Snakehead

The air around him had been sucked away by the force of the blasts. More machine-gun fire. The entire area was being strafed. Alex glanced up, but even with the battle flares he knew there was no chance he would see anyone.

Whoever was firing could be half a mile away. And if he stood up and tried to make himself seen, he would be cut in half before anyone realized their mistake.

And what about Scooter? What about X-Ray and the others? Had they brought him here on purpose? Alex couldn’t believe that. What motive could they have to want him dead? Briefly, he remembered what X-Ray had said in the jeep. “We’ve come too far. We should have turned off a mile back.” And when they’d picked him up at the base, Scooter had said there was a big training exercise on that night. That was why they’d been free for a picnic on the beach. Some picnic! As impossible as it seemed, the four SAS men must have driven to the very edge of the war zone. Alex had managed to wander away from the beach when he was collecting wood and had chosen the worst-possible direction. This was the result—

a mixture of bad luck and stupidity. But the two of them were going to get him blown apart.

A rhythmic pounding had begun, perhaps a mile away, 48

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a mortar bombarding a target that had to be somewhere close by. As each shell detonated, Alex felt a stabbing pain behind the eyes. The power of the weapons was immense.

If this was just a training exercise, he wondered what it must be like to get caught up in a real war.

It was time to go. With the mortars still firing, Alex scrabbled to his feet and began to move, not sure which way he should go, knowing only that he couldn’t remain here. There was the scream of something falling through and a great whumph as it struck the ground somewhere over to Alex’s left. That told him all he needed to know.

He headed off to the right.

A crackle of machine-gun fire. Alex thought he heard someone shout, but when he looked around, there was no one there. That was the most unnerving thing, to be in the middle of a battle with not a single one of the combatants actually visible. A tree had caught fire. The entire trunk was wrapped in flames, and there were black- and-crimson shadows leaping all over the ground ahead. Just beyond, Alex caught sight of a wire fence. It wasn’t much to aim for, but at least it was man-made. Maybe it defined the perimeter of the war zone and he would be safer on the other side. Alex broke into a run. He could taste blood in his mouth and realized he must have bitten his tongue when the first bomb went off. He felt bruised all over.

Vaguely, he wondered if he might be hurt more than he actually knew.

He reached the fence—it was made of barbed wire N o P i c n i c

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and carried another sign: DANGER, KEEP OUT. Alex almost smiled. What danger could there possibly be on the other side that was worse than this? As if to answer the question, there were three more explosions no more than a hundred yards behind him. Something hot struck Alex on the back of the neck. Without hesitating, he rolled under the fence, then got up and continued running across the ground on the other side.

He was in a field. There was still no sign of the ocean.

He was surrounded by trees on all four sides. He slowed down and tried to take his bearings. His neck hurt. He had been burned by the little fragment of whatever it was that had hit him. He wondered if Scooter and the others were looking for him. He would certainly have a few things to say to them . . . if he ever got out of here alive.

He continued forward. His foot came down on something small and metallic. He heard—and felt—it click underneath his sole. He stopped. And at the same time, a voice came out of the darkness just behind him.

“Don’t move. Don’t even move a step . . .” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure roll underneath the fence. At first he thought it must be Scooter—but he hadn’t recognized the voice, and a few seconds later he saw that it was an older man with black, curly hair and the beginnings of a rough beard, dressed in full military gear and carrying an assault rifle. The bombs and the shelling seemed to have faded into the distance.

They must have been redirected at a target farther away.

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The man loomed up next to him, looking at him with unbelieving eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“How did you get here?”

“What am I standing on?” Alex demanded. Part of him knew the answer. He hadn’t dared look down.

“The field is mined,” the man replied briefly. He knelt down. Alex felt the man’s hand press gently against his sneaker. Then the man straightened up. His eyes were dark brown and bleak. “You’re standing on a mine,” he said.

Alex was almost tempted to laugh. A sense of disbelief shivered through him and he swayed a little, as if he were about to faint.

“Stay exactly as you are!” the man shouted. “Stand up straight. Don’t move from side to side. If you release the pressure, you’re going to kill both of us.”

“Who are you?” Alex exclaimed. “What’s going on here? Why is there a mine?”

“Didn’t you see the sign?”

“It just said danger—keep out.”

“What more did you need?” The man shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be anywhere near here. How did you get here? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“I was brought here.” Alex could feel a cold numbness creeping through his leg. It got worse, the more he thought about what lay beneath his foot. “Can you help me?” he asked.

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