The Children Of The Mist (21 page)

The men slowed, weapons drawn. They said not a word but concentrated on breathing. But their recovery was quick. One lifted his radio, glanced around and opened his mouth.

‘I don't think that's a good idea, do you?' said Zest loudly.

Their quarry seemed unfazed. ‘Put your weapons down! Hands up where I can see them.' barked another. ‘Or I'll shoot.'

Morven laughed. A thin cold sound. She strutted up the path toward them. ‘Go on. Make my day.'

A shot rang out. The bullet sang through the air and buried itself in Morven's shoulder. Morven stopped and peered down at the damage. ‘Look at that. You ruined my shirt. You shouldn't have done that.'

‘Not very gentlemanly,' Zest added conversationally.

Another shot. Morven slid slightly to her left and plucked the hot metal nugget out of the air. ‘Missed,' she said.

The soldiers' demeanour suddenly shifted. One said a very rude word. The other repeated it. Twice.

Morven took a step closer. ‘I think it's time you kiddies went home, don't you?' But then she realised she'd lost her audience. Their terrified faces were riveted on Zest.

As the clouds slid further apart, the moon spread her silvery beams around them. Zest lifted his head and let out a long, lingering howl of happiness. The posse turned tail and headed for home.

Morven was glad to see them go. She turned to Zest who reared above her. His eyes were fixated on the foot soldiers as they disappeared into the darkness. He was perfectly still. Morven could feel the pent-up frustration pounding through his veins. He made a small whining sound in the back of his throat.

Morven looked at him sternly. ‘Don't even think about it.'

With a yip of what might have been apology, Zest took off in hot pursuit.

‘Zest!' Morven yelled. ‘Shit.' She called again, louder, to no avail. With no other choice she launched herself into the moonlit sky. When she caught up with him he was going to be in big trouble. Dog was better behaved.

It took longer to catch up than she had anticipated. In his pure form Zest was fast. Really fast. Morven was just beginning to panic when she finally spotted him in a small Zen garden. There was already one body crumpled on the ground. He had another man firmly in his grasp, while the third cowered behind a large statue of Buddha.

‘Zest!' said Morven. ‘Put him down! I
said
drop it.'

Zest turned, eyes blazing, and snarled.

Morven was not impressed. ‘Put him down or…I'll tell my mother.'

Zest growled and shook the man like an old scarecrow. And then dropped him.

‘Zest, we gotta go.'

Zest leant over the quivering man and a deep menacing rumble issued from his chest. Then he lifted one big claw and poked the man in the right eye.

Morven turned away to hide a smile. Really, that was so mean.

Zest stood up to his full height and howled. He turned to Morven and let out a deep bark.

She sniffed. ‘I should bloody well think so. Honestly, Dog's so much better behaved than you are.'

Zest's huge jaws opened and Morven got a fine glimpse of a set of pearlies a shark would be proud of. His lips lifted to reveal a set of pink gums. Without a doubt, it was a smile.

‘Well, I'm glad you're amused,' said Morven, ‘but I've run out of time.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I've got less than an hour.'

Without waiting for a response, Morven set off at a sprint. She had to admit she was relieved when Zest came bounding up behind her. She did not stop until the park was far behind them. Beneath the cover of the railway bridge she stopped and pulled out the envelope. Rapidly she scanned the note from her mother. A small pang of regret rippled through her at the sight of the familiar, flowing script. She looked up at Zest. ‘We've got to go to the army base. Shouldn't take long.'

She was right. It took 10 minutes. At the eastern entry of the base they paused and hid behind a large parked van. As they did, the light dimmed and the moon disappeared once more in a bank of cloud. She watched, utterly absorbed as Zest transformed. In less than a minute he was back. His clothes hung in tatters — he was barely decent. Anxious not to let him see her hot, red face she ducked under the truck. Thankfully it was dark down there.

Zest wiggled in beside her. He felt very close.

‘How many guards?'

Glad for the distraction, Morven peered down the street. ‘Four, I think.'

Zest was silent for a moment. ‘How the hell are we gonna find this Goldsmith dude?'

It was a good question. But then a noise made her jump, and her head cracked against the floor of the truck. Her phone sounded louder than a stampeding herd at the January sales. ‘Shit, shit, shit,' she muttered as she tried to reach into her back pocket.

‘Allow me,' said Zest.

Before Morven could protest he'd extracted the phone. She took it, somewhat ungraciously, and peered at the number. No idea. ‘Hello?'

‘Morven?'

‘Yes.'

‘It's Goldsmith. Your mother just called me. Where are you?'

‘Just down the road from the main gates. City side. Under a big white truck.'

‘Stay there. I'm on my way. Green jeep.'

The phone went dead. Morven looked at Zest. ‘That was Goldsmith. He's on his way. Green jeep.'

They didn't have to wait long. A couple of minutes later the jeep came down toward them, slowing a few metres away.

‘Let's go!'

Zest rolled out, jumped up, raced after the vehicle, vaulted over the tailgate and ducked through the canvas canopy. Morven was just a heartbeat behind. The vehicle picked up speed, then slowed, turned and stopped. They must have pulled into the barrier. Morven and Zest lay flat, barely daring to breathe.

They heard Goldsmith laughing and chatting easily to the guards. Someone slapped the bonnet and the vehicle slowly pulled away. Morven closed her eyes, weak with relief; utterly in tune, neither of them spoke a word. Morven lay still. If she concentrated really hard she could hear Zest's heart pumping in his chest. It was slow. And strangely reassuring. The faint scent of aniseed hung in the air close around them. She smiled as she tried to imagine what Goldsmith would make of Zest and his strange attire.

When a warm hand encased her own she instinctively squeezed it. And then a heavy weight seemed to settle on her chest, for the journey was nearly done. Soon it would be time to say goodbye.

As if to spite her, the car came to an abrupt halt. Both Morven and Zest slid a little sideways, Zest pushed hard up against her.

He put out one arm and pushed himself back. ‘Sorry,' he said.

But he didn't sound sorry. Not really. Morven looked up into his face. So familiar. So strong. ‘I'm not,' she said.

‘Morven — ‘ he whispered.

And then her eyes misted. Oh God. She closed them, not wanting him to see her pain. When she opened them he brought his golden head down to hers. Her hand, seemingly of its own accord, reached up and touched the back of his hair. And then — he kissed her.

Morven hadn't anything to compare to, but it seemed to her that Zest was a very proficient kisser. Not too wet and not too dry. Just right. And he tasted good, too. And felt good. In fact, it was all good. She was no expert but it seemed pretty much perfect.

When he pulled away Morven's eyes flickered open. Her mouth opened to protest. But Zest put a finger to his lips. To her right, the crunch of heavily-booted feet boomed through the night. Zest fell back toward the rear of the tray. ‘Go,' he said.

For a moment, Morven didn't understand. But then she had it.
This was it
. Zest had come as far as he intended to go. Oh God. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.

‘Morven, you must go. Please.' His voice was husky, like he had a sore throat. ‘I'll wait for you, every night, on the last train.'

The canvas creaked and Morven turned, suddenly scared that Zest would be revealed. She rushed to the opening. The curtain tweaked aside and a man looked in. ‘Quickly,' he said.

Morven took a deep breath and slid out of the opening. She did not look back. She did not dare.

The soldier did not waste time. Even as her feet hit the ground he was off. Morven shouldered her backpack and followed him into a huge hanger. Inside it was still and gloomy. A grey aeroplane sat before her. Blunt nosed with four propellers. Instinctively she knew that except for herself and the soldier, the cavernous building was empty. Not counting the aeroplanes.

Goldsmith wasted no time or words but headed up the ramp of the grey plane, a lumpy, wide-bellied affair. Once inside he switched on a light to reveal a wide tunnel of metal lockers. The floor was constructed of steel rollers. Four red seats flanked the front end, but otherwise it was totally utilitarian. For the first time Morven had opportunity to check the soldier out. He was tall and solid. About 40 years old. For a moment, Morven felt a rush of hunger. This was a man in his prime, positively bursting with vitality. Best not to go there. His hair was black and regulation short. Deep-set brown eyes regarded her shrewdly. Old acne scars marred his swarthy tanned skin. Not handsome, but arresting, with a strong jaw and a high bridged nose. Not a man to mess with.

‘Got your papers?' he said.

Morven nodded.

‘Good. Shouldn't need them, but it pays to be prepared.' He checked his watch. ‘Helmrich will be here in a moment. He knows you're on board and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The flight's straight through, with a refuel at Dubai. Should get to Scotland by O four hundred. When we get there I don't expect to see you again. I'll consider the debt paid in full.'

Morven couldn't help herself. ‘What debt?'

‘None of your business.'

Morven said nothing but made a mental note to weasel it out of her mother. She shrugged. ‘Whatever.'

‘You'll stay in the hold and keep out of the way. When we stop you'll hide over there. And that's how you'll leave at our destination.' He pointed toward the belly of the plane.

Morven looked. A snort of disbelief blew out of her nostrils. He must be kidding. She looked at Goldsmith but there was not so much of a hint of humour in his face. She looked back at the two coffins that hunkered beneath a union jack, tightly secured by grey, flat straps. ‘You're pulling my chain?'

‘No.'

And suddenly it seemed freakin' funny. Priceless. Morven tried to choke back the guffaw that surged up her throat, but failed. Miserably. Maybe it was displaced grief, maybe it was nerves. Whatever it was, it could not be denied. Morven let go and laughed long and hard. Finally, exhausted, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and managed a more dignified hiccuping instead. ‘Sorry,' she said. Then she had a horrid thought. ‘I'm not going to be, like — sharing, am I?'

Goldsmith's lips twitched suspiciously, but he shook his head gravely. ‘One's fair dinkum. The other's not.'

Morven sighed. In the end, what choice did she have? Footsteps clanged up the ramp. Morven turned and watched the new arrival. He was young, probably still in his teens. Despite the economy of his size, Helmrich moved with all the assurance of a jungle cat. The
thin pale face and milky eyes looked ghostly in the flat, white light of the plane's belly. He ignored Morven but saluted smartly to Goldsmith.

Morven grinned to herself. Despite the young soldier's outward indifference to her presence, she knew better. His hormones were doing a rap dance. She could taste them in the dusty air. The two men spoke in low tones that Morven pretended she couldn't hear. All boring stuff about the flight. Without any further communication they disappeared into the cockpit and slammed the door shut. For a while she honed in on their conversation, but it was all dull as dingo droppings. Soldier speak.

Goldsmith peered out the door. ‘Better buckle up.'

Morven chose a red seat and slipped on the harness and waited. She wondered if Zest were still out there, or if he'd gone. It gave her some comfort to imagine him and Dog heading back to her parents' place. He'd look after them. They'd be fine.

A soft tremor, like a purring kitten, shimmied through the hold. A flicker of excitement pierced Morven's brain. They were on the move. Five minutes later the big bird was out of its cage and roaring down the bitumen. With a sickening lurch it lifted off. Slowly they gained height. Outside, it was black. Now there was no turning back.

It was the longest night of Morven's life. She was so bored. She counted the lockers, the windows, the teeth of the roller, the lights, the right angles, the number of times Helmrich barked ‘Sir'. Hour after hour she sat, or paced. Helmrich brought her a bottle of water, a ham sandwich and an apple, and pointed the way to the toilet. But there was nothing else to break the monotony. She could not sleep. After what seemed like an eternity, Helmrich reappeared. ‘We're gonna land in five minutes. You'd better get ready.'

Morven went over to the caskets. So far she'd ignored them, preferring not to think about it. But now it was crunch time. Helmrich pushed the flag away, unclipped the heavy canvas straps and prised up the lid. The inside was plush, lined with cream satin. It was not what she expected inside a military coffin, although she couldn't have made an alternative suggestion. Still, it was not an inviting prospect.

Helmrich tapped the box. ‘Hurry up.'

Morven felt a surge of irritation. A small hiss of anger slipped through her lips. She felt rather than saw the young soldier's sudden alertness. With a mighty effort she took a step forward. At the same time a ray of light fell across the floor. Outside, dawn was breaking. She moved cautiously to the window and sucked in her breath in wonder. Miles below, the vast desert rippled and glowed a beautiful rich rose gold. Without further ado, she turned away and settled herself down into the coffin. The lid closed.