Authors: Andy McNab
Crisis Four (33 page)
For good measure he whanged down a couple of rounds at us from a rifle. He probably had ‘My land, my country, my gun’ on his bumpers, and a few other stickers that he’d bought at Jim’s, but he was protecting his family, and that was a fair one.
I felt a thump as one of the rounds rammed into the ground far too close to me. Either he was good, and he meant to aim a warning shot, or he was trying to hit us and this time we’d been lucky. I didn’t want to find out which. I jinked left and ran between the two houses, uphill, towards the dirt track. Change of plan again: we were going to make it on foot back to my car, as I’d been aiming to do all along, but without all this drama.
Another rifle shot rang out, but this time I didn’t hear the answering thud. There was the burst of a 53; fuck knows where that went.
I got to the track, crossed it and stopped to try and assess the situation. We were in darkness and on higher ground. I heard shots and saw a couple of foot-long muzzle flashes coming from the direction of the target house, and more from the area around the pickup. Shotgun Ned must be zapping and shouting at anything that moved. His spotlight swept left and right, looking for targets.
It wasn’t the only light I could see. Red and blue flashing lights were glistening in the rain on the other side of the lake and I suddenly realized that I stood more chance of being struck by lightning than I did of getting back to my car. Acting as the situation demanded, I changed plan again. We were going to get out of here on foot. I stood still, knees bent, waiting to regain my breath. It was colder than before, and the wind and rain were loud against the leaves.
I started moving through the forest again. Sarah’s bare flesh was getting zapped left and right by branches, and I could hear her suffering. I put my head down and pumped uphill, leaving everybody down there to get on with it. It seemed that my lucky number for house clearing was the same as for shopping trolleys: zero.
18
I gripped Sarah and plunged on, slipping and skidding on the wet mush, stumbling over rocks and fallen branches, flailing to regain my footing. She was screaming as best she could beneath the gag, partly because of the tree branches that whipped at her bare body and the ground cutting her legs, partly just trying to keep her airway clear. At least I knew she was breathing.
I tripped again and went down. The pain as my knees hit rock made them feel as if they were on fire. She moaned loudly under the gag as she took the brunt of my fall, and she had to arch her back to relieve the strain on her neck. I stayed on my knees, screwing my face up as I took the pain, waiting for it to die down. There was nothing I could do but accept it. I just hoped I hadn’t smashed a kneecap. My chest was heaving up and down as I tried to catch my breath. Sarah gave up the struggle to keep her body off the ground. She collapsed in the mud beside and slightly below me, her head, still in the neck hold, resting in my lap and moving up and down in unison with my breathing.
There was plenty of commotion going on behind, the odd rifle round and automatic burst, followed by shouts. Looking down and behind me through the trees and rain, I could make out the lights of both houses some 150 metres away. I wasn’t in dead ground yet, and it was going to be light soon. I needed to get distance.
Shotgun Ned was having a ballistic fit, screaming and hollering, like something out of one of the movies for guys who like guy movies. I couldn’t tell whether he was enjoying it or hating it, but he was vocal, that was for sure. I got myself to my feet, pulling Sarah upright with me, and started moving again.
I could hear rotor blades in the sky behind. Moments later a blindingly bright Night Sun searchlight penetrated the darkness and began to sweep the area towards the houses as the helicopter hovered over the lake. It wasn’t venturing too near the scene just yet, probably for fear of someone taking a pot-shot.
More gunshots echoed in the background. Almost immediately I heard returned bursts of fire and saw the brilliant, almost white, muzzle flash of a 53. I turned back and started to move off.
My throat was parched; God knew what Sarah’s was like. She must be in shit state. I kept checking behind me as I moved and could see the lights in the houses slowly fading into the dark and rain. We would be in dead ground soon. As I moved, the Night Sun briefly lit up the area around me as it realigned itself while the heli orbited the lake, making hundreds of shadows in the trees as the rotor blades groaned, trying to keep it in a stable position in the wind. The campers were no doubt outside their tents, trying to watch the re-enactment of the Waco siege from the safety of the other side of the lake, pleased that their washed-out holiday had turned out quite exciting after all.
Below me I could only see the flat roofs of the two houses. More blue flashing lights cut through the trees, but this time on my side of the lake, coming from the left along the track. Yet more police vehicles were also arriving in the carpark across the lake. They’d all got here too fast. My guess must have been correct. My report must have confirmed Elizabeth and Lynn’s speculation about what was going on, and they wanted Sarah out before the seventh cavalry moved in. It seemed that I’d fucked that up a bit; it wouldn’t be long before the area was choked with police and FBI trying to stop the Third World War.
Shotgun Ned would be a national hero after this. He’d probably be given his own fucking talk show. The police, however, had mortgages and kids to think about; while it was dark they would do no more than contain the area. By first light, however, they’d have all their shit together, maybe even have the Army or National Guard on standby.
I crested a rise, and as I moved downhill it blocked out all the noise behind me. My first priority was to put as much distance as possible between us and the target before first light.
As I moved, I could feel Sarah shivering and shaking beside me, screaming inside her gag. If I was feeling bad, she must be in shit state.
I crossed another small ridge, started to move downhill, and lost my footing in the mud. As I slithered and tumbled Sarah fought to break free and save herself. I had a split second in which to decide whether to hold onto her or let go.
The decision was made for me. We took another half tumble and slide and came to an abrupt stop against a tree trunk. I’d landed on my back, with Sarah on top of me, her wet hair in my face, breathing hard through her nose like a Grand National winner. My pistol, which had been pushed into the front of my jeans, had gone.
I let go of Sarah; she wasn’t going anywhere, the weapon was the priority. I never wanted to be without one again. Maglite in hand, the bulb covered by my fingers to minimize the spill of light, I crawled around on my hands and knees sifting through the leaves and mud like a kid searching for a lost toy.
My knee caught a metal edge as I moved. I checked the safety, wiped off the worst of the mud and shoved it back into my jeans. Scrambling back towards Sarah, I noticed she was breathing much more loudly. That wasn’t right. Then I heard a loud, hoarse whisper, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get this belt off me – now!’
She had somehow untied the gag, and was coughing and trying to relieve the soreness in her mouth. ‘Come on!’ She lifted her hands. ‘Get this fucking thing off!’
She couldn’t see it, but I was trying to hide a laugh. People with accents like hers shouldn’t swear, it just doesn’t work. Besides, she was practically naked, streaked with mud, yet trying to order me around.
‘Do it, Nick. Hurry, we must keep moving!’
There were no more weapon reports from behind us, and a loud-hailer was now being used, probably to give instructions to anyone left in the house. The rain prevented me from hearing what was being said. The heli was out there somewhere, the throbbing of its rotors carried in on gusts of wind.
What did she mean,
we
need to keep moving? I looked at her, and couldn’t help it – I started to laugh, and that pissed her off even more.
we
need to keep moving? I looked at her, and couldn’t help it – I started to laugh, and that pissed her off even more.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, hurry up and untie me!’ She held her arms out. ‘Get me out of here before this becomes even more of a fucking fiasco!’
The rattle of the helicopter getting closer made us both shut up. It was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. I was peering up, but could see jack shit.
‘Come on, get this belt off me and give me your coat!’ She started to use her teeth to pull the knot apart. It wasn’t working. The leather was too tight and wet, and she was shivering too much to get a good grip.
The helicopter roared overhead. I caught a glimpse of its navigation lights through the trees. At least it wasn’t hovering, or moving in a search pattern – not yet, anyway. I guessed it would be soon. I could see the glimmer of first light beyond the canopy.
She wanted my attention again. ‘Nick, get this off me and give me your coat. Please.’ Her arms were still thrust towards me. I grabbed hold of the belt and started to drag her along in the mud.
First light had started to penetrate to the forest floor, relieving the gloom just enough to show my footprints. The rain was starting to ease off; the noise of it hitting the leaves was dying down, along with the wind in the trees. I was starting to feel depressed; I was soaking wet, cold and confused. What was worse, we were leaving an unmissable trail in the mud.
She could obviously see that I was in no mood for discussion as we moved and she shut up. We came over another rise. Down below us, about one or two hundred metres away at the bottom of a steep gradient, was a river. Maybe thirty metres wide, it was in full flood, a maelstrom of fast-flowing water and foam.
As we scrambled downhill, all I could hear was the rush of water in front of us. Sarah called out, ‘Slower, slower,’ trying to get her footing. I wasn’t listening. We had to find a way across. With luck it would be the psychological boundary of the search; hopefully they would start from the house and fan out as far as the bank, assuming that no-one would be mad enough to try and cross.
At that moment I had to be the only person in the world with a good thing to say about El Niño. In theory, it should have been nice and sunny at this time of the year in the Carolinas. Conditions like this would slow the searchers down, and if the weather closed in any further the heli might not be able to fly.
Closer to the water the tree canopy started to thin. Out in the open it was virtually daylight, and looking up I could see a really thick, grey, miserable sky. It had stopped raining, but in dense woodland you’d never know that; all the moisture is held on the leaves and it still works its way down to the floor. What the fuck, I was soaked to the skin anyway.
Sarah’s hair was wet and flat against her head. Dried blood ringed her nostrils; I must have slammed my hand into her face quite hard on the bed. She was bleeding from several cuts on her legs, with goose bumps the size of peanuts, and in any other circumstances she’d have needed hospital attention. She was covered in mud, sand, bits of leaves and twigs, and shivering uncontrollably in her drenched and now transparent knickers and T-shirt.
I let go of the belt and studied the river, trying to look for a safe place to cross. It was pointless. If I’d doubted the strength of the current I only had to look at the chunks of uprooted tree that were surging downstream and crashing over the rocks. Wherever I chose, it was going to be a major drama. So what was new?
Sarah was switched on; she knew what I was thinking. She sat in a foetal position against a rock on the bank with her arms wrapped around her legs, trying to cover her body for warmth. She looked at the river, then at me. ‘No, Nick. Are you mad? I’m not going, not here. Why don’t we—’
I cut her off mid-sentence, grabbing hold of the belt and dragging her a short distance back into the canopy for cover. I didn’t talk to her; there was too much stuff churning round in my head. Instead I started to pull out my shirt from my trousers, then the bottoms of my jeans where they’d been tucked into my boots. I undid the cuffs on my jacket sleeves until everything was nice and loose and water could flow more freely around me. If your shirt is tucked in when you swim, the weight of trapped water that collects can slow you down, then it might drown you. The gloves came off; it was pointless wearing them at the moment, and besides, they looked ridiculous. Sarah was all right, she had fuck all on anyway. I stuffed all my docs, plus hers, into one of the gloves, then pushed that inside the other one and put it back in my jacket. I wondered about the bag; fuck it, I’d have to take it with me. I didn’t want to leave any more sign than was necessary.
The wind had started to gust strongly and the trees at the top of the canopy on the opposite side of the river were bending and swaying. I looked at Sarah hunching down behind a tree for shelter. Only feet away the water crashed angrily against the rocks.
I looked along the opposite bank, following the river’s current, trying to work out where we might land up. I could see downstream for about 250 metres, then the river bent round to the right and disappeared from view. The opposite bank was about two or three feet above water level, with plenty of grab provided by foliage and tree roots exposed by the current as it carved into the soil. I had to assume the worst, that there was a massive waterfall just after the bend, and that meant that we had just 250 metres in which to make our way across and get out.
The ambient temperature wasn’t freezing but it was bitterly cold. On land, we wouldn’t die of exposure if we kept moving, but the river would be another matter. Sarah saw me looking at the water and back at her. She dropped her head and buried it in her arms. The gesture was one of resignation, and recognition of the fact that, if she was telling the truth about wanting to get away, I was her only means of escape.
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