Brutal Revenge (13 page)

Hodge
caressed the shiny, black barrel of the shotgun.

“If
they show their faces here, I know what I'll do.”

“Don't
be an idiot. You'll bring the lot of 'em up here. We've got to get away from
here. Not play at Custer's last stand.”

“What
about Mac? If we go he won't find us.”

“Well,
if you want to stay that's your business. I'm going up to the top to look for a
way down the other side.”

“Okay,”
Hodge said, “I'm with you.”

Parker
went back inside to pick up his shotgun. He paused for a moment in the middle
of the roofless room and sniffed a couple of times.

“What
is it?” Hodge enquired impatiently.

“Bloody
fag smoke. The place reeks of it.”

“So
what?”

“Well,
for one thing, they'll realize we've only just left and for another they'll
know which way we've gone.”

“Well,
there's nothing you can do about it now unless you happen to have an air
freshener handy?”

Outside
they heard the voices again, clearer now, and Parker thought he saw a shadow
move in the mist just below where they were standing. Instinctively, he tugged
at Hodge's arm.

“This
way.”

They
moved quickly but carefully so as not to make a sound. They went round the back
of the house to the remains of a well, then started to climb the hill.

The
terrain underfoot was predominantly grass, pimpled with bare rock made slippery
by the heavy dampness in the mist.

With
Parker out in front, the two men scrambled feverishly up the hill, not
bothering to look back because visibility was only about thirty feet all round.
Their breathing came hard and heavy and very soon they were panting like mad dogs.

It
had been years, Parker reflected, since he had run further than the bus stop
near his flat — and that was downhill all the way. He just wasn't up to this
sort of thing anymore.

They’d
gone only a short way when they heard the shot. It was close. Too close.
Probably a signal to announce the fact that the group climbing the hill had
found something. The derelict house? The cigarette smoke?

Parker
tried to work out his next move but couldn't. He was paralysed suddenly by the
terrible and overwhelming thought that death was inevitable. He couldn't see
that there was any way out.

He
vaulted on to the nearest flat-topped rock and from there to the next rock up, knowing
that Hodge was close behind him. He laboured over stretches of long, wet grass,
arms flailing in front of him, legs on the brink of collapsing under the weight
of built-up tension and sheer bloody exhaustion.

The
mist cleared a path for them as it was stirred into a breeze by the swiftness
of their flight. Parker could see only so far ahead and every obstacle reared
up at him suddenly out of the mist. A large overhanging rock which had to be
climbed using both hands and feet and another that was so slippery he fell on
his back when he stepped on to it.

The
shouting behind them grew louder and became incessant as those in pursuit
sensed how close they were to their prey. Others were being summoned and
directions called out as the chase gained momentum. They were preparing to
close in, gathering their forces for the final kill.

Parker
urged himself on despite the pain in his calves and behind his ribs. His face
was dripping sweat and he was beginning to experience a strange light-headedness
as his strength seeped out through his open pores. He wasn't sure how long he
could maintain his present pace. The hill was so steep. It tore the life from
him with every agonising step. The rocks were like wet ice and the grass a soft
springy mattress that pulled possessively at his feet.

Then,
suddenly, they reached the crest.

Parker
stopped and Hodge very nearly ran into him from behind. They both stood gasping
for breath, trying unsuccessfully to see into the mist through squinting eyes.
All was quiet for the moment, but Parker did not allow himself to be lulled
into a false sense of security. They were not clear yet. Far from it.

“Here
they come,” Hodge said.

Parker
looked down the hill in the direction they had come. Three ghost-like figures
were emerging from the mist. Dark incongruous shapes that appeared almost to be
forming before their very eyes. They were approaching slowly, sinisterly, like
white hunters stalking a pair of wounded lions.

It
was impossible to identify the weapons they were carrying, but it was clear
they each held something and Hodge was taking no chances. He raised his gun and
fired down the hill. The blast shattered the foggy silence and Parker felt sure
the noise would carry all the way across the stretch of sea to Mull.

They
weren't able to tell if he'd scored a hit because the figures melted into the
mist and they were not going to wait around to see how many of them emerged
again.

With
Parker once again in the lead, they took off. The ground on top of the hill was
less of an assault course, but at the same time it didn't go very far and
within seconds it was falling away beneath them and they were unintentionally
picking up speed as momentum carried them down the other side.

Parker
stumbled once on a rock and rolled painfully across its jagged surface before
dropping on to a patch of spongy grass. Hodge helped him to his feet and they
were off again, weaving and jumping and colliding with one another in a
desperate bid to increase the distance between themselves and their pursuers.

They
were halfway down the hill when sunlight suddenly drowned them, its powerful
rays striking them like some unseen force and stopping them dead in their
tracks.

They
had broken out of the mist and looking back it became terrifyingly clear that
only the top half of the hill was ringed in a grey, sombre cloak. Remnants of
the mist still hung lazily in the air above the stark, undulating landscape
below them, but the bulk of it had dissipated during the morning and the green
fields and web of dry-stone walls could be seen stretching for about a mile
before plunging into the sea. It was a fine day, as before, and the air was
clear.

“Down
there! Look!”

Parker
followed Hodge's stricken gaze and saw a group of five men about half a mile
away. They'd stopped whatever they were doing and were pointing up the hill.

“They've
seen us!”

The
men were over to the left in a field. To the right of them the only sign of
life were a few grazing cows. In the distance was a long, sandy beach, and
running down to it a narrow, zigzagging stream.

“We'll
go that way,” Parker said, knowing only too well that if others were rounding
the hill from that side, then they'd had it.

TWENTY

Angus
Campbell was on the other side of the island above the old jetty when he heard
the shot. Three others were with him, including Andrew Maclean. They had been
looking down on the remains of the cruiser which had brought the villains to
the island.

Most
of the debris was scattered over the chaos of rocks on either side of them, but
some parts were still sloshing about on the water and thudding against the
jetty timbers. Evidently the boat had taken a severe battering from the rocks
just offshore and although the main body of it had gone down, a good deal of it
had been torn off and had subsequently found its way to the surface.

The
shot came like a sting in the heart for Maclean. He had been listening for it
all morning, anticipating the worst. He hadn't thought it would take them long
to find the other two once the mist cleared lower down. And there was nothing
he could do about it. He felt impotent and frustrated. Somehow he had to break
away from the mob and find a way off the island.

“They've
spotted them!” Angus cried out.

A
second later, Maclean was chasing the others across a field. Angus was out in
front, looking like a mercenary soldier leading a bunch of maniac followers to
a massacre. But there was at the same time an air of absurdity about the
charging group, particularly as the eldest one, a man in his late sixties, was
barely managing to stay on his feet as his ageing limbs began to falter with
the effort of running.

It
took them fifteen minutes to arrive at the bottom of the hill and by that time
they needed to stop for a few minutes to catch their breaths.

There
was no sign of human activity above them at this point. The hill climbed
steeply into the mist which appeared to be thinning gradually. They heard a
second shot whilst running and there was no doubt it had come from the hill.

Angus
said, “They've probably chased them over the top.”

Maclean
was at a loss to know what to do and he felt that he had let Parker and Hodge
down.

“Andrew,
are you listening to me?”

He
hadn't realized Angus had been talking to him. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I
was telling you and Hamish to follow me. We'll circle the hill to the north.
Donald and Lechy will go up and over. Okay?”

Maclean
nodded. “Whatever you say.”

He
had hoped he might be able to lead them in another direction, away from the
gunfire, but he hadn't been given the opportunity to come up with a good enough
reason.

Once
again he found himself at the rear of a charging group of men.

They
plunged through a cold stream, over a low boundary wall and across rough, wet
fields. All the way Maclean racked his brain for an idea — a way to prevent
Parker and Hodge from becoming trapped in an impregnable net of armed men. But
a solution escaped him and there seemed little likelihood that one would occur
to him in time. Parker and Hodge had already been spotted and the net was about
to drop over them.

Another
wall loomed up and since it was higher than the previous ones all three of them
halted before it. Angus placed one foot on a jutting boulder and heaved himself
up with a loud exhalation of breath. He then reached down and helped the older
man up before giving similar assistance to a whacked-out Maclean.

Maclean
himself was about ready to collapse. He was that tired. The fact that he was
just about managing to keep pace with the others said very little for his own
state of health and a great deal more for the island way of life.

When
they were all seated on top of the wall, their hearts pounding in unison, Maclean
caught sight of two distant figures on the shoulder of the hill ahead of them.
They were tearing down the incline, one behind the other, fleeing from the
cloud that strangled the top.

Angus
saw them too and cried out, “Over there.”

Maclean
stood up on the wall. There was only one remote farmhouse out there, surrounded
by fields. A long strip of lush green machair separated the fields from high
rolling sand dunes that dropped on to a pearl-white beach.

Parker
and Hodge reached the bottom of the hill and started racing across the first of
the fields towards the sea. And then, above them, a group of five men emerged
from the mist. Maclean noticed at the same time that there were other figures
in the picture. They had just rounded the bottom of the hill from the other
side and were obviously the reason why Parker and Hodge were heading for the
beach. It meant they were now trapped, hemmed in on all sides, and with little
or no chance of escape.

TWENTY
ONE

They
had no choice but to stand and fight. But against how many? Twenty at least.
Maybe more. And since they were fast running out of ammunition the odds against
them seemed insurmountable.

Parker
did not dwell on the whys and wherefores of their perilous predicament as he
bolted across the field towards the dunes.

The
earth was soft down here in the shadow of the hill and it made progress all the
more difficult. Ahead of them and to the right there was an isolated farmhouse.
But by Parker's reckoning the group to the right would easily beat them to it
if they decided to try for it.

No,
they had to make it to the dunes and hope to God they could disappear among the
humps of sand that were visible among the low-lying machair.

But
for how long they would be able to remain concealed just didn't bear thinking
about. Not very long, though, that was for sure. The dunes did not stretch that
far along the coast and from up on the hill Parker had observed that they were
not very wide.

They
came to an old byre, reeking of cows' dung, and Parker paused with his shoulder
against it to rest his aching legs. Hodge stopped beside him and turning back
they saw the three-pronged attack was advancing quickly.

A
group of five men were descending the hill and two groups of three were
approaching from the left and right. Still about three hundred yards away but
gaining ground fast.

And
then the sound of a shot, seeming to come a split second before the bullet hit
the wall of the byre between them.

They
both ducked and scrambled round to the other side of the byre in a
panic-stricken rush. So at least one of the bastards had a rifle, Parker
thought, which he obviously knew how to use.