High Citadel / Landslide (61 page)

But I had to take a chance on the reasonableness of men some time. I had come to the conclusion that sheer raw violence wouldn’t get me out of this jam—that it only produced counter-violence in its turn. I hoped I had put a maggot of doubt in one man’s mind, the ‘reasonable doubt’ that every jury is asked to consider.

I walked on up the hill until I knew I was out of range and the tension eased suddenly. At last I turned and looked back. Way down the hill Blunt was standing, a minuscule figure looking up at me. There was no gun in his hands and he had made no move for or against me. I waved at him and, after a long pause, he waved back. I went on—up and over the hill.

The weather cleared up again, and I had broken out of Howard’s magic circle. I had no doubt that they would come after me again. To think that a man like Blunt could have any lasting restraint was to fool myself, but at least I had a temporary respite. When, after a whole day, I saw no one and heard no one, I took a chance and killed a deer, hoping there was no one there to hear the shot.

I gralloched it and, being hungry for meat, made a small fire to cook the liver, that being the quickest to cook and most easily digested. Then I quartered the beast and roasted
strips of flesh before the fire and stuffed the half-raw pieces into my pack. I didn’t stay long in that place but hid the rest of the carcase and moved on, afraid of being cornered. But no one came after me.

I bedded down that night by a stream, something I had never done since this whole chase had started. It was the natural thing to do and I had not done the natural thing ever, out of fear. But I was tired of being unnatural and I didn’t care a damn about what happened. I suppose the strain was telling and that I had just about given up. All I wanted was a good night’s sleep and I was determined to get it, even though I might be wakened by looking into a gun barrel in the middle of the night.

I cut spruce boughs for my bed, something I hadn’t done because the traces could put men on my trail, and even built a fire, not caring whether I was seen or not. I didn’t go to the extreme length of stripping before I turned in, but I did spread the blankets, and as I lay there before the fire, full of meat and with the coffee-pot to hand, everything looked cheerful just as most of my camps looked cheerful in better times.

I had made camp early, being wearied to the bone of moving continually, and by dusk I was on the point of falling asleep. Through my drowsiness I heard the throb of an engine and the whir of blades cutting through the air overhead and I jerked myself into wakefulness. It was the goddam helicopter still chasing me—and they must have seen the light of the fire. That blaze would stand out like a beacon in the blackness of the woods.

I think I groaned in despair but I moved my bones stubbornly and got to my feet as the sound died away suddenly in the north. I stretched, and looked round the camp. It was a pity to leave it and go on the run again but it looked as though I had to. Then I thought again.
Why
had I to run? Why shouldn’t I stop right here and fight it out?

Still, there was no reason to be taken like a sitting bird, so I figured out a rough plan. It didn’t take long to find a log nearly as tall as myself to put under the blankets, and by the time I had finished it looked very like a sleeping man. To add to the illusion I rigged a line to the log so I could move it from a distance to give the appearance of a man stirring in his sleep. I found a convenient place where I could lie down behind a stump and tested it. It would have fooled me if I didn’t know the trick.

If anything was to happen that night I would need plenty of light, so I built up the fire again into a good blaze—and I was almost caught by surprise. It was only by a snapping twig in the distance that I realized I had much less time than I thought. I ducked into my hiding-place and checked the shotgun, seeing that it was loaded and I had spare shells. I was quite near the fire so I rubbed some damp earth on the barrel so that it wouldn’t gleam in the light and then pushed the gun forward so that it would handle more conveniently.

The suddenness of the impending attack meant one of two things. That the helicopter was scouting just ahead of a main party, or that it had dropped a single load of men—and that meant not more than four. They’d already found out what happened when they did stupid things like that and I wondered if they would try it again.

A twig cracked again in the forest much closer and I tensed, looking from side to side and trying to figure out from which side the attack would come. Just because a twig had cracked to the west didn’t mean there wasn’t a much smarter guy coming in from the east—or maybe the south. The hair on the nape of my neck prickled; I was to the south and maybe someone was standing right behind me ready to blow my brains out. It hadn’t been too smart of me to lie flat on my belly—it’s an awkward position to move from, but it was the only way I could stay close in to the camp and still not stick out like a sore thumb.

I was about to take a cautious glance behind me when I saw someone—or something—move out of the corner of my eye, and I froze rigid. The figure came into the firelight and I held my breath as I saw it was Howard Matterson. At last I had drawn the fox.

He came forward as though he were walking on eggshells and stooped over my pack. He wouldn’t have any difficulty in identifying it because my name was stencilled on the back. Cautiously I gathered in the slack of my fishing-line and tugged. The log rolled over a little and Howard straightened quickly.

The next thing that happened was that he put the gun he was carrying to his shoulder and the dark night was split by the flash and roar as he put four shotgun shells into the blanket from a distance of less than eight feet as fast as he could operate the action.

I jumped and started sweating. I had all the evidence I needed that Howard wanted me out of the way in the worst way possible. He put his foot to the blanket and kicked it and stubbed his toe on the log. I yelled, ‘Howard, you bastard, I’ve got you covered. Put down tha—’

I didn’t get it all out because Howard whirled and let rip again and the blast dazzled my eyes against the darkness of the wood. Someone yelled and gurgled horribly and a body crashed down and rolled forward. I had been right about a smarter guy coming in from behind me. Jimmy Waystrand must have been standing not six feet away from me and Howard had been too goddam quick on the trigger. Young Jimmy had got a bellyful.

I jumped to my feet and took a shot at Howard, but my eyes were still dazzled by the flash of his discharge and I missed. Howard looked at me incredulously and shot blindly in my direction, but he’d forgotten that his automatic shotgun held only five shells and all there was was the dry snap of the hammer.

I must say he moved fast. With one jump he had cleared the fire, going in an unexpected direction, and I heard the splashing as he forded the stream. I took another shot at him into the darkness and must have missed again because I heard him crashing away through the undergrowth on the other side, and gradually the noises became fainter.

I knelt down next to Jimmy. He was as dead as I’ve seen any man—and I’ve seen a few. Howard’s shotgun must have been loaded with those damned rifled slugs and Jimmy had caught one dead centre in the navel. It had gone clean through and blown the spine out of his back and there was a mess of guts spilled out on the ground.

I rose unsteadily to my feet, walked two paces and vomited. All the good meat I had eaten came up and spilled on the ground just like Jimmy Waystrand’s guts. I shivered and shook for five minutes like a man with fever and then got myself under control. I took the shotgun and carefully reloaded with rifled slug shells because Howard deserved only the best. Then I went after him.

It was no trick to follow him. A brief on-and-off glimpse of the flashlamp showed me muddied footprints and broken grasses, but that set me thinking. He still had his gun and had presumably reloaded with another five shells. If the only way I could follow him was with a flashlamp I was about to get my head blown off. It didn’t matter how much better I was in the woods on a night as dark as this. If I used a light all he had to do was to hole up, keep quiet and then let go as I conveniently illuminated his target for him. That was sure death.

I stopped short and started thinking again. I hadn’t done any real thinking since Howard had pumped four shots into that log—everything had happened so fast. I cranked my brain into low gear and started it working again. There couldn’t be anyone else other than Howard or I’d have been nailed back at the camp while I was puking and twitching
over the body of Jimmy Waystrand. The two must have come from that helicopter which must be within reasonable walking distance.

I had heard the sound of the helicopter die away to the north quite suddenly and that must have been where it had come to earth. There was a place not far to the north where the soil was thin, a mere skin on the bedrock. No trees grew there and there was ample space to land that whirlybird. Howard had plunged away to the west and I reckoned he wasn’t much good in the woods anyway, so there was a chance I could get to the helicopter first.

I abandoned his trail and moved fast unhampered by the pack. I had humped that pack continuously over miles of ground for nearly two weeks and its absence gave me an airy sense of freedom and lightness. By leaving the pack I was taking a chance because if I lost it I was done for—I couldn’t hope to survive in the woods without the gear I had. But I had the reckless feeling that this was the make or break time: I would either come out on top this night or be defeated by Howard—and defeat meant a slug in the guts like Jimmy Waystrand because that was the only way he could stop me.

I moved fast and quietly, halting every now and then to listen. I didn’t hear Howard but pretty soon I heard the swish of air driven by rotors and knew that not only was the helicopter where I thought it was but the pilot was nervous and ready for a quick take-off. I reckon he’d started his engine when he heard the shots back at my camp.

Acting on sound principles, I circled round to come on the helicopter from the opposite direction before coming out on to the open ground, and when I did come out of cover it was at the crouch. The noise was enough to make my approach silent and I came up behind the pilot who was standing and looking south, waiting for something to happen.

Something did happen. I pushed the muzzle of the shotgun in his ribs and he jumped a foot. ‘Calm down,’ I said. ‘This is Boyd. You know who I am?’

‘Yeah,’ he said nervously.

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘We’ve met before—nearly two years ago. You took me from the Kinoxi back to Fort Farrell on the last trip. Well, you’re going to do it again.’ I bored the gun into his ribs with a stronger pressure. ‘Now, take six steps forward and don’t turn round until I tell you. I think you know better than to try any tricks.’

I watched him walk away and then come to a halt. He could have easily got away from me then because he was just a darker shadow in the darkness of that moonless cloudy night, but he must have been too scared. I think my reputation had spread around. I climbed up into the passenger seat and then said, ‘Okay, climb up here.’

He clambered up and sat in the pilot’s seat rigidly. I said conversationally, ‘Now, I can’t fly this contraption but you can. You’re going to fly it back to Fort Farrell and you’re going to do it nice and easy with no tricks.’ I pulled out my hunting knife and held it out so the blade glinted in the dim light of the instrument panel. ‘You’ll have this in your ribs all the way, so if you have any idea of crash-landing this thing just remember that you’ll be just as dead as me. You can also take into account that I don’t particularly care whether I live or die right now—but you might have different ideas about that. Got it?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve got it. I won’t play tricks, Boyd.’

Maliciously I said, ‘Mr Boyd to you. Now, get into the air—and make sure you head in the right direction.’

He pulled levers and flicked switches and the engine note deepened and the rotors moved faster. There was a flash from the edge of the clearing and a Perspex panel in the canopy disintegrated. I yelled, ‘You’d better make it damned quick before Howard Matterson blows your head off.’

That helicopter suddenly took off like a frightened grasshopper. Howard took another shot and there was a
thunk
from somewhere back of me. The ‘copter jinked around in the air and then we were away with the dark tide of firs streaming just below. I felt the pilot take a deep breath and relax in his seat. I felt a bit more relaxed myself as we gained more height and bored steadily south.

Air travel is wonderful. I had walked and run from Fort Farrell and been chased around the Kinoxi Valley for nearly two weeks, and in that wonderful machine we headed straight down the valley and were over the dam in just fifteen minutes with another forty miles—say, half an hour—to go to Fort Farrell. I felt the tension drain out of me but then deliberately tightened up again in case the frightened man next to me should get up his nerve enough to pull a fast one.

Pretty soon I saw the lights of Fort Farrell ahead. I said, ‘Bull Matterson should have a landing-strip at the house—does he?’

‘Yeah; just next the house.’

‘You land there,’ I said.

We flew over Fort Farrell and the upper-crust community of Lakeside and suddenly we were over the dark bulk of Matterson’s fantastic château and coming down next to it. The helicopter settled and I said, ‘Switch off.’

The silence was remarkable when the rotors flopped to a stop. I said, ‘Does anyone usually come out to meet you?’

‘Not at night.’

That suited me. I said, ‘Now, you stay here. If you’re not here when I come back then I’ll be looking for you one day—and you’ll know why, won’t you?’

There was a tremble in the pilot’s voice. ‘I’ll stay here, Mr Boyd.’ He wasn’t much of a man.

I dropped to the ground, put away the knife and hefted the shotgun, then set off towards the house which loomed
against the sky. There were a few lights showing, but not many and I reckoned most of the people would be asleep. I didn’t know how many servants were needed to keep the place tidy but I thought there wouldn’t be many around that time of night.