Blood Hunt

Jay looked at Hestler. “No matter who wins,” he said. “It’s playing the game that counts.”

They marched in silence after that, Jay using hand signals to show when he thought they were bunching up too much. They didn’t march in a line, but spread themselves out, making a more random pattern which would be harder for an enemy to hit. Jay wondered if Reeve had a plan. Reeve’s house was only five or so miles distant; it made sense that, running an adventure center, he’d know these hills better than they did. He might know them very well indeed.

Jay knew it was three against one, but taking everything else into account, those weren’t ideal odds. He wished he had an Ordnance Survey map of the area, something that would give him a better idea of what they were up against. But all he had were his eyes and his instincts.

And the knowledge that Gordon Reeve had almost got them both killed.

The rain started again, like mischievous needles jabbing the skin. They walked into it face-on. Jay knew Reeve wouldn’t keep moving in a straight line; that direction would take him to civilization too quickly. He’d be circling around at some point, either towards Hecla or Beinn Mhor. If there had been three men with him, Jay would have split the group in half, a two-man patrol in either direction, but he only had two men left. He didn’t regret killing the Chicano, not for an instant, but another man would have been useful. He had Benny and Carl’s word for it that their brother Hector, plus Watts and Schlecht, were lying dead back at the scene of the explosion. Jay had promised to come back for the two injured men. He wasn’t sure if it was a promise he would fulfill.

He’d been right about one thing: the phony anthrax signs had been crazy. The Philosopher had known what he was doing. Creech had been allowed to know about them, and had spilled his guts to Jay… and Jay had been tricked into thinking he knew something important. They’d been a ruse, nothing more, the real trick had been the trip wires. He guessed now that his own unit had stopped just short of encountering one.

Nice, Gordon-very nice.

Jay and his two men came to a high point and looked into the deep valley below. There was no sign of Reeve and no visible hiding place. But Choa, with his hunter’s eyes, spotted something, a dark shape against the hillside. They approached cautiously, but it was just a groove in the earth, maybe a foot deep, six feet long, and a couple of feet wide.

“It’s a scrape,” Jay said.

“A what?” Hestler asked.

“A hide. You scrape away the earth, then lie in the hole. Put some netting over you and you’re hidden from a distance.” Jay looked around, realizing. “He uses this area for his training courses. There must have been a manhunt at some stage. There could be dozens of these spread out across the hills.”

“So he could be hiding?”

“Yes.”

“So maybe we’ve walked right past him; maybe he’s already behind us.” Hestler eased his catch off. “I say we split up, that way we cover more ground. We could be here all night otherwise.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants,” Choa offered. “Get us cold and lost, wet and hungry. Stalking us, just waiting for concentration to lapse.”

“He’s only one man,” Hestler growled. He was still looking around, daring anything to move. Jay noticed Hestler’s MP5 was set to full auto.

“All right,” Jay said, “you two head north. I’ll head south. There are two peaks. We each circle one and RV back at the dinghies. Keep in touch by two-way. It might take a few hours. It won’t be dark by the time we finish. If there’s no result, we think again.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hestler said, setting off. “Sooner we start, sooner we finish.”

Choa gave Jay a doubting look, but set off after his partner.

Jay decided after they’d gone to make straight for the summit of Beinn Mhor. He’d be more of a target, but on the plus side he could take in the country below with a single sweep.

“Just do it,” he told himself, beginning to climb.

“This is fucking unbelievable,” Hestler told Choa. “There were ten of us at the start, how the fuck did we get to this?”

“Search me.”

“Ten against one. He’s fucked us up nicely. I’d like to tear him a new asshole.”

“You think he needs two?”

Hestler turned to Choa. “He’s likely to be shitting himself so much, maybe he will at that.”

Choa said nothing. He knew words came free; as a result people talked too much. Sometimes people could talk themselves into believing they were superhuman. Talking could make you crazy.

The last they saw of Jay he was clambering on all fours up a steep slope. Then they rounded the hillside and lost him.

“This weather is the pits,” Hestler said.

Choa silently agreed. The last time he’d known anything like it was up in Oregon, near the mountains there. Rain so thick you couldn’t see through it. But afterwards, the trees had smelled so beautiful, pine and moss bursting underfoot. There weren’t many trees here. There was practically nowhere to hide, except for these scrapes. He didn’t like the idea of these invisible hides. “We’re a long way from Los Angeles,” he said quietly.

Hestler chuckled. “Killing’s killing,” he said. “Doesn’t matter where you do it or who you do it for.”

“Look,” said Choa, pointing. He had good eyes. He’d been the first to spot the scrape, and now he’d noticed another smallish patch on the ground. When they got up close, it was wet, greasy to the touch. It was blood.

“Bastard’s winged!” Hestler said.

“Let’s radio Jay and tell him.”

“Fuck that, the bastard could be around the next bend. Let’s get him.”

Hestler set off, but Choa held back. He had the two-way hooked to his belt and now unclipped it.

“Got something here,” he said. Then, with Hestler almost out of sight, “Hey! Hold on a minute!” But Hestler kept on going.

“What is it?” Jay’s voice said. He sounded a little out of breath, but not much.

“Blood, very fresh.”

“No way.”

“I’m telling you-”

“I don’t think he’s hurt.”

“One of the grenades maybe?”

“Not the way he swam to shore. I watched him, remember. He clambered up that first slope like a mountain goat.”

“Well, it’s blood.” Choa rubbed some of it between thumb and forefinger. It was sticky and cold.

“Taste it,” Jay said.

“What?” Choa couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Put some on your tongue,” Jay commanded.

Choa looked at his fingers.

“Do it!”

Choa put the tip of his tongue against the blood. He couldn’t taste anything. He licked at it, tasted it, then spat.

“Well?”

Choa spoke into the radio. “Tastes funny,” he said.

“Is it metallic, the way blood is?”

Choa had to admit it wasn’t like that. “Sort of chalky,” he said.

“Like paint?” Jay guessed.

“How did you know?”

“It’s fake. He’s laying a false trail.”

Choa looked ahead of him. There was no sign of Hestler.

“Hestler!” he shouted. “Get back here!”

Then there was a single gunshot. Choa knew better than to run towards it, but he didn’t freeze either. He moved off downhill and circled around towards the noise. He’d switched off the radio so it wouldn’t give away his