Christopher Brookmyre - Parlabane 04 (25 page)

Grieg had been entranced by this spectacle too, but not enough to stop. Emily knew this because he clattered into her back and sent the pair of them tumbling forward. She turned a full somersault but was unable to get any kind of grip when her feet came back around into contact with the grass, and found herself rolling ever faster, the hillside and sky spinning in her view like she was inside a washing machine. The only thing more sickening than the sensation was the thought of the rock that might be waiting for her skull or spine. She grabbed at tufts of grass, her bodyweight jerking her wrists painfully when her fingers found anything to grip. It did the trick, however, by virtue of turning her spin the necessary eighty or so degrees in order that she was rolling along the slope rather than down it. This brought er to a stop, but it was a few seconds before her eyes caught up, the world still slewing off in one direction whenever she tried to focus.

She lay still until the effect dissipated a little, then sat up slowly, assessing her condition and regaining her coordination There was the beginning of an ache in her right buttock and thigh that she knew was going to have a lot 145

more to say for itself in a couple of hours, but for now it would be tolerable. It would have to be.

To her relieved surprise, she saw that the Human Snowball technique had taken her almost to the valley floor. There were only a few more yards before the slope flattened out, the cover of the trees beckoning ahead across one last gauntlet-run of exposed moor. She glanced to her left and saw that Rory and Kathy were on ground-level too, though instead of sprinting for the woods, they were standing at the foot of the scree, beckoning the others to board the express and readying themselves to assist at the terminus. Emily presumed their route down had been more tolerable than her own. The only person she'd have wished a similar descent upon would have been the gormless clown who'd precipitated her own, a needless sentiment as he was stumbling around a few yards to her right, dizzy from having stood up too soon. Kathy and Rory assisted the skidding yellow descendants as necessary, helping them to their feet, in the case of Max, arresting a dangerous spin-cumtumble. Baxter was yelling at the rest to keep running, accepting the unspoken wisdom that this proven fastest pair were best equipped to recover ground once they'd made sure everyone got down safely. Vale and Parlabane fell in last above the scree, the former holding something in his left hand as he watched his predecessors. Emily realised with a degree of outrage that it was his camera. It seemed as negligently frivolous as it did tasteless, but then what kind of photographer would Jack Parlabane insist upon? Maybe he was dedicated to the bitter end and was recording what he could in order to bequeath some sort of
Blair-Witch
-style future scoop. Remembering her own responsibility, Emily put an arm around Grieg's waist and guided him in a steady jog until he was stable enough to continue alone. A few seconds later, she glanced back to see how far this hindmost duo were lagging, and nearly fell over again at the sight of the pair skidding down almost upright, as though on invisible snowboards, both urging their unnecessary helpers to get moving. She was sure she'd heard somewhere that Parlabane was into climbing, so maybe this was no great shakes to him. Possibly that was how he and Vale had met.

Rory and Kathy caught up just as Emily reached the track. There was still a distance of about fifty or sixty yards to go before cover.

'Are we having fun yet?' Rory asked, panting.

'No,' Emily replied, 'but if I ever need a cheap exfoliation treatment for my arse-cheeks, I'll know where to come.'

She looked back, Rory too. The still and silent landscape appeared as indifferently deserted as when they had first set eyes upon it. It felt difficult to believe that there was anyone else out there, never mind what they had witnessed on the other side; a difficulty that was proving rapidly contagious. 146

'No sign,' Rory said. 'Maybe they were just putting the wind up us.'

'They fired shots,' Kathy reminded him.

Parlabane and Vale were approaching at the rear, stealing the odd glance behind themselves.

'Could have just been to chase us off,' Rory persisted. 'Maybe Donald's mapreading isn't quite on the money and we
were
trespassing. A volley over our heads to get us to bugger off sharpish. Did the trick, didn't it?'

'They came after us too,' Kathy added.

'Did they, though? That's how big boys chase off wee boys: a few angry paces and the wee ones get off their marks. They don't hang around, so they don't know the big boys have stayed where they were, pissing themselves.'

'What do you think?' Kathy asked Parlabane, who was now trotting alongside.

'I like Rory's odds, but I don't like the stake.'

'Point taken,' Rory conceded.

They caught up with the rest under the trees, the group stopping to catch their breath at a judicious spot affording both a view of the spur and a quick escape into cover if needed.

'This is when Donald tells us congratulations on completing the latest UML

test,' said Liz. She sounded sardonic, but it was hard to tell whether she was being scornful should this turn out to be the case, or despairing of her own wishes that it would. The possibility had flashed across Emily's mind, though it had been hard to evaluate amid other, threateningly mortal concerns. It seemed like a desperate hope in the 'Maybe I'll wake up and it'll all have been a dream' category, but with the added plausibility of 'surprises' and

'challenges' being on the UML agenda. The thought of enormous legal vulnerability argued against the company engaging in reckless stunts, but, on the other hand, waivers and disclaimers had been signed in respect of 'strenuous and physically demanding outdoor activities'.

Baxter ignored both the remark and the expectant looks awaiting his response. Instead he looked into the trees, away from the track, comparing the limited view with what was on his map.

'We should get off the road, take the less obvious path,' he said. 'And we should do it before they get line of sight.'

'Line of sight?' Rory muttered, evidently still fancying those odds enough to be less concerned than the rest about the stake. 'They're hardly going to get that, sitting smoking a fag a mile back on the other side of that hill, are they?'

Emily looked behind once again, a near-superstitious compulsion in response to Rory so blatantly dropping his drawers and mooning fate. Parlabane was looking back too, in time to see fate drop its own drawers in response, only fate was facing forwards. One of the soldiers was visible, jogging over 147

the brow of the hill. Spotting his quarry, he dropped to one knee and fired. Emily heard something explode from a trunk a few yards away, at almost the same time as the report reached her ears.

Everyone ran deeper under the trees.

'That's what I meant by line of sight,' Baxter shouted angrily. 'The other one could be even closer. Let's move it out.'

'We'll just call you Archie MacPherson, shall we?' Parlabane said to Rory.

'Eh?'

'It's Andy Ritchie on the ball, very disappointing, he hasn't really contributed much in this ga-- oh he's scored! Great goal from Andy Ritchie!'

'Fuck you.'

As Baxter began leading the group off the track, Emily noticed Vale take a few steps to one side in order to look up at the trees, searching for and examining the bullet hole. Max spotted this and came over too.

'Looks heavy-calibre,' Max said. 'Army issue, I'd wager.'

'I'll take your word for it,' Vale replied.

'I know a bit about these things,' Max assured him.

'What are you two after, a fucking souvenir?' Baxter shouted. 'Come on.'

'Where are we headed?' Rory asked.

'I think I know a short cut.'

'You
think
?'

'You got any better ideas? Actually, it's not so much a short cut as a way of putting greater distance between us and them.'

'How so?'

'You'll see, but only if you shut up and keep moving.'

'No, keep talking, Rory,' Kathy said. 'Tell us again about the soldiers staying where they were.'

'Kathy,' Emily chided. 'Knock it off.'

'Sorry. Just wishing he was right, that's all.'

They proceeded Indian file, which discouraged Emily from constantly looking behind, as all she'd have seen was Rory. As far as she was aware, it was Parlabane who was rearmost, and therefore first in the queue for a bullet should the soldiers catch up. It occurred to her that Parlabane was probably first in a lot of people's queue for a bullet, though she wasn't sure if his presence here was therefore a talisman or a curse: whether his survival of previous murder attempts meant he was a smart guy to have around, or whether it skewed the law of averages to their disadvantage.

She let a couple of people pass her until only Parlabane was at her back.

'I'm not being funny here,' she said, 'but this isn't the first time you've been shot at, is it?'

'Actually, come to think of it, I believe it is.'

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'But I'm sure someone told me there'd been attempts on your life.'

'Oh, yeah, but nobody actually popped one off before. Probably why I'm still here. As far as I remember, I think only one of them was planning to use a gun. Alastair Dalgleish's hired help brought a knife, and Ian Beadie's errand boy used a more improvised implement.'

'So how did you come through all of these unscathed?'

'I didn't. I lost a length of intestine in jail. Feel free to make a remark about me being no less full of shit as a result.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't sweat it.'

'How did you survive the others?'

'You looking for tips?'

'You could say that.'

'Can't help you. Not today. I survived most of those attempts through two things I haven't got right now.'

'And what were they?'

'A gun of my own and the drop on the bad guy.'

'Shit.'

'Best keep running.'

She did. The pace was disquietingly undemanding. She couldn't say she'd prefer it if every sinew was screaming, her vision blurred or her lungs threatening to implode and prolapse through her windpipe, but at least it would make her feel the distance between the fugitives and their pursuers was not narrowing with every footfall. Bound to each other as they were, the group could only be as fast as its slowest member, which was making her think extremely uncharitable and politically unacceptable thoughts connecting her personal survival with Joanna's dietary discipline. She'd never articulate such notions, but when there were gunmen on her trail, it was difficult to prevent the more ruthlessly pragmatic parts of her mind from protesting that
she
shouldn't die just because someone else couldn't say no to a cream cake. Making it worse, she was sure she could hear footsteps close by that didn't belong to Parlabane.

'Did you hear that?' she asked him.

'What?'

'Footsteps?'

'Just me, my dear, sorry to alarm you,' said a voice. It was Vale, appearing at her side as though he'd been teleported there. She realised she hadn't passed him when she dropped back.

'Where were you?'

'Call of nature,' Parlabane answered for him. 'It's a problem at his age. He went for a slash, which probably made him the only one not shitting himself.'

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'Charming, as ever, Mr P.'

Perhaps provoked by this little exchange, Emily began to think she could hear running water. It was hard to be sure with the wind picking up now and again, rippling the leaves and masking more distant sounds. After another fifty yards or so, there was no question: not only was the rushing noise clear and consistent, but the surface of the water could be glimpsed to her left through gaps in the wood. It got closer the further they proceeded: their route remained straight, but the river was bending to meet them, and unless it bent back upon itself, it was going to drive them away from the direction of the hotel.

Moments later, they were on the edge of a steep bank, several yards of fast-flowing water blocking their path three feet below.

'Looks like the short cut's fucked,' said Max.

'This
is
the short cut,' Baxter replied.

'How the hell are we supposed to get across that?' Grieg demanded, horrified. 'Look at the speed of the current.'

'As a team,' Baxter insisted. 'You don't think we can get across this? Good, because hopefully they won't think we can either. Which means they'll still be searching this side while we're hightailing it on the other.'

He took off his backpack and uncoiled the rope they had used back at the tunnel. For a moment, due to the way he was dangling it from his wrist, Emily thought he was planning to cast it across the flow and lasso something on the other side. Possibly the notion had sprung from her reluctance to contemplate a plan that involved actually getting into the water. It was moving steadily, a calmness upon the broad surface denoting that it was far from shallow beneath. It appeared to be unseasonally in spate, unseasonally in as much as it was, theoretically at least, not meant to have pissed down all through June, July, August and September as it had done this 'summer'.

'I need a volunteer to go first. I'll be going last to make sure we all make it.'

Toby put a hand up, just ahead of Rory and Max.

'Thanks, Toby, but you're a little light on your feet.'

'I'm not,' declared Joanna, stepping in front of the other would-be volunteers. A contrite voice in Emily's head acknowledged the possibility that her survival chances might well now be improved because someone else couldn't say no to a cream cake.

Joanna passed the rope through two belt-loops on her trousers and allowed Baxter to tie off one end. He, Rory and Max then took hold of the slack and paid it out gradually to ease her reverse climb down the bank into the flow. She wobbled a little as her legs went under, but regained her balance before turning so that the current was hitting her side-on. The water came up to just above her waist. Rory went next, coiling the rope around his forearm and 150