Watershed (30 page)

I heard them long before I saw them; crouching, I unscrewed the staff and retrieved the bow and arrows from the case before hooking up the string. Leaving the staff propped against a tree,
I crept forwards, following the noise, so loud in the night. Stupid fuckers.

Finding a vantage point behind a wide trunk, with a clear line of sight, I stabbed two arrows into the ground and gripped the shaft of another before notching the fourth and drawing the string halfway. Then I waited, assessing the situation. I could see the two recruits, but there was no sign of the Watchman and I guessed he was scouting ahead. But he'd be back to pick up the other two and I wondered if it was better to wait until he returned before picking them off, or take them out straight away. In the end, they decided it for me.

‘Fuck, it's cold,' one of them grumbled. Young, about my age, but twice as dumb. ‘Wish Jackson'd hurry up so we can get a move on. What d'ya reckon he's doin' anyways? All we're s'posed to do is follow 'em. Keep our distance and follow. That's what Garrick said.'

Jackson?
I knew the name, but couldn't recall the face, or the reputation.

‘That's all you know,' replied the other. ‘Maybe Jackson knows different.' Smarter than his friend. He'd get the first arrow.

‘You see the girl? Reckon she's a goer. Might get me a piece of that when I make it in.'

I changed my mind. He'd be the first to go.

‘What's left of her, you mean. Don't reckon they last too long. I heard Garrick killed the last one.'

I closed my eyes, breathing deep, before blinking and refocusing.

The first recruit lifted his shoulders. ‘You reckon they do 'em?'

‘Who?'

‘The Watchmen. You reckon they fuck 'em before handing 'em over?'

The second recruit snorted. ‘Not if they wanna keep their dicks. So don't go gettin' any ideas.'

His mate thought about that. ‘Be tempting but, wouldn't it? Reckon that one'd be worth the risk. Reckon I could make her eyes pop.'
No you couldn't, arsehole
. I drew the string to my cheek. ‘Bet she's tight as –'

The second recruit leapt up as the first toppled over, my arrow through his neck. But he should've dropped to the ground, taken cover, because the next found its mark easily, thudding into his chest and throwing him back. I wasn't sure either was dead but I stayed put and, pulling the arrows from the earth and notching one ready, waited for Jackson.

And that's when I heard the click.

‘Nice work, Jem.' A voice behind me, and I didn't have to turn to know there was a gun aimed straight at me. ‘Saved me the effort at least. Those two were driving me nuts. Loose the string and toss the arrows away. Good. Now the bow, to the other side. And that carrier on your leg – one hand, arsehole! Okay, now turn around. Slow. Uh-uh. Hands up, where I can see 'em.'

Now I remembered him. A fair bit older than me, though he hadn't yet reached his fifty. Didn't mean he wasn't a threat though, especially now he had the upper hand. The pistol was an old one, six-shooter, but they were more reliable than anything automatic. He kept it trained on my head, a smaller target than my chest, which meant only one thing.

But for all I'd had to do with them, there was something real weird about guns: no matter the situation, they always seemed to give the shooter that little extra bravado, making them feel invincible. Except nobody's invincible, and when Jackson opened his mouth instead of pulling that trigger, I knew I was still in with a chance.

He smiled. ‘Now the knives, Jem, one at a time. Left hand. That's it, nice and slow.'

I tried not to show my alarm. His instructions showed he knew way too much about me. And there was only one person who could've told him.

‘Good,' he said, still smirking. ‘Keep your arms up and pull down your right sleeve. Yeah, thought so. Unstrap it – No, keep that fucking arm up! Throw the bow over here. Now the other one. Okay. Down on the ground.' When I hesitated, he snarled, ‘Get down, you little fuck.'

I crouched on the dirt with my back to the tree and my hands still raised, and waited. Having disarmed me, I guessed he was ready to crow about it and I was going to have to listen.

‘So, the great Jeremiah. Who'd have thought, eh? You know, I never understood what Garrick saw in you. Always giving you the best assignments, taking you under his wing. Had a real soft spot for you, didn't he? Or maybe something harder?' He chuckled at the joke.

I shrugged. ‘Jealousy's a bitch, Jackson.'

‘Oh, I ain't jealous, arsehole. Reckon you've blown it now. I saw you back there, you and the woman. Touching little scene, Jem. Almost made me cry.' He smiled. ‘Markie was right, wasn't he? You've been dippin' your wick and Garrick's gunna have your guts for that.'

‘He wouldn't have sent three of you just coz he thought I was sampling the merchandise.'

‘Maybe, but he sure thought something was up. And he was right too. Reckon this might just earn me a little bonus. Finally get me that fifty I've been waitin' for.'

I was torn between hope and dismay at his words, because if Garrick hadn't just been checking up on the Guards, if he'd suspected anything – enough to send Jackson and two recruits – then the game was already over, and there'd be no point returning to the compound.

Putting it to the test, I said, ‘I wouldn't count on it. He won't be too happy if you take out one of his best.'

‘Well, I guess if I get rid of you, you can't be the best now, can you?' He waved the gun, already careless, but he'd made a fair point.

I tried again. ‘That's not why you were sent, though, was it? You're only s'posed to tail me. You know what happens if you overstep the mark, Jackson. But if it's information you want, I can help you.'

He wrestled with it for a second, but it was too hard to relinquish control. ‘Don't reckon I need your help now. I'll take 'em back myself. And the girl.'

I laughed. ‘You do that, dipshit. Garrick'll string you up over the wall. Those two are supposed to be returned to the Tower. Out of Garrick's hands. That's why he sent you, so he could find out more before they disappear. You take 'em back to the compound, it'll be Garrick's neck on the line too.'

He frowned, suddenly unsure, and the gun dipped, giving me the chance I needed. Launching myself sideways, I tumbled back, scrambling for the cover of the tree. But he was quick, quicker than I'd thought, and his first shot flanked me, burning a furrow across the muscle. The crack of the pistol reverberated, echoing and rebounding, pushing noise like wind, and trees trembled.
Fucking guns!
The second bullet buried itself in the trunk. That left four, if the weapon was fully loaded. And if he wasn't carrying any spare ammo. Leaning against the trunk, I ferreted in my leggings for Taggart's darts, unwrapping the oilskin and quickly bunching half in each hand, my thumbs capping the ends. Not much of a weapon, but I hoped they'd be strong enough to stab him. All I had to do was get close enough.

‘Should've killed me straight up, Jackson,' I called, needing to know where he was. ‘You know the rules.'

‘More fun this way, Jem.' But there was an edge to his voice and, to my right, the snap of wood underfoot. I sidled left, keeping the tree between us.

‘Come get me, arsehole.'

‘You're wasting time, kid. I know I hit you, and you got nothing. Don't make me come around there.' Except he wasn't sure, not completely, or else he'd have already made his move.

‘You willing to take that risk?' I said. But he didn't reply and I strained to hear him. A faint rustle to the left, and I inched right again. He was zigzagging, changing it up, just as I would have. But I still needed him closer.

‘Garrick always said you were fucking useless,' I taunted. ‘That's why you got the shit jobs, Jackson. He used to laugh about it.'

‘Yeah? When was that? When you were on your knees sucking his cock?' Near enough now, just behind the tree. Right-handed like me, he'd want to come in from the left, so I risked a step in that direction, making noise and keeping his attention, before lunging right.

He tried turning in time to meet me, but I was already on him, pivoting on my good leg and slamming into the side of his knee with my bad so he buckled, his gun arm slapping the trunk, the weapon firing again. My left hand swung in, burying the darts in his wrist, forcing his fingers wide, and he bellowed and dropped the gun. I didn't even try to grab it. My right fist came around, stabbing at the side of his neck just above the cowl of his cloak, once, twice, and again, jabbing the darts in hard and furious, finding the jugular, feeling the slick warmth of his blood, still pushing long after he'd sunk to his knees, his eyes registering faint surprise and disappointment. Then, seizing his knife, I finished the job, closing them for good.

‘Still the best, arsehole,' I muttered, leaning on the tree. But it had been close, too close, and I was getting real tired of this shit.

I inspected my leg through the torn trousers. Not as bad as it might've been but a bleeder, so I tore some wide strips from Jackson's cloak, wadded a couple over the wound and wrapped another tight around my thigh. It'd have to do until I found time to clean it properly.

I picked up the gun. It was no secret I didn't like them, but it'd be a mistake to leave it. Searching the body for more ammunition and finding none, I collected my weapons and dug out his tag,
before moving onto the other two and doing the same. I pulled the arrow from the first recruit but left the other lodged between the second raw's ribs, then rummaged through the packs, finally finding Jackson's meagre stash of cartridges. I didn't bother with the bodies. If anyone came after, they'd be a warning, otherwise the sun and wind would do their work and they'd soon dry to nothing.

Collecting my staff, using it as a crutch, I returned to the clearing where I'd left Ballard and the others, and turned south to follow them. But they hadn't gone far and my anger mounted when I caught up with them so quickly. Alex still wore the rope around her waist; her wrist bindings had been cut and she gripped her knife with thick fingers. But none of them had done what I'd told them, or even taken cover. For all they knew, I could've been Jackson coming to find them.

‘We heard the shots,' Ballard said, by way of explanation. ‘Next time I give you a fucking order, do it. I told you to keep walking. Thanks for the show of faith, arsehole.'

‘You're hurt,' said Tate.

‘No shit,' I retorted, seizing my pack from him and rewinding the rope. Alex sheathed the knife, but said nothing. Muttering my disgust, I stalked away, pulling her behind me and leaving the others to follow.

‘We should stop,' Ballard called. ‘You need to rest. We all do.'

‘We walk until dawn,' I replied.
And fuck you.

But dawn couldn't come quick enough. I drank as I limped, leaning heavily on the staff, wishing I wasn't such a stubborn prick, wishing I had the sense to back down. Alex spoke only once, to ask if I was okay, but I didn't reply and she shut up after that. Ballard and Tate walked together, talking again in low voices, no doubt finessing some aspect of their plan. But they didn't speak to me and I was left to my own thoughts, most of them filled with Garrick.

I was sure I'd called it right. He'd been after the Guards, and that rankled, coz he should have relied on me. But the small doubt
Jackson had seeded – that Garrick had suspected something was up – kept eating at me. How many others might he have sent? There hadn't been the opportunity I'd hoped to question the other man, and maybe he wouldn't have known anyway. But if Garrick was keen enough to lose one Watchman, it was unlikely he'd give up so easily.

When the eastern sky finally began to lighten, and as the rising wind stirred hair and cloaks, I searched for a suitable clearing to make camp, at last dropping my pack and slumping south-side against a broken tree. I unwound the cloth and pulled down my trousers to properly examine my thigh. The bullet had torn across the side, taking out plenty of flesh, but missing any vitals. The pressure of the bandage had eased the bleeding; once off it started again. The quickest solution would be to cauterise it, but that presented its own problems, and wouldn't lessen the risk of infection.

‘Let me help you,' Alex said.

‘Just get the pot. Right side of my pack,' I said, clamping a hand to the wound while she rummaged around. ‘Okay. Hold it for me. Right there. Keep it steady.'

Pissing over the pot, trying to keep the stream slow, I wet my hand, quickly rubbing it clean before filling my cupped palm and splashing the liquid onto the wound. It stung like hell, and I did it again, wiping hard into the flesh, then another splash to rinse it. Alex caught the rest in the pot, saying nothing, waiting until I'd finished before setting it down and wiping her own hands.

I grabbed another strip of Jackson's cloak; taking it from me, she rewrapped the wound, doing a better job than I would have. ‘It should be stitched,' she said.

‘Yeah. But not yet.'

‘Jem, you –'

‘Leave it, Alex,' I said. ‘Just – use the pot if you need to, then set it up for me. Okay?'

She gave a curt nod, passed me some water to drink, and with the tree as a support I sank to the ground and closed my eyes, ready to sleep. Until I felt that first tug on the rope.

A few feet away, Alex was trying to untie the knot at her waist, but it was tight, her fingers too swollen. When she drew out her knife, I jerked the rope and she looked up, surprised, before I shook my head and slowly reeled her in. Drawing up my knees, I tugged her down and pulled her back between them, so she rested against me. Ballard watched, his face dark, but I sank my head to her shoulder, uncaring and exhausted.