Far Horizon (42 page)

Mike picked up Orlov's hunting rifle and worked the bolt to open the breech. The weapon was still loaded. He looked around for another weapon and saw Orlov's severed hand. He picked it up.

The flesh was cold now and the white fingers, with their chunky, crass gold rings, still gripped the hunting knife. Mike slung the rifle over his shoulder and
turned so that Orlov could see what he was doing as he prised the knife from the lifeless fingers. He slid the knife into his belt. The colour drained from Orlov's face.

‘Need a hand?' Mike asked, as he tossed the cold hunk of flesh into his lap.

Orlov screamed, then passed out.

S
arah hastily washed Mike's wound, and packed and dressed it with tampons, a handkerchief and tape.

She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the mud and blood that caked his body. After a moment he returned the embrace, holding her as closely and tightly as the painful wound in his side would allow.

‘I've got to go,' he said to her.

‘I know. Be careful,' Sarah said.

They kissed, and he said, ‘Stay with the others. Come get me when it's done.'

She nodded and turned her face away. She wanted to be strong for him, but she was so worried for his safety. He broke their embrace and left.

Mike's face felt sticky where he had wiped away sweat with his bloody hands. The pain was a dull, constant throb, but he found he could keep up a slow jog. He carried Orlov's hunting rifle, a round in the chamber, ready to kill. He could have taken one of the AK-47s, but he needed to make sure the people on
the truck had enough firepower to get past Hess if the Namibian killed him and then tried to take them out.

If Hess was smart, Mike thought, he would run as fast as possible to his vehicle and get away from the overland group – and away from Zambia. Mike hoped Hess wasn't that smart, and was sticking around waiting to finish him off.

He was almost at the edge of the road when the first shot rang out. The bullet tore through the skin of his left forearm, halfway between his wrist and elbow. Mike pitched forward into the mud and couldn't stop himself from crying out in pain. He felt like he needed to throw up and he could see bone shining white through the ragged exit hole under his arm. Dragging his left arm uselessly beside him, he crawled to a fallen log and propped the barrel of the hunting rifle on the wet trunk. He scanned the road and the bush along its verge, but couldn't see Hess. Another bullet zinged over his head and he ducked back behind the log.

The next sound he heard was at once familiar and ominous – the dull
whop-whop
of helicopter rotor blades – a sound that could signal death just as easily as it could salvation. Mike looked up and caught sight of a bright light fighting to penetrate the cloud cover above the horizon. Hess darted from the bush into the middle of the road, waving his rifle high and speaking into a walkie-talkie. Hess had assumed he had put Mike out of action.

Mike could see the helicopter now. The pilot had the nose down to pick up speed as he followed the muddy road over the two hills towards Hess. The
chopper's spotlight was lowered and the beam swept a path along the road in front of it. Mike shifted the barrel of the hunting rifle until Hess was in his sights. He tried to steady the stock with his left hand, but couldn't bend his arm enough to get a proper grip. His arm was slick with blood from the fresh wound. He centred the crosshairs of the telescopic sight on the centre of Hess's body and pulled the trigger. Without the support of his left hand the barrel jumped and crashed down again on the log, but he saw Hess slip and fall.

Mike was on his feet as quickly as his injuries would allow. The hunting rifle was useless to him now – with only one good hand he couldn't work the bolt action, let alone aim it accurately. He pulled Orlov's knife from his belt and wished he'd brought one of the pistols with him. Pain coursed through his arm and side with every jarring footfall. As he ran he saw Hess roll onto his side and start to get up.

As Hess straightened, he raised the AK-47, which was still clutched in his right hand. Mike guessed he had wounded him in the left arm, evening the odds a little, but Hess could still manage the lighter automatic rifle with one hand.

The helicopter was behind Hess now, not more than a hundred metres away, and the beam of the landing light picked Mike out like a trapped rabbit. He held up a hand to shield his eyes as he stumbled on. The AK-47 rattled from the blackness beyond the cone of light that imprisoned him. Bullets split the air on either side of him, but he could tell Hess was having trouble steadying the bucking rifle. Mike lowered
his head and slipped in the mud, crying out as his left arm hit the ground.

Hess was screaming into the walkie-talkie in Afrikaans. The chopper was close enough for Mike to feel its rotor downwash. Loose stones and drops of water stung his face as he looked up. The pilot was flaring back for landing, the nose rising up like a prancing warhorse.

The landing light was now on Hess. He was pointing the AK-47 at Mike, one-handed, from less than twenty metres.

‘Goodbye, Mr Williams,' he yelled over the whine of the turbine engine. ‘Say hello to your Portuguese doctor for me.'

Mike rose unsteadily to his feet. He gripped the knife tightly and readied himself for one last lunge. The helicopter rocked forward, its nose dropping back towards the ground as the pilot pushed the machine forwards. Hess was looking at Mike, not at the aircraft behind him, so he didn't see the tip of the right skid coming closer and closer to him.

Hess pitched forward as the skid slammed into the back of his neck. He fell, arms thrown wide, and landed hard in the mud. As he dropped, his finger jerked on the trigger of the rifle and two rounds slammed into the ground no more than a metre in front of Mike. Above them, the helicopter pilot wrestled with the controls of his aircraft, desperately trying to compensate for the sudden change in the machine's altitude.

‘Mike!' Sarah called from behind him.

Mike glanced back and saw she was on the road.
Orlov's hunting rifle, which he had discarded, was in her hands. He ignored Sarah and closed on the prostrate Hess. He stood over the hunter and stabbed down at him with the knife. Hess was quick to recover, though, and parried the slash with the barrel of his AK-47. Steel rang on steel.

‘Get down, Mike!' Sarah called.

This time he dropped and rolled away from Hess, aware that he had lost his temporary advantage. Mike heard the crash of the rifle, and Hess instinctively turned and pointed the AK-47 towards Sarah. The round from the hunting rifle whined harmlessly over Hess's head.

Mike pushed himself up again and staggered back towards Hess, hoping to draw his fire and give Sarah a chance to reload. He lunged at Hess, shoulder down, aware of the flash of orange flame from the muzzle of the AK-47 and the din of the shot in his ears. Though he steeled himself for the shock of another hit, Hess had missed. As they fell to the ground, Mike heard the repeated click of his finger on the trigger. Hess was out of ammunition.

Mike slashed wildly with the knife, and felt it tear through fabric and slow as it met flesh. Hess grunted as he grasped Mike's right hand with his left and punched his wounded left arm with his free hand. Mike's eyes watered with the pain and in an instant he found himself on his back. Hess's next blow caught him on the jaw and hot, salty blood flooded his mouth.

The helicopter settled on the road near them, its main and tail rotors still spinning at high speed,
ready for immediate take-off. Hess had one hand on Mike's throat, and gouged at his wounded arm again with the other. The knife fell from Mike's hand, and Hess scooped it up and raised the wicked blade above his face, ready to strike.

As Mike tried to roll out of the knife's path he heard the sickening thud of wood on flesh. Hess toppled over, his knife hand hanging harmlessly at his side. Mike twisted his body to avoid being crushed by the hunter and looked up to see Sarah silhouetted in the glare of the helicopter's light. She was holding the hunting rifle by the barrel and had wielded it like a club.

Sarah dropped to her knees by Mike's side and reached out for him. Suddenly Hess twisted and rose behind Sarah, the knife still clutched in his hand.

‘Sarah, look out!' Mike cried, too late.

Hess moved behind Sarah and wrapped an arm around her neck. She dropped the rifle when she felt the sharp point of the knife press against her throat.

‘I am getting on that helicopter now,' Hess said. Blood dribbled from the gash on his right temple where Sarah had struck him with the rifle. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘It is over,' he said as he dragged her to her feet.

‘It'll never be over, Hess,' Mike said, spitting blood. ‘Go, but you can't kill both of us. You've only got a knife and there'll still be one witness.'

‘You think I'm an idiot? You're coming with me, or I'll kill the woman now in front of you.'

‘You'll kill her anyway, you cold bastard.'

‘That is true, but it's up to you whether it is quick
or very slow. I'll take the chopper up and out of small-arms range, and drop a piece of her out the door every ten minutes until you change your mind.'

Above the noise of the whirring rotor blades Mike heard the chug of Nelson's diesel engine. The truck wasn't in sight yet, and he didn't want the boys with the AK-47s opening up indiscriminately on the chopper when they arrived.

‘Last chance,' Hess said as he backed towards the open cargo door of the chopper, dragging Sarah with him.

‘Save yourself, Mike. Get to the police,' Sarah said, but the point of Hess's knife silenced her and a trickle of blood welled from a tiny puncture.

Hess looked back over his shoulder at the pilot, who nodded and gave a thumbs-up to show the helicopter was ready for take-off. Hess dragged Sarah backwards and into the cargo compartment after him.

Mike sprinted to the helicopter, just as the skids started to leave the ground. He jumped in and saw Hess was sitting in the nylon-webbing troop seat opposite him, his back to the pilot. Hess still had Sarah in an arm lock with the tip of his knife pressed against her blood-streaked neck.

The pilot was focusing his attention on the control panel in front of him, and both his hands were on the aircraft's controls. They lifted off in a vertical hover and, when they were above the tops of the trees, he held the rudder stick between his knees and passed an automatic pistol back over his shoulder, nudging Hess in the back of the neck with it. Hess quickly
stuffed the knife into an empty ammunition pouch in his vest and took the pistol from the pilot.

‘Is it loaded?' he yelled back at the pilot. The pilot gave a thumbs-up and then returned his free hand to the stick.

Hess slid to the far end of the troop bench, dragging Sarah with him. He raised his arm and pointed the pistol at Mike. Mike figured that from his new position Hess was sure he could shoot him without hitting the engine or other vital parts of the helicopter through the padded bulkhead behind him. Hess smiled at Mike, who grinned back at him like a madman.

Hess pulled the trigger as Mike leapt across the narrow gap that separated them. Sarah was wide-eyed with surprise and fear.

‘No, Mike!' she screamed.

Hess was open-mouthed in disbelief as he pulled the trigger again and again, but there was no noise, no bullets. Mike smashed his forehead into the Namibian's nose and Hess wailed with pain. He reached for his face with his hands, and Sarah, seeing her cue, rolled off the troop seat and onto the floor. The helicopter bucked with the sudden displacement of weight and Sarah hit her head on the corner of the metal frame of the troop seat. She got to her knees, swayed, and then collapsed on the floor of the cargo compartment.

Mike dragged Hess off the seat with his good arm and straddled his chest. The knife slipped from the unbuckled pouch on Hess's vest and skidded across the floor away from them. Again and again Mike slammed his closed fist into Hess's face, but he was
weak from loss of blood and each blow was weaker than the last. Hess ignored the pain in his face and reached up for Mike, pushing him out of reach.

Hess stabbed two fingers into the bloodied makeshift dressing on Mike's side, causing him to lurch backwards. Hess slid from under Mike and got to his knees. Mike lunged again for him and they became locked in a frantic embrace.

Hess punched Mike's wounded arm, and then pushed him onto his back and along the metal floor until Mike's head and shoulders were sticking outside the open cargo door. The slipstream tousled his hair and blew hard and cold on the cuts on his face. Mike was furious that he had allowed Hess to get the better of him again.

Hess gripped the wrist of Mike's good arm, keeping it away from him. With his other hand he grasped the belt on Mike's shorts and pushed him farther and farther out the door. Something hit the helicopter with a loud zing and the pilot threw the machine violently onto its side. Green tracer arced past them and Mike realised the boys in the truck were firing at them. They must have thought Hess had made his escape and decided to try to down the helicopter.

The pilot's evasive action had saved his machine from taking another hit and also given Hess more leverage. The whole upper half of Mike's body was in the slipstream now. His back was arched painfully. As soon as Hess chose to let go of him, he would fall.

Suddenly, Hess was lying on top of him. Mike struggled to sit up and saw Sarah standing behind Hess's prostrate body. Her face was sickly white and
she was holding onto a webbing strap on the bulkhead to steady herself.

Then Hess was on his knees again, his hands reaching frantically behind his back, his face contorted in agony. With the Namibian's weight and hands off him Mike used his legs to slide himself back inside the helicopter cabin. As Hess twisted his torso Mike saw the leather-bound handle of the hunting knife protruding from the centre of his back, where Sarah had stabbed him.

Hess twisted again to get a grip on the knife handle and, as he did so, Mike pushed himself to his knees and then stood. He kicked Hess in the side mercilessly.

‘That's for Isabella,' he said.

The chopper pitched again as the pilot circled and Hess teetered on his knees on the edge of the open cargo cabin. As he was about to topple into space, Hess stopped trying to grab the knife from his back and reached out with his right hand for Mike instead.

Mike was too slow to back away and Hess snatched his wrist in an iron grip. Worried that the hunter would pull him out if he fell, Mike dropped suddenly to the floor of the chopper, landing hard on his chest and stomach. Hess slipped and fell out the door anyway as the helicopter lurched again, but he did not release his grip on Mike.