shot at the prison windows. There were brief flashes of white as the supervisors returned fire.
The three of them pushed the door open and slipped out into the warmth of the night, crouching down in case anyone saw them. Daniel was next to Jamie, who put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him close. Joe Feather rose up and called out in a language that neither of the boys understood. It was almost a high-pitched war cry, his voice echoing across the compound above the noise of the shooting. A moment later, someone answered back. There was the sound of an engine starting and renewed firing as a pick-up truck came hurtling over the sand, making towards them.
“Now we go!” Joe said.
The truck slid to a halt. Jamie caught sight of a driver and a passenger leaning out of the window with a rifle balanced over his arm. They were both young – only a few years older than him. Quickly, Jamie helped Daniel into the back, then climbed in himself.
“Hold onto the back!” Joe told them. He was the last in. No sooner had his feet left the ground than they were on the move again.
There was a bar running across the back of the driver’s cab. Jamie found himself standing up, clinging onto it for dear life. Daniel was lying down, being bounced around on the wooden floor as the truck lurched forward. The ground suddenly seemed to be pitted with holes – maybe it was a result of all the explosions. More bullets were fired. One of them smashed into the side of the cab, ricocheting off with a loud clang. Whether it was a lucky shot or deliberately aimed at them, Jamie couldn’t say. They were heading for the fence, a few metres away from the gate that had been opened, less than a week ago, to allow Jamie in. The gate was still there but the fence had been blown apart. He could see the track and the guards’ houses on the other side.
They drove through. Jamie ducked down, afraid of being gashed by a piece of dangling razor wire. The driver fired a shot through a window and a guard spun backwards in the sand, wounded. The other vehicles were also leaving the prison. Looking back, Jamie saw half a dozen of them following not far behind.
The wind – warm and welcoming – rushed over his shoulders and through his hair. He almost wanted to laugh. He still didn’t know who these people were but they were on his side and they were taking him and Daniel out. He would contact Alicia and the prison would be shut down. And surely someone there – one of the supervisors, a nurse or an administrator – would know what had happened to Scott. There would have to be a record somewhere in one of the files.
They passed a jeep parked next to the track. Jamie saw it and assumed it was empty. He didn’t see the man rise up next to it. Nor did he see the gun aimed at his back.
Colton Banes had been waiting for him. He had realized that there was no point entering the battle inside the prison. Everything there was dark and confused. It would be better to wait just outside the compound. If they were going to bring out the boy, they would have to come this way. And he was right. He could see Jamie, standing up, holding onto the driver’s cabin for support. He was a perfect target, almost like one of those paper cutouts Banes had used for practice at the range.
He fired.
Jamie heard the shot and felt the bullet smash into his back, high up, next to his shoulder. It was like being stabbed with a white-hot knife. All the strength went out of him. His legs folded under him and he fell, sprawling, on top of Daniel. He hadn’t closed his eyes, but suddenly everything was black. He heard Joe call out, but before the Indian had reached the end of the sentence the words had faded away. He couldn’t feel the floor of the truck. He couldn’t feel anything.
Colton Banes hadn’t finished yet. He had seen the boy go down but he still had time for a second shot. Although he was fairly sure that the first bullet would have done the job, this one would make certain. A smile spread across his lips as he brought the gun up, taking careful aim.
But he never pulled the trigger. He heard something come whistling out of the darkness and jerked back, wondering what had happened. He looked down and was surprised to see an arrow, complete with feathers, jutting out of his chest. Had it just been fired into him? Had one of these people really brought along one of their ancient weapons and used it against him? A car sped past. The young man with the war paint was leaning half out of the window, whooping. The bow was in his hands.
For a moment Banes stood there, unaware that his hand had dropped and that the gun was now pointing at the ground. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. Hot blood flowed over his lower lip. His last thought was that he had never expected to die like this, and certainly not quite so soon. Then he fell onto his knees and crashed face down into the sand.
Max Koring stood up shakily. A few supervisors were still firing, but it was already over. The last of the vehicles had disappeared into the desert night.
Sunrise.
Daniel McGuire woke up and found himself lying on a thick woollen rug in a tent that was completely circular, tapering to a point high above him. The walls were made of some sort of leather and were wrapped around a framework of wooden poles. There was a flap for the door and he could see the sunlight filtering through the cracks. It was still early in the morning. The air inside the tent was cool and the light was tinged with red.
He had slept fully dressed. He blinked and stretched and then crawled forward, pushing his way through the flap. He saw at once that he was in the mountains. There were great boulders all around and although the tent had been erected on a flat shelf, the ground rose up steeply behind him. And it wasn’t a tent. Looking round, Daniel saw that he had spent the night in an Indian tepee.
There was a figure sitting cross-legged in front of a small campfire, his eyes fixed on the smoke curling into the air. Daniel recognized the man who had helped rescue him the night before. What had Jamie called him? Joe. Now Daniel recalled what had happened. The sudden appearance of Jamie in his cell, the blackout, the gunshots, the race out of the prison. As he had awoken, he had thought it might all have been a dream – but with full wakefulness came the realization that it had actually happened. And Jamie…
“Where is he?” he asked.
Joe Feather turned. “You must have something to drink,” he said. “And eat…”
“Is he all right?”
Joe gestured. Daniel had noticed a number of bundles spread out over the ground. Now he saw that one of them was Jamie, completely wrapped in blankets with only his face showing. The face was very white. His eyes were closed and he didn’t seem to be breathing.
“Is he dead?” Daniel asked.
“He is very close to death.” Joe’s voice was low. “I have done what I can for him.”
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital!”
“A hospital cannot help him now. And anyway, there is no hospital. Not for thirty miles. Even if we could carry him there, he would be dead before we arrived.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“You are going to eat and drink.”
“I don’t want anything.”
Joe’s eyes flared. “This boy risked his life to take you out of Silent Creek. You won’t help him by sitting there dehydrating. He wanted to take you back to your mother and I will make sure that happens. But for now you must trust me.”
“Can you help him?”
“I have already helped him. I have called for the shaman. The shaman will be here soon.”
Daniel nodded. There was a bottle of water and a basket containing fruit, bread and some sort of dried meat. He forced himself to eat. Joe was right. He could hardly believe it but the nightmare of Silent Creek was finally behind him – and it was all thanks to this boy he had never met but who somehow knew his mother. He glanced across at the silent figure. He remembered the moment when the bullet had hit him as they sped out of the compound. It seemed so unfair. One more minute and they would have been away.
The morning wore on. The sun rose, becoming ever hotter. Jamie had been placed in the shade, protected by a great boulder. Daniel was worried that someone would find them – the police must surely be looking for them by now – but Joe seemed unconcerned. Yet of course, Native Americans had spent years hiding in the mountains. Not being found had been the only way for many of them to survive.
A little before midday, there was a movement and a figure appeared, on horseback. At first it was difficult to see who it was. The sun was behind the person, who seemed to shimmer, out of focus, as the warm air rose up
