Recoil

I gripped the weapon to my chest, left hand on the stock, gently pulling up safety to the first click before easing my index finger into the trigger guard.

My head always switched off when these things happened. I didn’t know if it was the training, experience, or that I was just too thick to think anything but – I’m in the shit and I’m going to die soon, so everything else is a bonus.

One voice had got so close he could have been talking to me.

Less than two metres away and closing.

In a second or two he’d be able to see over the deadfall.

Fuck it.

I jumped up, weapon in the shoulder, and brought it into the aim, both eyes open.

As I bounced down again into a semi-squat to make use of the cover, I registered three bodies.

I squeezed the trigger at the blurred faces in front of me. The burst dropped the first guy at point-blank.

The other two were still shadows to my right as his blood splattered across my face.

They flapped and tried to get their weapons off the shoulder.

I swung mine up to drop them – and held fire.

One was a kid.

I pointed the weapon at the ground in front of them and blasted away a patch of leaf mould. The man ran and the kid froze, staring, shaking, his eyes huge with fear. He tried to lift his weapon. I cabbied off another burst at his feet and he got the message.

Down on the track, the rest of their gang went ballistic. Shouts, screams, crazy fire.

I swung round to Silky and the Chinese. ‘Run! Over the high ground! Run! Run!’

A few minutes ago Yin and Yang had been in the final stages of exhaustion. Now their feet sprouted wings.

I turned back and let the rest of the magazine rip towards the river, keeping their heads down that few seconds more so the others could make distance.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to check the body the other side of the deadfall.

Weapon still in the shoulder, I looked past the butt. His face had almost disappeared into a mush of bone and brain matter, but his undersized torso had the pot belly of a malnourished child.

I fired another quick burst, then turned and chased Silky’s back, changing mags on the run.

6

Half the guys behind us probably didn’t even know what they were firing at. They’d heard shots and loosed off blindly with some of their own. Good. The more confusion the better. And if we could get over the high ground we’d be out of their line of fire.

I caught up with the others and ran on ahead. I had to set the pace. I carried my weapon in my left hand, and held the other out behind me to grab hers. Yin and Yang could fend for themselves.

I could no longer hear rounds or screams, or anything but my own breathing. My legs were no longer heavy; I was moving like an Olympic runner.

The euphoria didn’t last long. There was a piercing scream immediately behind me.

Man down.

I turned to see Yin in the mud, his back arched, gulping for air. His legs flailed like he was trying to kick away an imaginary attack dog.

Yang stooped over him, trembling. Tears streamed down his fat little face as he screamed at his mate in Chinese. I hadn’t a clue what he was saying: I couldn’t tell whether he was telling him to get the fuck up and start running, or whether he was rattling off an order for takeaway.

Yin had taken two rounds, one in the shoulder, one in the back. There was a big exit wound in his chest. He was fighting it, his arms and head twitching, but his feet kicked less and less.

By the time I got to him, he was gulping his last few breaths.

I pulled at Yang’s arm. ‘We’ve got to go!’

I could see shapes beyond him, people bobbing up and down, confused, shouting, firing.

Rounds ripped through the foliage and stitched the ground near us. I had to kick him to get him moving. ‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’ I pulled him along as I started running, then let go and grabbed Silky again. He was a big boy: he could look after himself. She was a different story.

7

Silky stumbled and fell and her face hit the ground. Yang tore past us in blind panic. As I gripped her, blood leaked from her nostrils.

We plunged on, trying to catch up with Yang, who wasn’t stopping for anyone. He was riding his own ghost train.

We skidded on the wet mush, stumbling over rocks and fallen branches, flailing to regain our footing. I tripped and jarred both knees on the edge of a rock. It felt like they were on fire. Rounds pinged off the trees all around us and buried themselves deep in the wood.

Silky pulled me up. My chest heaved as I gulped in oxygen.

I heard long, wild, automatic bursts behind us. Angry shouts echoed through the trees.

We got moving again. Fuck knows where Yang had got to. I didn’t bother checking. It was distance we needed, not the state of play.

We crested the high ground and moved downhill, suddenly free of the nightmare behind. But, sure enough, there was another ahead.

As we scrambled downwards, the rush of water became almost deafening. Silky was struggling.

Then we both had to stop.

Our path was blocked by a red and muddy torrent. Was this the same river that had curved round the high ground, past the mine? Fuck it. Where it came from didn’t matter. Getting across it did.

I tried to find a safe place to cross. I might as well not have bothered. If I’d doubted the strength of the current I only had to look at the chunks of uprooted tree that were surging downstream. Wherever I chose, it was going to be a major drama.

I looked along the riverbank for Yang, but there was no sign of him. We couldn’t wait.

I yanked my vest from my trousers, then untied the bottoms of my OGs. The weight of trapped water in clothing can slow you down – then drown you.

‘Silky, pull your shirt out. Hurry.’

She had collapsed into the foetal position, her arms wrapped round her legs. Blood dribbled from her nose on to her mud-covered cargoes. Just feet away the water crashed angrily against the rocks. She looked at the river, then at me. ‘No, Nick – we won’t make it.’

I wasn’t listening. I’d seen her do laps of Lugano’s lido. As soon as the boys came over the high ground she’d be in this river, with or without me.

I checked along the opposite bank, following the current to my left, trying to work out where we might end up. I could see downstream for about two hundred and fifty metres, then the river bent and disappeared into dead ground. The opposite bank was two or three feet above water level, with plenty of grab – foliage and tree roots exposed by the current as it carved away the red earth. I had to assume the worst: that there was a massive waterfall just after the bend, which meant we had two hundred and fifty metres in which to make our way across.

She stood, her head buried in her hands. She knew as well as I did that this was the only way out of here.

My chest harness came off and went into the river along with the AK and gollock. The weight would kill me