stream. Although it was only a couple of yards across, the water came up to my knees. It was ice-cold and I felt the muscles in my calves tighten. I bent down and dashed water over my face, then brought handfuls to my mouth. I wondered if I should immerse my whole body in order to obscure my scent completely, but decided against that. It was a cold night and without shelter I would be in danger of hypothermia when I finally stopped running. I filled the canteen that had been on the uniform belt I’d stolen, walked up the stream as far as I could, and then stepped out on the other side. I thought about eating the bread from the luckless inmate, but decided I would keep it till I was hungrier. The ground was less steep and the trees came right down to the stream. I pushed my way through the undergrowth and into the next expanse of pine forest. Then I moved on as fast as I could.
The trees petered out after what must have been about an hour. The ground ahead was open, as far as I could make out in the moonlight that was now filtering through the thin cloud cover. I tried to listen for sounds of pursuit, but my breathing was rapid and loud. I had to get some rest. I walked a few hundred yards from the trees and then headed back toward them at a wide angle. That way, anyone after me would be stranded in the open and vulnerable to my rifle, even if the dog had picked up my trail again. I looked for a tree with low branches and found a good candidate. I was able to get high above the ground and the branches were still wide enough for me to sit with reasonable comfort. I unhooked the strap from the rifle and passed it round both my abdomen and the tree trunk. Gradually my breathing slowed and I was able to hear properly. I didn’t pick up any sounds of man or dog, but my stomach was now rumbling loudly. I ate half of the bread, forcing myself to chew slowly. I was desperate for more, but I had no idea where my next meal would come from. Then I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind for sleep. But, as my body went into temporary hibernation mode, my thoughts went haywire and, at last, I found myself remembering more from my past life…
…I’m on a hillside in the rain, my head down in the bracken and my hands gripping a rifle.
“Don’t make any rapid movements,” whispers the man in the waterproof jacket who is lying next to me. “In fact, don’t even blink.”
We wait there, motionless, as the big stag chews away. He lowers his head to the ground and then raises it quickly. He’s seen men with guns often enough to be extremely wary. But the wind is blowing into our faces, so he can’t smell us.
“Right, line him up,” my companion says under his breath. “Remember where?”
“Chest…above the foreleg,” I gasp, my heart racing. I’m suddenly seized by horror at the prospect of killing the magnificent creature.
I look through the sights and zero in on the stag, then pause.
“What are you waiting for?” the man whispers, his eyes wide. “He’ll bolt any second.”
I take a deep breath and hold it, then tighten my finger on the trigger. I have a vision of the great animal coughing up a lungful of blood, his head with the great array of the antlers dropping as his front legs collapse.
“I can’t do it,” I say, letting the rifle sink into the vegetation. That movement is enough to alert the stag. He leaps away, kicking his hind legs high, and disappears over the ridge.
“Sorry,” I hear myself say feebly. “I…”
“Pillock,” my companion says. “It took us three hours to get up here and you blow it just like that.”
“Sorry, Dave. I just-”
“You chickened out, didn’t you?” He gets up and wipes drops of water from his trousers. Some of them land on my face. “It cost us a bleeding fortune, this weekend. Flights to Inverness, hiring the Land Rover, paying the estate an arm and a leg for the privilege of doing their culling for them. And you can’t even fire one shot in anger.”
I stand up and take in the enraged face. Dave Cummings. Ex-paratrooper, former SAS man, amateur rugby league player-my best friend and tutor in extreme outdoor activities. It was his idea to spend a weekend deer- hunting in the Scottish Highlands. And now I’ve wasted my shot.
“At least I got the practice rounds in,” I say, avoiding his eyes. The day before, Dave and I had taken a rifle up on the moors and blazed away at targets. “At least I know how to handle a rifle now.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Dave says, grabbing the weapon. He’s been up here numerous times over the years and can hunt as well as any expert. Then again, he does have a talent for anything to do with weaponry and sudden death. “That’s your problem, you know. A few hours and you reckon you’re a professional. Jesus, killing isn’t as easy as you think.” He breaks off and grins. “Then again, you just found that out, didn’t you, Matt?”
I came to with a start. Matt. That was my name. I had a vague memory of a blanket lying on a cell floor. I had remembered before, but I must have lost it. My name was Matt, short for…Matthew. That flashed back to me, too. But nothing more. I thought about the deer-hunting scene. Dave. My friend Dave. The recollection of him was strong, in the sense that I was convinced I’d known a Dave, that he had been close to me. But there was nothing else, apart from the facts that he’d been a soldier and had instructed me in rifle-shooting. I thought again. He’d been a rugby player, too. We’d been on the same team. I suddenly remembered the scarring on my knee. Fortunately, although I felt a dull ache, my leg had stood up to the pressure of all the running I’d done.
I was strangely glad to find that the scene had stayed in my memory. Dave had often talked about us going to the Scottish Highlands. Where from? I tried to bring back where I lived, where I’d been born and brought up, but there was no response from my damaged memory. Scottish. What did that mean? Scotland came to mind. A country. But it wasn’t my home, even though it was connected in some way I couldn’t put my finger on.
At least I knew my name. Matt. But I had the feeling I had other names. I wasn’t just patient L24 from the camp. But Matt what? Matthew what? Again, my memory failed. Whatever had been done to me in the camp was restricting me to only a few glimpses of my past. I could only hope there would be more. In the meantime, where was I? I thought back to the hillside in the rain. I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t in Scotland, even though I could remember pine trees alongside the fern-covered slopes where we’d tracked the deer. But they were much smaller than the ones I had so recently run through, and there was no way I could have spent the night halfway up one of those small Scottish pines. So where was I? And who was I? Matt, with no other names and no memories of other people except Dave, wasn’t enough for me.
Eventually I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and woke to the sound of birdsong. There was a stripe of gray over the ridge that must have been to the east. Dawn was breaking. I surveyed the country from my high position and took in vast slopes covered in trees and mountain ridges running between isolated summits. I felt lost, not just geographically but spiritually. This was not my home. How had I got here? How was I to get back to civilization without food to sustain me? It looked like no one lived anywhere nearby. Besides, I couldn’t trust anyone-perhaps the people who ran the camp owned the land and any towns on it.
I listened intently for a few minutes, but heard no indications of the armed men. Unstrapping myself and stretching stiff limbs, I clambered down to ground level. I drank most of the water in my bottle, leaving a few mouthfuls in case there were no more streams in the vicinity. Ahead, I saw a narrow gap between the slopes of two mountains and decided to head for it. Perhaps there would be a road there, a way out of the wilderness. I set off and was immediately aware of my stomach-the water had obviously woken it up. I stopped and ate the rest of the bread, aware that I might have been making a big mistake. Then I saw the rabbit.
I raised the rifle slowly to my shoulder. I was about to squeeze the trigger-with no compunction this time- when I realized that firing would give my location away. I watched helplessly as the rabbit hopped back into the undergrowth. I swore quietly. Even though I’d have had to eat the flesh raw, it would have given me some much needed protein. I decided I’d risk the shot. I was waiting for the animal to reappear when I heard the unmistakable sound of a dry branch cracking. Either there were larger creatures in these mountains or my pursuers had caught up with me.
I considered running, but from the sounds I could tell they were too close. I had to choose a position and make a stand. But not on the ground-I had to assume there would be more than one of them. I looked around for a suitable tree and found one with a larger than average trunk. I pulled myself up until I was just below the cover provided by the top of a shorter tree before me. Then I pushed my head slowly through the pine needles and scanned the area.
At first there was no movement apart from small birds. Then I saw a figure in gray emerge slowly about fifty yards to my right. Shortly afterward, another man appeared, this one to my left. Both were carrying assault rifles like the one I had. I was relieved that there was no sign of the dog. A third man came into the open almost directly
