Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) (31 page)

Shots zinged around me as I sank into the freezing pool, pulled down by the rucksack. The bullets rippled through the water, clunked into the river bed. There was no way I could surface again, not with them up there armed, but I’d not be able to hold my breath for long.
 

I felt in my pocket for the pistol. But it wasn’t there. I’d lost it.

I pushed along the riverbed, backwards across the smooth stones. I made towards the waterfall, as another shot pinged through the water, just missing my leg. My chest felt like it was going to burst, that even lungs filled with water would be better than holding onto the stale air in them.
 

The waterfall growled above me and I rose up behind it, hoping there’d be and air gap that I could hide in. But my face hit rock. I moved around and found no way up. I was trapped. My lungs burned for air. Even a bullet through the head was better than this.

Then I found a patch of silver on the water, a slim bubble of air under the rock. Tilting my head to the side I slid the edge of my mouth into it and inhaled air, cold and moist but still breathable. I took in water. Coughed it out. Tried to keep the breaths shallow, to avoid taking in any more. I held myself in that spot.

But Nico and Gregg were still out there armed and after me. They wouldn’t just walk off after a few minutes, they’d want to see me punched full of bullet holes. All I wanted to do was breath, avoid being in the water. I slid the rucksack off without going under. As I kept taking in the air. I fumbled with the fasteners. My hands were slow, frozen. After a couple more breaths I ducked under, as the waterfall boiled around me, the cold crushing my head like it had nails hammered into it. Stinging my eyes.

As well as Gehenna stuff, gun and food there were clothes in there and I dragged out a shirt, then spare trousers. They flapped around, distorted in the water, hit me in the face. Nico and Gregg would be on their way down to the riverbank ready to close in and make sure they’d got me. They’d come into the water.

I rose up under the waterfall and took in another couple of breaths, then ducked down again, dumping the bag and taking the shirt and trousers. I needed a decoy. A distraction for them. The jeans were similar to the ones I was wearing. The shirt was an old checked one, not the same as what I had on but near enough. They flapped around in the current as I tried to knot them together. One end of the shirt held on a belt loop but I let go before tying another one. They rushed off in the current and snagged on a rock.

My lungs begged for air. I pushed up, under the waterfall, gasping at the thin sliver of air, hoping the clothing would be enough to convince them. It wasn’t great but it was all I had.

For some minutes I stayed put, my hands numb and feet immovable. There were a couple more shots into the water, possibly near to where I’d put the clothing but nothing else. Maybe that was it, they’d fired into what they thought was me and they’d go.

Then the waterfall changed, the steady rumble coming in waves, almost stopping. With the surges came other sounds, rocks being moved around above me. They were damming up the river, diverting it so they could calm the pool and see better. If they did that they’d spot me here. I felt through the bag to find anything that would help, whether a weapon or something to put into the water and colour it. There was the shotgun, filled with water, some tools, soggy money, a can of beans. And the siphon tube. The old piece of fuel line I’d used to drain the petrol. I slipped this out, pushed it into the patch of trapped air, now stilled with the water flow diverted. I held the tube in place and ducked down as far as I could go with my back flat against the rocks. The tube tasted of stale petrol, droplets of greasy water running down into my mouth. A tickle grew in my throat. I coughed and swallowed water. Tried to clear it. Breathed again.

I drew more air through the tube. Took it slow. Fought against the urge to burst out of the water and breathe deeply.

The water was now just a trickle and I could hear voices, raised but unclear. Nico and Gregg moved around on the side, distorted shapes that shifted and rippled above me. One disappeared and the other made a great movement and the water exploded as something dropped into it. For a second I thought they’d used some kind of grenade but as the disturbance settled it was clear that they’d only thrown a rock in. Two others followed then nothing.

They disappeared from the river bank. The waterfall soon returned to full flow as their dam either failed or they bust it themselves. I stayed still despite the pain in my hands, feet and head from the cold.

At last I slid up through the waterfall and surfaced beside it, ready to duck down if they’d camped out to wait. There was no one on the riverbank and no sound apart from the river rushing past. After a minute more I picked around in the water with my feet. Once I’d found my bag I slid it into the shallows and reached into the water to fetch it out. Then I dragged it and myself through the shallows. I lay out on the rocks at the side, cold, exhausted and bruised.

The river rolled past and I took in great breaths, rested. I stared at the clouds, fluffy and dark-edged. At least Nico and Gregg had gone: both of them very much alive and well. A tough couple of bastards.

I must have been there for some time, dozing as the sun fought its way through the mist and warmed me a little, not really taking away the numbness in my hands and feet. It was only when I stood up that the wound on my left arm showed, a clean shot that had nicked the bicep, bleeding a little, washed by the river.
 

Then I realised that Nico and Gregg would be after the Eblis. The track marks on the road would be easy to follow and they’d find them. Torture and kill them. Becky and Casper had messed me around, really pissed me off, but not enough to wish that on them. Not for Becky, at least. And there was Daniel.

I struggled up over to the Scrambler. It was a right-off. They’d finished it off with a couple of shots into the fuel tank that had set it alight. The whole thing was charred, black with melted plastic from the seat and wiring loom. The barrel was split to show a cracked piston. The front wheel was twisted and frame snapped. If I was going back to the hotel it had to be on foot. I took off my clothes, wrung them out and shook them, lying each on rocks. When I emptied my boots a load of water poured out. My socks were double their normal size. There wasn’t time to let it dry properly so after a few minutes I slid everything back on, at least a little warmer, and made my way up the hillside. On the way I tipped water out of my sodden bag. Then I joined the road and headed back towards the hotel.
 

Despite being in sunlight I was cold, wet and the injury in my arm was making itself felt. But I picked up the pace and focussed on what was ahead. I walked faster with long strides, pushing myself on. To get there before Nico could really set to work.
 

T
HE
WALK
TOOK
A
long time. It was a hard slog on foot. Soaking wet. Near the hotel I stepped off the road and listened. My arm hurt and water ran from my nose but I’d warmed a little. There were sounds of birds in the trees and animals moving round. A stream trickled somewhere nearby. And there was a voice. A faint voice in the distance: male, deep.
 

The track to the hotel had imprints from tyres, fresh wide ones that criss-crossed those from the Eblis. Further along was the white Transit, parked just out of view of the hotel. The grass was trampled down around it and the sliding side-door open. There was no sign of anyone.
 

A sound came from the van, low and repetitive. Things being moved or sorted. Then the voice I’d heard — a man repeating something. I ducked down and moved up to the door. It had a crew cab with six seats rather than the usual three. In the middle of the back ones was a fella shuffling a pack of cards. He was in his thirties, tall and slim with a pock-marked face. As he set the cards out he said what each was: a king or ace or three. I’d not seen him before. It looked like Nico had picked up a helper along the way. Across the seat from him was an old revolver. He was intent on his cards as he laid out the suits.
 

I moved away from the van into the cover of nearby trees. He continued to name the cards as he put them down. I opened my bag and slid out the shotgun. Water dribbled from the barrel. When I broke it soggy cartridges dropped out. I shook the cartridges dry, popped them back in and shut it. The mechanism felt stiff. After being in the water it had probably lost what little lubrication it had ever had. And the cartridges where likely to be duds. Still, it looked the part so that would help.

I stepped forward and stood in the doorway so that his pistol was between me and him. For a few seconds he carried on setting down the cards. Then he glanced up. At first he smiled but that soon disappeared and he reached for the gun.

‘Don’t.’ I jabbed the shotgun towards him.
 

His hand stayed a few centimetres away from the pistol as he stared at me. I cocked the shotgun. Although the mechanism was stiff it worked and the hammers held.

His hand retracted and he moved back into his seat. He watched me the whole time, his eyebrows knotted down over his eyes in concentration. ‘What you want?’ he said.

‘Just to pass through.’

‘I’m not after trouble.’
 

‘Me neither.’ I reached over and took the pistol. He stiffened at this but didn’t move. I swung the cylinder out. There were three rounds in place, the first lined up with the barrel. I flicked it closed, cocked it and aimed at the man. ‘Get out,’ I said. ‘This way.’

He sighed then shuffled across the seat to join me at the side of the van. The cards fell onto the floor apart from one that stuck to his trousers, the four of hearts.
 

We stood by the van and I slid the shotgun into my bag.
 

‘What now?’ he said.

There was a rattling in branches some way off and leaves crunched. For a second I scanned the undergrowth but there was no sign of anyone. It was most likely a bird or squirrel.

I waved the gun at him and we went round to the back of the van. It was unlocked and I popped the door open. Inside there were bags, spare shoes and coats. Shirts and tools and tins of food. Also four grenades and a rocket launcher. The kind of things Nico liked to have around. There was a short length of rope too. ‘Kneel down,’ I said. He didn’t move so I jabbed the pistol at him.

‘Not out here,’ he said. ‘Not on my own.’ His voice wavered as he spoke.

‘I’m not going to shoot you,’ I said. ‘Not if you do what I say. Kneel down and put your hands behind your back.’

He knelt and I grabbed the rope, wrapping it round his wrists, knotting it tight. Then I looped it around his ankles and tied it off. Once he was secured I put the pistol and shotgun down and went into the back of the van. I ripped a sleeve off a shirt and twisted it up before pulling it through the man’s mouth and knotting it behind his head. He stared up at me but didn’t try to move. I took the pistol and left the shotgun in the van. It was tempting to take the grenades and rocket launcher but they were blunt weapons. If Nico and Gregg had the others trapped in there I’d need something subtler. With the gun tight in my hand I made my way towards the hotel.
 

There were no signs of movement at the windows. If Nico had attacked in his usual way they’d be wherever he found them, probably the lounge or dining room. He didn’t move people around much, just grabbed them and made them sweat.

There was clear ground between me and the front of the building. The Eblis was out in the open with all its weapons. I went back into the woods to scout round to the back. Before moving off I stashed my bag in a tree, wedged between some of the lower branches. Then I picked my way through the undergrowth, between thin pines all on top of each other, staying in them right round to the kitchen. I stopped at the back of the house, near the kitchen so I was able to see into the back window of the dining room. A branch snapped behind me. For a second I didn't move. Then there was a hand on my arm.
 

‘Trent?’

I turned to face Daniel. ‘Shit.’

‘Shouldn’t swear.’

‘How did you get out?' I said.
 

‘Ran. When they came.’

‘They didn’t spot you?’

‘Nope.’

Nico and Gregg wouldn’t have expected a third person with them so they wouldn’t have looked for him. Now he was here with me.
 

‘How many are there?’ I said.

‘Four men.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yep.’

I had a revolver, the stuff in the van. And Daniel.

Inside the hotel a figure moved around in the dining room. Possibly Nico. Another one appeared, bulkier, like Gregg, moving as if he was kicking something, someone, on the floor but it was hard to tell at this distance.
 

There was no point charging in with four of them in there, armed up and looking for trouble. Even if they were surprised they’d fight back. I needed to draw them out. Pick them off one by one.
 

They’d come out if they thought there was something happening to the van. If it caught fire or something.