumbled into a staked pit on the floor. A six-inch-wide ledge led around the right side of it, the only way they were going to be able to cross what appeared to be a five-yard wide gap.
Wiggins went first, back to the wall, palms spread on the stone, sidling along the ledge as fast as he could manage. Banks waited until the corporal was at the halfway point then started after him. He’d got as far as putting a foot on the ledge when a shadow moved behind him. He turned as an animal roar filled the tunnel.
The beast had found them.
“Faster, Wiggo,” he said and trusting to luck and balance took the narrow ledge at a half-run, hoping that momentum would carry him across before he fell. Wiggins made the far side safely but Banks started to lose balance when he was still some way short. Evil barbed spikes seemed to look up at him expectantly.
He threw his body forward in a dive as if going off the side of a swimming pool, felt his elbows graze the lip on the far side, then his upper body landed with the crash that shook him from sternum to backbone. His lower body failed to join the top half in getting across and as soon as he landed, he started to slide backwards. Wiggins grabbed his arms and heaved before gravity took over, hauling them both to safety. But the action had overbalanced the corporal who fell onto his backside in the dirt.
Behind them, the raptor, seeing its prey defenseless on the ground, let out another roar that filled the tunnel. Banks got himself turned around and looked back to see the beast, with the rider crouched low on its back, coming at a run towards them.
It reached the rim of the pit of stakes and launched into the air, feet first like a long jumper, talons reaching for Banks’ face.
- 16 -
Hynd followed Wilkins off to the right just inside the canopy. Neither of them spoke. The roars and cheers from the far side of the gate were even clearer here and every so often, he heard an animal roar punctuate the sound from the crowd. The second time that happened there was an answering roar, not from across the gate but from the jungle at Hynd’s back, reminding him, as if it were needed, that they were not alone here in the crater. He hoped Davies had enough sense to keep the WHO group hidden in safety.
Then there was no time for thinking. Wilkins reached a tall tree at the edge of the canopy butted up against the rim wall of the crater. Hynd looked up and saw that the climb was even easier than he’d hoped for. The bark was heavily ridged, like crocodile hide, and there were branches aplenty for handholds. Without waiting for an order, Wilkins went up it at a brisk pace. Hynd followed more sedately, taking care to compensate for the swinging rifle slung across his back.
As he climbed, he saw that they were completely hidden from sight of the gate.
This might just work.
Halfway up, with Wilkins already waiting for him on a sturdy branch higher up, Hynd heard a rustle in the branches below. He made sure he had a firm footing, swung his rifle ‘round, and had taken it all in one seamless movement.
The black-haired doctor was ten feet below him and climbing steadily. The man looked up, saw Hynd staring at him, and grinned.
“I told you,” he said softly. “I can help.”
This was no place for an argument and they had no time for one in any case.
“Just don’t blame me if you get yourself killed. Follow me up. I’ll kick your arse when it’s all over if we’re both still here.”
As soon as Hynd reached Wilkins’ position, the young private inched out along the branch he had been sat on, legs locked at the ankles around the branch, arms pulling him forward. He stripped smaller branches off as he went, smoothing the way for Hynd when it was his turn. The further out Wilkins went, the more the branch drooped. Hynd looked down. The lad still had five feet to go before he would be able to drop and the landing zone looked too small to Hynd’s eye. His confidence was waning by the second.
By the time Wilkins reached a point over the top of the ridge, the branch was creaking alarmingly and was drooped at a thirty-degree angle. Wilkins let his legs free and hung on the end of the branch with his arms. He deliberately caused the branch to bounce twice, testing it for weight.
“If it holds me, it’ll hold you, Sarge,” the private said, just loud enough to be heard.
“As long as my heart holds out,” Hynd replied. “Stop doing that, there’s a good lad.”
“Whatever you say, Sarge,” Wilkins said and without looking down let go of the branch. He fell six feet to the top of the ridge and landed as easily as if he’d stepped off the bottom rung of a ladder. He waved up, motioning that Hynd should follow.
Here goes nothing.
Hynd copied Wilkins’ crawling style, grabbed hold of the branch, and pulled his body forward. The branch felt too springy under him and twice he had to stop because he’d inadvertently created a sympathetic bounce that threatened to throw him out into the air. Five feet from the end of the branch, he felt the dip become more pronounced and the wood creaked beneath him. He looked down. Wilkins smiled up at him and motioned him forward again. The sergeant wasn’t about to let a private get the better of him. He gritted his teeth, ignored the increasing sag of the branch, and inched ahead until he was at a point directly over Wilkins’ head.
He had a bad moment when he let his legs drop and caused another bounce in the branch but his grip held although his heart thudded hard and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that took long seconds to fade. He looked down. Wilkins motioned that he should drop. He couldn’t see a single spot to aim for that looked secure enough for an easy landing. But a private was already down there; a sergeant wasn’t going to hesitate in joining him.
He let go of the branch.
He landed on both feet but his left was too near the edge of the ledge where Wilkins stood. He slid off it. There was only a split second of panic then Wilkins had him ‘round the waist and got him standing upright. They heard a creak overhead; the WHO doctor was already three-quarters of the way along the branch.
“Get behind me and watch my back, Sarge,” Wilkins said quietly. “I’ll get him.”
Hynd sidled tentatively around Wilkins. The private moved around him, lithe and smooth like a dancer, to stand almost directly under where the black-haired doctor was now dangling. The doctor looked down, Wilkins nodded, and the man dropped. He landed as easily as Wilkins himself had and didn’t need any steadying.
“That’s right, show the old man up,” Hynd muttered then turned and led them along the top of the ridge.
The gate was only twenty yards or so ahead. By the time the
y crested a small slope five yards later, they had a clear view along the length of the top level where the platform and winch sat. All six guards had their attention fixed out across the crater. On the other side of the gate, the yells of an excited crowd came clear through the air.
Hynd turned to the other two and made a show of taking out his knife. Wilkins followed suit and the doctor, to both the soldiers’ amazement, produced a thin thing from his pocket. At first, Hynd thought it was a pen but with a click and a flick, it opened into a wicked-looking four-inch blade with a handle. And suddenly, the doctor’s smile didn’t look quite so engaging.
Now it was all going to be down to soft footing, timing, and luck. He hoped all three would hold.
Hynd took the lead; he’d been shown up enough for one day, with Wilkins at his back and the doctor at the rear, hopefully out of harm’s way. They went over the small ridge as quickly as they could manage. With every step, Hynd worried that a dislodged pebble or snapped twig would give them away but also with every step they got closer to the nearest of the guards, all of whom still had all their attention focused down into the crater.
He got almost within reaching distance of his man before the guard must have caught an almost subliminal movement at the corner of his eye. The guard turned. Hynd’s blade took out his throat then plunged deep in his heart. By the time the dead man fell, Hynd was already moving on. He had punched the second guard and pushed past before any of them registered an attack was taking place. He left that man for Wilkins and struck for the third but this one had enough time to get prepared and had his spear raised to defend himself. Hynd was about to attack when there was a soft thud. The doctor’s flick knife seemed to sprout in the man’s neck. He too fell aside, bleeding out as he reached the ground.
The fourth man was hardly a man at all, a youth who couldn’t have been much more than fifteen. His spear came up too slow and Hynd had his throat open and his heart stopped before he made another move.
The fifth was made of sterner stuff. He saw Hynd’s thrust coming, knocked it aside with his spear head, and made a countering thrust of his own that would have skewered Hynd if he hadn’t managed to move aside at the last second. But that same movement had him off balance as the man raised his spear again. Wilkins stepped forward from behind Hynd and grabbed the spear below the blade, tugging hard at it, bringing the man off balance and down to where Hynd was able to open him from pubes to sternum.
Hynd was still getting to his feet when the sixth guard raised a horn; neither Hynd nor Wilkins were going to be able to reach him in time but as his lips touched the ivory, the doctor stepped up behind the man and sliced his throat from ear to ear. The doctor was cleaning the blade off as Wilkins helped Hynd to his feet. He looked at them both and smiled.
“I was raised on the streets of Marseille, gentlemen. I know knife work only too well.”
They had done it; the guards were taken out and no alarm had been raised.
“Wilko, figure out how yon winch contraption works, quick now. I reckon we’ve got maybe a minute before somebody notices us.”
He put a finger to his lips and let out a whistle. Davies stepped out from under the canopy and Hynd motioned that he should come forward and bring the group out of hiding. A minute later, they were all standing below, waiting to be raised up.
Wilkins spoke up.
“There’s only three of us to work the winch, Sarge. We can’t bring them all up at once; they’ll be too heavy.”
Hynd was considering that when there was another cheer from the crowd somewhere to their left in the town beyond the wall. Another animal roar from the same direction was answered again from the jungle inside the crater.
And they’re close. Very close.
Two raptors came out of the jungle heading directly at the people below the gate.
- 17 -
Banks rolled left, Wiggins rolled right, and the raptor and rider came over the pit and landed between them. Hynd kicked out at the beast’s head as it snapped towards him. The man on its back had his attention on Wiggins who had to roll again to avoid a spear thrust.
Banks threw himself back against the wall as the raptor snapped again. It roared in frustration as the captain threw a punch that caught it firmly on the snout. It had been like punching stone but it seemed to confuse the beast and give Banks enough time to ferret in his pocket and come up with a handful of gravel and pebbles. He threw it in the raptor’s face, getting lucky as it had opened its jaws again and much of the gravel went down its throat. The result was immediate; the beast coughed and spluttered, spraying saliva across Bank’s chest. It bucked and thrashed. The rider overbalanced, tried to correct, and mistimed a spear thrust.
Wiggins had him off the back of the thing in a second, in a half-nelson in a second more. The sound of the rider’s neck breaking was loud in the confines of the tunnel. The raptor was still coughing and wheezing, all thought of attack gone in its discomfort. Banks stood, turned his back on it, swiveled on his heel, and aimed a high kick at the center of its chest. It fell back towards the pit, realized its predicament as gravity started to take it backwards and scrambled, talons gouging runnels on the lip.
Wiggins stepped forward and rammed the rider’s spear down its throat until his hand met its teeth. He let go of the spear and the raptor fell away. There was a single echoing wail of terror then two moist thuds.
Banks stepped to the rim of the pit and looked down. The raptor was mostly dead, impaled through body and neck, its life draining away into black earth below.
Banks took the bloodied spear from Wiggins, walked out of the tunnel, and stood where he could clearly be seen. He raised the spear above his head, showing it to the king high up at the far end of the arena. He let out a yell of triumph that was the only sound in a deathly quiet arena. As the last echo faded, the crowd moaned in despair.
Wiggins joined him in the sunlight and they immediately sidled back against the wall. Banks retrieved a pebble to replace the ones he’d thrown away.
“Nothing’s changed, Wiggo. We still need to get the fuck out of here. I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to us killing one of their wee pets, never mind the poor lad riding it.”
“They’ll send more?”
“I would.”
But for the next ten minutes, they moved in total silence. Both of them were waiting for the creak of rope, the wood on wood noise of the cogs straining as the gate opened to let another raptor gain entry. But none came.
They kept to their strategy of veering right where possible. Twice they arrived back to horizontal scores they’d made on the wall, added a vertical score, and moved on. Banks was starting to think they were making progress when they came out of an alley and arrived back in the central chamber. The crowd caught sight of them and laughter and jeering rang around the arena.
“That’s why they haven’t sent another one in,” Banks said.
“What’s that, Cap?”
“They don’t expect us to pass their test. They think the labyrinth is inescapable. And for all we know, it is. There might not be a way out except to go back to the gate and they’ll be expecting us to do just that when we get desperate enough.”
“In that case,” Wiggins replied, “let’s get back up on top of the wall. What have we got to lose?”
“I should have thought of that myself. I must be getting auld.”
“Hey, you’ve kept me alive this long. You’re doing just fine.”
“Well, thank you very much, Corporal. Now get your arse up on this wall. We’re getting out of here.”
The spear helped as a tool for Wiggins to use to pull Banks up. The view from on top of the wall was much the same as before with one exception—they could see the far end away from the king’s seat much clearer. There appeared to be another series of buildings outside the maze but separated from the main town by the arena itself. Banks decided to head in that direction for want of a better idea.
The crowd jeered as the two soldiers mo
ved along at a brisk pace. Banks showed them the spear again. They threw more fruit but Banks and Wiggins were out of range of even the best throwing arms.
“Are you sure you don’t have a fag, Cap?” Wiggins said. “I’m gasping here.”
Lack of smokes wasn’t the only thing that had them gasping. They hadn’t had a drink since before dawn and the sun was now getting high in the sky; he felt it start to bake the top of his head. Fatigue was going to be a problem if they didn’t get a break soon.
The jeers got louder as they approached another gap that had to be jumped but they negotiated it easier than the last time; practice was making perfect and as long as the gaps were no more than eight feet, Banks was confident they’d be able to cross them.
He was getting a better view of the far end of the arena now. It looked like a series of holding pens, perhaps cages. When the breeze turned to come from that direction, he smelled a heavy animal odor he recognized immediately.
It’s where they keep the raptors.
It was probably the last place the king and the crowd expected them to make for.
Banks went straight for it as the jeers rang in his ears.
The crowd noise got louder the closer they approached the edge of the arena. Banks saw that they were running out of a clear way across the top; the gaps were getting larger the farther from the center they came. But he thought he could see the route they’d have to take to reach the animal pen area.
“Time to go down again, Wiggo,” he said. “Not just because we’re running out of path, but if we’re going to get out of here, we need to get out of sight. So down it is. Three rights and left should bring us out right at the pens if my reckoning is correct.”
Operation Congo (S-Squad Book 9) Page 8
