BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) (20 page)

The sun struggled higher as the morning aged. Slowly, the increasingly Nordic-looking forests all around them seemed to come to life with the twitter and chatter of life. Pace looked hard, several times, but failed to spot any of the animals responsible. Just like his time in the Amazon, he thought. They can see us but we can't see them. Only the reassurance of the Mauser, slung over his right shoulder, bayonet glinting in the watery light, and the Webley safely tucked into the holster on his belt, helped assuage the feeling of walking into a predator's paradise.

They stopped at noon, where the sun decided to give up for the day. Swallowed by a thick blanket of icy cloud, which dropped to barely seventy feet above them, the sounds around them suddenly grew more pronounced, echoing off the underbelly of the swirling, grey blanket.

Pausing to take a drink of water, infused with vitamins and glucose, they ate another chocolate bar and took stock. Pace was focused on their safety so had left navigation to Hill. Using a hand-held GPS, he studied the bright, multi-coloured screen intently, as he chewed.

'Another four of five hours and we should get there,' he pronounced suddenly. 'As long as bad weather does not set in.'

Pace eyed the troubled cloud layer warily. 'The signs aren't good,' he said. 'The sooner we get moving, the better. Have you rested long enough?'

Hill was stung by the implication, which was unintended by Pace. 'I'm ready to go,' he responded hastily, swallowing his mouthful and putting his drink flask back into his backpack which he swung onto his back. 'I want to get there by nightfall.'

Pace was just about to agree with him when, from the deep cover of the forest to their left, came a loud crack of a fallen branch being stepped upon. It sounded like a rifle shot, clean and crisp above the background noise of the valley, which ceased instantly.

The Mauser was in his hands instantly, with Pace using his teeth to quickly tear off his thick snow gloves, exposing a thin pair of secondary gloves. Inside a helicopter cabin, he had the luxury of going bare-fingered if he needed to shoot. Out here, in sub-zero temperatures, he didn't.

Pace had done some research with sports outlets and outdoor pursuit experts soon after returning from his last foray into the Antarctic, just in case he ever needed to head into icy areas again for the McEntire Corporation. On a trip into London, he had settled for a pair of
Hatch Dura-Thin Search Gloves, in black leather. Designed to fit like a second skin, with elasticated wrists, the gloves had been specifically created for police officers and shootists. They were not really meant to ward off frostbite for too long but they would do the trick for ten or fifteen minutes at a time
.

The breech of the Mauser 98 already had a bullet inside it and the bayonet was fixed. Heart in his mouth, he scanned the foliage carefully, lifting the rifle to his shoulder and sighting down the long barrel, waiting. Curling his finger around the curvature of the trigger, he marvelled at how free his movement was, and how much feeling he had on the trigger itself.

'What do you think that was?' Hill instinctively spoke in a whisper. 'Sounded big.'

'It was,' said Pace. 'Something was heavy enough to snap a fairly large branch. Do not move. Stay very still, okay?' Hill nodded, crouching down on his haunches. Pace remained standing, hardly breathing. At any moment he expected to hear another disturbance or see a set of sharp teeth flashing towards them.

Luckily, where they were at that point was a wide expanse of snow. The valley widened and shrank constantly but at this part, there were twenty metres of open ground between them and the forest edge. More than enough time for him to down anything that decided it wanted its own lunch break.

The silence became pervasive. Nothing squawked, chattered or fluttered. It was so still that Pace could even hear the sound of Hill's snow suit rustling, as he shifted nervously on all fours. Five minutes passed until, as though suddenly forgotten, the valley returned to life and the wind picked up more persistently, chiding the men on their over caution. Get on with it, seemed to be the message.

Hill stood upright and shook off the beginnings of cramp in his thigh muscles.

'There was something there but it's gone now,' Pace said. 'Either that,' he added, 'or its being very quiet to see what we do next.'

'Then let's get moving.' Hill's voice quavered a little but his confidence was returning quickly. 'Could have been anything and the woods around here are full of large animals. Might have been a deer.'

'Or a tiger,' decided Pace. 'You lead. I'll cover your back and front at the same time, from behind.' His gut was telling him that the danger had been real and was not over yet. 'Professor? Okay?'

'Yes, James.' Casting a dubious eye back over towards the forest, Hill set off again, this time with a noticeably brisker gait, despite the thick snow their boots were crunching through.

An hour later, the two men had not been troubled by any further incidents. The GPS led them unerringly forwards, and ever upwards, as they climbed. The thinning air was still fairly oxygen-rich but as they moved higher, above ten thousand feet, Pace knew that every step would feel more arduous.

As they stopped to survey their surroundings, and grab another quick drink of water, Pace wanted to be able to consider the sheer magnificence of the vista. Unfortunately, the wind had dropped, allowing the heavy cloud layer to sink lower, almost to the ground where they were. Any moment now, either the cloud would swallow them in its blinding embrace or they would end up rising into it, as the continued climbing.

They moved had stepped onto a snowy ridge and could just make out another heavily wooded valley up ahead. The path remained clear for them to see, rising and snaking between the trees but how far it went on like that, they could not see. After a sixty metres, or so, the snow and cloud blurred together to form an impenetrable wall, mocking them.

Spurred on by the weather, they moved into the forest, with the trees springing up more oppressively on each side like a living rampart, the sound of the wind rose further, flicking surface snow into the air, adding to the failing visibility.

Hill led the way up the trail again, continuing to climb. As they trudged, the valley narrowed, shrinking the width of the trail until it threatened to become lost; swallowed up completely within the body of the forest.

Although neither man could have known it, they were almost at the exact same spot where Ferrier and Braithwaite had first heard the creature, watching them through the trees, back in 1874.

Then, as now, the visibility needed to spot a predator in time to take any action was seriously reduced by the narrowing trail, exacerbated by the conditions.

Bruk lay a few more hours up ahead. With Pace constantly scanning all around, physically turning around regularly to check behind them, he opted to have cold hands and keep his thick gloves tucked away in his pack. His finger rested just behind the trigger, ready to jump on to the slender curve of metal at a split-second's notice. He was experienced enough to know that you did not walk through snow and ice while keeping your finger on a trigger, especially when someone was walking in front of you.

Deep within the trees, a pair of burning, intelligent yellow eyes watched the men heading further up the trail. Their scent was delicious and the pain in its belly called for action.

Growling low in the base of its throat; feeling saliva begin to flow freely, it regarded its next meal with deadly intent.

22

The final hour of daylight was spent hiking up a steep, meandering trail. On either side, thick forests of pine had now replaced any sign of broadleaf plants. Heavy with snow, it reminded Pace of a survival training week he had undergone with the RAF, in Norway, many years before. The low cloud had not decided to drop any further, in fact it had lifted a few hundred feet but it still pinned them beneath its claustrophobic cover. Snow had also just started to fall again, quite heavily, drifting down vertically in huge flakes in the absence of any breeze; the wind having dropped to nothing an hour after they had crossed over the ridge.

Ahead of him, Hill was proving his resilience. A man well used to roughing it in the field, he ploughed on up the mountain trail without any complaint. Pace, moving a few metres behind, remained on high alert against attack. Usually, it was the human enemy he was watching for but it seemed more likely that the local wildlife posed the risk here, even if you discounted the existence of a giant, carnivorous ape-like creature.

Conversation was kept to a minimum. They made very little noise in the soft snow, their boots now sinking several inches into the powder with each step. By staying quiet, their passage up the trail might not even draw any attention. There was nothing they could do about their scent, Pace knew, but the sudden lack of wind might work in their favour too. Slowly, steadily and, above all, quietly the two men made good progress.

Sensing the gloom beginning to thicken into darkness, Pace hurried his strides and caught up with Hill, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. 'Professor. The light is going. How far do you think we are from Bruk?'

Hill had heard the approaching crunch of Pace's boots so had not been surprised at the contact. Stopping, grateful to have an excuse to pause, he let out a couple of heavy breaths, the clouds of vapour hanging in the still air for a moment before vanishing.

'We should be right on top of it,' he huffed. 'Maybe another hour's walk.'

'If we're that close, there's not much point in stopping,' suggested Pace. 'We can shelter for the night in the village?'

Hill had already decided to press on. 'The cloud cover is total. There won't be any moon or starlight to guide us. Moving in the dark will be more dangerous but I think you're right. It's worth it.'

Pace pulled out his water bottle and took a long, relieving swallow. Hill mirrored him with his own bottle and. While drinking, Hill took notice of his surroundings properly for the first time. Safe in the knowledge that Pace was on the look out for danger, he had been able to concentrate purely on his hand held GPS unit, his walking and his breathing. He'd barely looked around for the past couple of hours.

Now, as he did so, he was taken by a sudden feeling of unease. The thick green walls, with the trees towering over forty feet in height, hemmed them in very tightly. The trail, at this point, was barely eight feet wide. Although they were moving directly in its centre, Hill had the strangest sensation that something could almost reach out from the trees and grab them both, if it wished.

'A tiger could be on us in a single leap,' he stated to Pace factually. 'These trees are so close now.'

Pace's eyes ached from concentration and focus, after hours of constant vigilance. He had been worried about the terrain, and their proximity to the trees, for some time. The higher they climbed, the narrower the trail became and the closer the woods hedged them in.

Not that he was a stranger to the situation. Pace recalled having the same feelings when his
Race Amazon
team were running up the Trans-Amazonian Highway, where it plunged deeply into the Amazon Basin. There, the trees were twice as tall and the canopy often stretched out over the muddy, excuse for a road, joining with the upper fronds of the trees opposite to create a dark, evil tunnel.

At times, he had wondered how close a hungry leopard, giant anaconda or angry human native might be to their group, hidden just behind the greenery that walled the road in.

'I'm watching closely.' His hands were very cold now but the thin gloves still kept just enough of the cold out to ensure that his trigger finger would work and his grip on the Mauser was secure. It had not left his hands since they had encountered the frightening cracking of wood, miles behind them now. 'I'm confident that I could get a shot off, or two, if anything tries to have a go at us. But,' he added, hearing his own breath coming in pants, 'I think we need to speed up a bit. The less time we're out here, exposed on the trail, the better.' Hill nodded but his eyes had lost some of their vigour. 'Have you got anything left in the tank, Professor?'

Hill smiled wanly. 'You don't look too healthy either,' he countered. Then, fixing Pace seriously, his red, frozen cheeks adopted a frown of conscience. 'I know this isn't the time, or place, but I am sorry for what happened back on the plane. I know I can be a fool at times, especially when someone questions me.'

'I'd hate to be one of your students then,' Pace responded easily. 'Anyway, I may have over-reacted. I don't normally punch people I've only just met.'

'Ah,' said Hill slowly. 'But you'd never met me before and I can clearly piss people off at record speed.'

The banter died, with the matter finally resolved permanently, and they headed on up the trail once more.

Bruk, as it turned out, was exactly where the GPS unit said it would be. The trail rose around a couple of ridges before opening out onto a wide, flat expanse of snow. The clearing was the size of a football field, still encircled by trees, but they could have been forgiven for not realising that a village lay before them. Nearly a century of accumulated snow and ice, aided and abetted by regular landslides and mud flows, had virtually buried all the buildings up to, and over in some cases, their single-storey roof structures

It was really only the main village hall; a two-storey construction, strangely resembling a small Roman villa, with the two storeys of the main building surrounded by a narrow, single storey outer perimeter, that was still obvious to see, its centre rising from the snow like a shipwreck survivor desperately trying to keep his head above the water. Only the roof was visible on the single storey rim, which was the same for most of the surrounding houses; they were simply snatches of roofing, appearing to lie flat on the ground.

If Hill had not known there were at least twenty buildings in the area, they would have thought it was only one, with the other rooves appearing to be junk sitting on the snowy ground. Luckily, Hill had a rudimentary drawing, showing the layout of Bruk, penned by one of the villagers who had escaped to safety lower down. Originally drawn for a newspaper, it had later been purchased by a collector, in Canada, who donated it to a local university upon his death. Before setting out, Hill had managed to track down the university, where one of his fellow academics had happily scanned it and emailed it over to him.

Printed, and laminated, this was the document that he hurriedly now dug around for inside his backpack; unceremoniously throwing it off his back and down onto the snow.

The excitement on his face was clear to see, even in the thickening darkness. Using the whiteness of the snow to light their way for as long as possible, they had managed to reach Bruk without resorting to putting on their head torches.

Pace knew, oddly, that this was the time they were most in danger. Relieved to have arrived at their destination; distracted from their surroundings by a mixture of relief and triumphalism, he was determined to stay on his guard.

Leaving Hill to mutter agitatedly to himself, Pace slowly took off his own pack, kneeling down beside it without ever putting down the rifle. Apart from Hill's mumblings, off to his left, he could not hear any sound coming from the dark forest all around them. He strained his ears to their limits, waiting. Nothing.

Pace had learned, often the hard way, to listen to his sixth sense when it warned him of impending trouble. It was this ethereal power, rather than his more tangible senses, that kept itching a warning at the back of his mind.
Something's out there. It is watching you.

Keeping his right hand firmly on the Mauser, Pace used his left hand to lift the flap on his pack and feel around inside, never stopping to look down at it. His head continued to traverse from side to side, looking and listening. Finally, his fingers stumbled across the first item he was searching for; his head torch. Secured to an elasticated headband, he managed to pull it over his white hood and settle it on to the skin of his forehead. Not clicking it on yet, his hand returned to the pack and pulled out a slim, black Maglite Solitaire torch.

Only eighty-one millimetres in length and weighing just twenty-four grams, it was tiny. Aside from being made to the exacting standards of the company; being both water and shock resistant, it had the additional benefit of retaining the same diameter along its entire length i.e. it lacked the bulbous end to its casing that most torches, including others in the Maglite series, possessed. This made it the perfect torch to secure to the Mauser's barrel.

The little torch was sitting inside a clear, plastic bag, along with several plastic cable ties and a small pair of scissors. Quickly, Pace set the torch against the outside of the rifle's barrel and fixed it firmly in place using three cable ties, spaced evenly every 2 millimetres, cutting each excess tie off with the scissors. Much tougher than tape, Pace knew it would stay in place even if things got rough and he had to use the Mauser, and its fitted bayonet, as a spear.

Happier, he stood up and moved over to where Hill had just finished putting on his own head torch. Ignoring Pace's approach, he clicked on the small light and was rewarded by an instant flood of LED light flooding the laminated paper.

'I was about to say, we should get the lights on,' said Pace belatedly. If anything was out there, watching them, Hill's head torch now made them stand out like a beacon in the darkness.

Seeing no point in delaying switching on his own head torch, Pace then swiftly twisted the end of the Maglite, which exploded into life with fantastic power. Thirty seven lumens of light, from such a tiny torch, was truly impressive. Sweeping the Mauser around, brought up to his shoulder, the light easily covered the distance across the snow, lighting up the thick treeline all around them. It was far more powerful than Pace expected, which was a good thing. 'What's the plan now?' he shot at Hill.

'The only building that isn't completely covered is the main hall,' Hill stated the obvious. 'It would make the sensible place to make camp for tonight. At first light, we will be able to explore the village properly.'

Pace agreed. 'Why don't we do that now?' he suggested. 'I don't like the silence. It's almost too quiet now. I am the suspicious type and I think the sooner we are safely behind a few walls, the better.'

'I am surprised at you, James,' chided Hill slowly. 'A few trees and a bit of darkness and you're overcome by superstition.'

'Not superstition, common sense,' Pace shot back. 'Most predators hunt at night, or at least they're more active after sunset. There are plenty of animals in these forests that could pose a danger to us.' His nerves were beginning to jangle more loudly.
Get inside. Get inside.
'Let's just find a way into that building and set up camp,' he ordered flatly.

If Hill was annoyed by the command, he had no time to show it. Pace smartly headed across the clearing, walking around the rooves of the buried buildings to avoid the risk of slipping. It was only when he drew nearer to them that he realised, in utter amazement, that his preconceptions about the village were very wrong. He had envisaged wooden-framed, temple-styled buildings, with steeply-pitched, thatched rooves like the ones he'd seen on some long since forgettable documentary. Sweeping the ground with the powerful light from the barrel-mounted Maglite, the distinctive reddish brown of rusting metal stared back up at him; the familiar repeated undulations a genuine shock to behold.

'Corrugated iron?' He said it to himself, quietly.

'Oh yes, very likely. Originally it would have been wood or thatch but the British brought corrugated iron over not long after it was invented, some time in the early eighteen hundreds, I believe. Most of the villages would have traded goods to get hold of such a strong roofing material.' Hill thought the question was meant for him as he stepped up from behind Pace, not eager to be caught out alone in the dark without the security of Pace's Mauser, whatever he'd said.

Pace's mind began to wrestle with the idea and he had to physically shake his head to stop the train of thought dead in its tracks. Now was not the time.

The main hall had four large windows in its upper storey; set in the centre of each of its four walls. With the entire lower floor buried, these all now sat at waist height. Pace could not tell if they had any glass in them because each window wore a heavy pair of closed wooden shutters.

Slatted, whatever paint had originally adorned them had long since faded, with just the odd fleck of dark colour still visible under the intense light of Hill's head torch and the Maglite. The wood was swollen and rotted although, as they walked quickly around its perimeter, each set of shutters was in situ. Pace felt they would probably fall apart as soon as anyone laid hands on them.

Hill stepped over to one of the windows and pulled firmly at the shutters. They did not crumble but the simple, wooden latch fell off at the gentle tuck, allowing him to pull them open fully. In fiction, or a horror film, they would have squeaked open on eerily disquieting, metal hinges but not so with these. The hinges were a simple wooden peg design. They moved stiffly but without any sound.