Blood Prize (15 page)

L
uther propelled himself off the edge in one fluid motion. He spun around in midair, using his hands to slow his progress as he plummeted down the steep ice-encrusted slope.

His plan didn’t work. His fingers lost traction and he continued to fall.

This is it; death
.

He hit an object and pain exploded through his upper body; his fall suspended, as a branch smashed through the soft tissue of his armpit and speared its way out through the front of his shoulder.

Not death. Agony.

Big Luther they called him, as tough as a bear; a man who respected his calling, who respected himself. Thirty years of training, service and belief, grasped at the pain and stifled his scream.

Fight. Pull yourself up … Come on.

Luther used the elbow on his non-injured side to prop himself up on the trunk of the tree and alleviate some of his pain. After a brief assessment of his situation, he realised he hung from the fire-hardened branches of a dead snow gum. It captured his bulk and prevented any further slide down the mountain.

I’m lucky. It could’ve gutted me.

He wanted to live, he couldn’t deny his instincts, but his frantic attempts at survival seemed futile.

I haven’t got much time left for life.

He felt he didn’t have the strength for a further climb, even if he could escape the branch protruding from his shoulder.

Then he saw a light searching from above and kept as still as possible.

Uta …

She wanted to finish him off.

I can’t just hang here. I either wait for death, or have a go.

Attempting a climb back to the top of the ridge meant suffering, but waiting for death held the same reward.

Alright … I know what I have to do.

He thought about Noah. The man taught him everything and made him part of a special family. He tended his emotional wounds and helped him recover from the loss of his birth family. The man gave him purpose and the will to live. He gave him back his life.

This is for you old mate.

Luther wasted no further time on reflection. He raised his right arm and grasped the highest branch he could find. Arching his back, he lifted his knees as high as possible, driving the metal teeth on the front of his crampons into the ice. He rested, taking a moment to build up his courage. As a means of coping with the pain to come, he tensed his body and gritted his teeth.

It’s time … Go, now.

With all of his strength, he pushed with his legs, using his right arm to pull from above. In one rapid movement, he drew himself off the twisted stake.

It’s meant to hurt. If the pain stops, I’m dead.

His entire being throbbed with excruciating agony. He stiffened, as another involuntary scream built momentum in his chest and tore into his throat; an unstoppable force that threatened to explode from his mouth, but Luther didn’t utter the slightest sound. With all of his will, he choked it down and silently held his position.

He sat unencumbered in the branches; a leg dangling on either side of the trunk.

Just a few moments to recover. Not too long.

He utilised the hand on his uninjured side to search the branches in the darkness. He selected two limbs with sharpened ends. The wind helped him. It rose in swirling gusts as a new storm approached. Its roar diffused the loud crack as each wooden spike broke free.

Luther knelt up on the tangled trunk and used his good arm to punch the wooden spike into the ice.

No. It won’t work.

The other spike fell from his grasp the moment he attempted to use it. He couldn’t raise his injured arm above chest height.

It’s useless.

Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder; his left arm flopped back and hung by his side, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He pushed up with his legs, using the remaining spike and his crampons to hold himself in an arched position, before extending his reach and punching the wooden skewer higher into the slope. In the same motion, he drove his crampons higher into the ice, taking two small steps up at a time.

He repeated this process, inching his way towards the top of the ridge.

Acids began to seep into Luther’s stomach cavity and he suffered like never before. The blood loss from multiple injuries and the hurt gnawing at his flesh turned his short climb into an Everest.

Damn it … Hang on.

He almost fell; his spike bouncing off hard wet rock. To compensate, he threw his knees and chest against the slope. He wavered; legs trembling; his life limited to the length of his crampon’s steel teeth; the only purchase holding him to the edge.

Punch lower. Get the spike in and move.

He crabbed around the protruding rock and continued his upward momentum.

Don’t think … Just focus on each movement … One step at a time.

The darkness saved him from the distance to his objective; he couldn’t see far enough to feel dissuaded. When his spike found the snow over the top of the ridge, he felt a moment of surprise, then an overflowing of elation.

Luther forced himself onto his knees and searched the immediate area for his lost communicator. Without it, there seemed no way of achieving his goal.

My torch. Yes. I can use the light.

In the distance, between fast-moving clouds, he saw a faint glow coming from the hut’s window. He controlled his pain, pushed himself into a standing position and steadied himself. He aimed his headlamp towards the hut, sending a continuous SOS signal in that direction.

He repeated this process as he staggered down the track towards the hut. He realised the pointlessness; he understood his situation, but having a purpose provided him with a mechanism to control his pain.

It’s too late. I’m not going to make it.

He faltered, weak and exhausted from blood loss and pain. Through his growing delirium, he realised that death waited for him at the end of his walk.

_____________

Petra searched the path ahead with each outstretched step. She understood the reality of her situation and she felt frightened and angry.

I betrayed him. My beautiful Luther. If only I hadn’t looked …

She needed clarity. If she remained at this place, Uta could use her torchlight and catch her. She considered several of the other serious problems facing her: falling, blood loss and the problem foremost in her mind, the pain of exposure. She wore only brief underwear with nothing on her feet; allowing the cold, free access to her body.

Oh God … If she catches me, she’ll gut me.

Petra began to sob; wondering if she possessed the courage to throw herself over the side and choose her own end.

No. Not yet … Maybe … If it’s necessary.

By staying and not moving, she created at least one of two certainties; either she froze to death or died under Uta’s blade, yet if she continued both certainties became only possibilities.

As she considered her situation, she saw movement; flashes of light that she couldn’t comprehend. Over time, she possessed a library of expectations and experience developed for most situations, yet this Jedi-like display, didn’t fit into any scenario she could imagine.

“Luther …?”

She felt buoyed by hope. That’s it, she understood. Luther continued to fight with Uta. The duelling light from their headlamps proved he lived.

“Oh no.”

One of the lights went out.

“Luther?”

The remaining light bobbed towards her position. It came fast; at a run and panic seized her more tightly than the cold.

It’s not him. With those wounds he couldn’t run like that.

“He’s dead … It’s Uta.”

A positive thought occurred to her. If she ran far enough away from the hut, Uta might give up the chase, preferring to re-join the hunt for the Prize.

No. She won’t want an enemy at her back either. She’ll come.

Petra knew she required the kind of speed that put her in danger of falling.

For God’s sake, get moving. Go.

With long probing steps, she moved off along the Razorback in the direction of Mount Hotham. After ten frightening minutes she stopped, spotting a light moving in front of her to the east.

No … It can’t be. It’s coming from the wrong direction. From Mount Hotham
.

She felt numb; for a moment not heeding the cold’s sting on her body, nor the pain from her wound. She tried to focus her failing senses towards an understanding of her current situation.

No-one’s crazy enough to travel on this ridge in a snow storm, especially at night. No way. This couldn’t be a group of innocent trekkers.

“Bloody hell.”

Whoever it is, they’re coming straight towards me.

_____________

Uta didn’t need to check the edges. The deep sliding impressions in the snow made trailing her easy. She considered the gap in her tracks.

The mad bitch.

The Russian raced ahead, often stopping for no reason and wandering around in tight circles. Uta laughed at her uncertainty. Her next movements seemed slow and precise, her feet feeling ahead in perfect arcs.

Then the tracks grew longer and deeper; accelerating.

She knows I’m after her.

Uta kept the torch pointing down, as she approached a small crest. Petra couldn’t escape, but might go over the side if she sensed immediate danger.

Stay with me you bony cow.

Uta switched off her light and crept quietly over the crest. With the easing of the wind, she could hear the girl’s panting and the occasional panicked sob. She estimated that she stood within fifteen or twenty metres.

Just a little closer and I’ll flick the light on.

If necessary, she could blow a hole in the girl’s leg to prevent any nonsense. She stood, readying herself to switch on and focus the beam of light.

Damn it … Moving lights … Vogel.

Uta fell to the ground, crabbing backwards behind the safety of the small crest. She raised her head above the snow to determine her enemies’ movements. The light came from behind the next small crest, thirty metres in front of her.

Uta slid across the snow to her left. Once out of sight, she raised herself high enough to see through a clump of snow gum saplings, as the erratic beams descended into the depression.

Petra stood alone in the clearing; milky white and bloodied. Her entire body shook in wild spasms.

You bastard, Vogel. You’ve stolen my kill.

Uta needed to quickly determine her next move. She couldn’t call out and identify herself.

No. If I show myself, they’ll kill me.

The timing of the soldier’s arrival provided her with two absolutes: that Vogel knew of her treachery and that he lied about his own movements.

I can’t get caught between Vogel and Noah that’s for sure.

She required noise to muffle her escape. She needed the storm to intensify, or the girl to start screaming. She decided to wait for the screams.

At least make it entertaining.

She reset the safety switch on her weapon as the two-man SRP forward reconnaissance jerked to a stop at the sight of the girl.

“You … Halt. Don’t move.”

Uta smiled as she considered the soldiers’ bewilderment at finding a bloodied and nearly naked girl alone in a snow storm.

“Get your hands up where we can see them. Do it now or we’ll shoot.”

_____________

Petra tried to raise both of her hands, but her wound prevented her from complying.

“Don’t … Don’t shoot. I’m hurt.”

The two men stepped forward, one scanning the area for ambush and the other forcing Petra to kneel on hands and knees in the snow.

“If you want to live, answer quickly. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“Marilyn. My name’s Marilyn.”

“Why are you here? Who did this?”

Petra didn’t answer. She understood her plight. She could only hope that her fear wouldn’t betray any of the others.

“Sir. We’ve captured a woman just forward of the High Knob. She’s nearly naked and she’s been shot in the arm by an unknown.”

“Who the hell is she? Quickly, find out what’s going on.”

The soldier gave Petra a prod with the barrel of his gun and asked an assortment of questions, but she didn’t speak.

“She’s in a bad way sir. She’s not talking.”

“Alright. Hold her until we arrive. This woman’s about to discover the meaning of pain.”

T
om sat against the wall and stared across the room at Isobel and Noah; two different faces, one etched with experience, the other smooth, yet both producing the same expression of worry.

He stood and paced the room.

“No. I can’t go without opening it, Noah. We might never get another chance.”

“Alright. Enough. Unlock it, but if I say we have to go … then we have to go. Understood?”

Tom nodded several times, before turning his head torch to the lowest setting. He removed the key from his pocket and began unlocking the diary; opening the three locks built into the metal surface of the binding, from top to bottom.

As he eased opened the cover, he noticed the electronic device.

“Tom. Stop … Don’t move. That’s an explosive mechanism.”

Noah identified the miniature bomb and checked its workings for any variations from the factory version. He glanced at the others, before removing it from the binding.

“You’re a lucky, young man. The three locks disarmed the mechanism. If you undid it in the wrong order … Boom.”

“My father’s stupid precautions could’ve killed us.”

“No. I’m sure he provided us with the instructions. Petra would have wiped them when she damaged the chip.”

Thoughts of metal shards tearing his face off, drifted through Tom’s mind, but nothing could deter him from reading his father’s diary. He leafed through several of the first pages.

“This is hard to understand. It isn’t a conventional diary; more like a scientific journal.”

Tom continued his search for something he could understand; a connection to his father.

“Hey. What’s this?”

A folded piece of paper fell from between the pages and into his lap.

He read several sentences and stopped. He felt a tear licking his cheek and sensed Isobel staring at him. Embarrassed, he attempted to say something, but it came out as an unintelligible stammer.

Isobel reached over and grabbed him by the arm.

“Tom. We’re dying here. Can you read it aloud?”

“No, I … You read it for me, Iz.”

He searched her eyes for any sign of ridicule. Her expression seemed harsh.

“Sometimes I … have trouble reading aloud. Just sometimes.”

“Sure.”

Did she mock him with her barely concealed smile? No. He noticed the moisture in her eyes and his ribs and stomach contracted into tremors of sensation.

“Of course I will, Tom.”

She reached over, took the letter from his hand and began to read it aloud.

“Mr Chairman,

All current experiments regarding the Angels’ deterioration have proved fruitless. The suits have undergone every test possible and the only conclusion is that this alien technology is too advanced for us to fathom.

As you are aware, the seven suits initially supported their inhabitants, not only creating ultra-human performance, but also heightening the experience of life for the wearer to levels akin to ecstasy.

We do know that the suits altered human flesh, changing the DNA of the occupant’s tissue. This alien biology took over every system in the body. Firstly, the autonomous and reflex systems and then the endocrine system, with specific glands including the hypothalamus, secreting a range of hormones that we haven’t been able to identify or understand.

We have also been unsuccessful in determining why each of the seven men grew more than one hundred percent larger. This includes all of the organs and especially the brain. The electrical impulses from each brain have increased even more than the growth of the tissue and the signals to other parts of the body have grown accordingly.

Unfortunately, we have been unable to identify most of the neurochemicals concerned. Each brain is working at nearly full capacity, which has previously been impossible for a human being.

The suits are living organisms with their own intelligence that have lain dormant for millions of years without any kind of nutrition, or means of sustainability. Yet they have survived.

If we are to draw any conclusions from our current dilemma, it is to make comment that human beings were never meant to be the recipients of such technology. They were created for beings with vastly different physiology and mental development.

As a consequence, we have been unable to open the suits, or to stop any of their processes. There is also no current way of inflicting any kind of injury to this technology.

I am sorry, Antonio, but it is my duty to inform you of this tragedy. It is my guess that the suits will eventually expel the men once they have perished.

In the meantime, I will work tirelessly to develop a method of making the suits more habitable for the wearers. There has to be some way of gaining control and moulding them to our purpose.”

The crackling of the fire and the gusting wind outside became the only sound permeating the room.

Tom’s voice rose in anger as he ended their silence.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is total bullshit. Everything I’ve ever been taught about the Angels is a damn lie.”

Tom’s scripture teachers taught him this garbage, that the entire Christian world rejoiced at the coming of the Seven Angels; that they came from heaven to defeat the enemies of Christ and to bring the world back to true Christian principles.

“Total nonsense. Why, Noah?”

“It just proves that Angels don’t wear alien suits, Tom.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Listen, lad. It’s just a grab for power. Men have used religion for this purpose for thousands of years. They’ve become quite proficient at recreating God in their own image.”

“Man can’t create God.”

“Can’t we? Look at history. We’ve created thousands of Gods so that we can control the masses. It’s cheaper than military force. That’s what it’s always been about; power and control.”

Isobel shifted her attention to Tom.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“My father … he helped them with this fraud. He’s …”

Tom flinched. Noah’s communicator beeped fear into the room.

“Tom, Isobel. Get your packs and be ready to move.”

Noah stood and began striding around the room as he answered the call.

“Surat. Go ahead.”

“Noah. I’ve found Luther. He’s badly wounded. I’ve dragged him back past the junction, about two hundred metres from your position. If you want to see him before he passes, come now.”

“Did you find any sign of Julius?”

“He’s most likely dead.”

“And Petra?”

“She left a blood trail heading east along the Razorback. She’s as good as dead, Noah. She ran the wrong way in the dark. I found her headlamp lying in the snow beside her cloths. Uta’s prints follow hers. You can guess the rest.”

“But you can’t confirm?”

“No, but it gets worse …”

Tom reached out and took Isobel’s hand. They could both see the pain etched in Noah’s face.

“I saw lights coming west along the ridge from High Knob. The SRP are coming across the Razorback. No-one else would attempt it in these conditions. We have to get going. We have to move out as soon as possible.”