The Three Most Wanted (12 page)

“Oh, damn,” I whispered again, as the bulletin ended. “Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn...”

“That sums it up,” said Jon, in a thin voice.

“Is there any way we can help them?”

Bane groaned and stuck his head in his hands. “Margo, no! It’s not
possible
. They’re
gone!
This happened hours ago—they’re already at some Facility: we don’t even know which one, and how many months planning did it take to get you lot out? Out of a Standard Facility, not a Detention Facility? With Resistance help. Please, be serious!”

Jon frowned but didn’t disagree with Bane’s analysis.

“The only thing we can possibly do for them,” Bane went on, “is get where we’re going and then see if we can arrange help. Professional help.”

“You’ve got the wrong secret organization, Bane,” said Jon. “The Underground doesn’t keep trained extraction teams.”

“Well, perhaps it should!”

“You’ll have to start one.” Bane gave me such an intent look I added, bemused, “
Joke
.”

“Was it?” he said thoughtfully. “Anyway, we need to leave,
now
...”

Jon froze. Listening. Bane’s hand flew to the phone, killing the sound. I fell silent as well, not that I expected to hear something Jon had to listen so intently for.

“Dogs,” said Jon. “Coming this way.”

“Dogs? Walkers?” I asked.

“Coming very fast if they are.”

Bane was on his feet so fast I missed it. “Pack up.” He shoved the pile of old food onto the foil blanket on which we sat and bundled it up and into his pack almost before we’d moved off it. We’d put our sleeping bags away already,
laudate Dominum
—I chucked him the stove, shrugged into my precious coat and went to help Jon. Thermals, sachets, check, check.

By the time we were done Bane had his jacket on and was fastening his rucksack. I zipped up the tent; paused as loud barking reached my ears. Several dogs. Approaching fast.

Jon hauled out tent pegs frantically, but Bane sprang to his rucksack and snapped it shut as well. “Leave it, if...” More barking. Coming
very
fast. “We can come back for it, come on, let’s go,
move
...”

Practically flinging the pack onto Jon’s back, he towed him to where I waited by the stream, then dragged us both down the bank. The water almost reached my knees and may have been cold—I didn’t notice, splashing after him with all speed.

Jon sloshed along in silence as well, and we all clung to each other for balance as our feet slid and slipped on a stony stream bed slimy as oiled glass. The stream wound swiftly into the forest, and the campsite was soon out of sight—and more importantly, we from it. Before long Bane paused. A rocky outcrop plummeted down to the stream on the right.

“Think we can see the campsite from there?” I said.

“I should think. Let’s take a look.”

We skidded and lurched our way up to the rock and climbed up onto the lowest ledge. We’d all read—or been read—the survival books, so right now rock made us think—shows no tracks, retains scent less than soil.

“Jon, can you stay here with the packs?”

No time to pretend he could do everything we could do and as quickly.

Bane and I were starting to climb even as Jon nodded, and soon we peered over the top of the outcrop, panting.

“Perfect,” breathed Bane. We could see the tents by the stream, most of the clearing unobscured by trees. He rested his phone on the rock, keeping one hand cupped over the top of it to avoid sun glint, and zoomed in. Still deserted. Had we had time to take the tent? The dogs might not even be coming there. Some people did run with their dogs, didn’t they?

You wish, Margo. I do wish, Lord, I really do. But after that news bulletin I don’t really
hope
.
..

Then my hand closed around Bane’s sleeve as three large dogs bounded into the clearing, noses to the ground, each towing a uniformed soldier behind them.

We’d not had time for the tent.

***+***

8

COLD BUT SATISFIED

“Damn,” hissed Bane.

“What were you expecting? Chihuahuas?” My voice shook.

“I know.” More rifle-carrying soldiers jogged into the clearing behind the nothing-like-Chihuahuas and their handlers. “Come on, let’s get away from here. A long way away from here.”

I fumbled my way back down to Jon, feeling half-numb with shock and fear.

“What is it?” asked Jon.

“Soldiers.”

“Worse, scent hounds,” said Bane tersely. “Juwan must’ve silenced Louis before he could give our location—my God, do we owe him for that! Come on, back into the stream.”

Jon’s face paled slightly, but showed no surprise, so pausing only long enough to check all the rucksacks were fastened properly, we set off as fast as we could, which wasn’t very. The water was getting deeper. At least the packs were waterproof.

“Note to self,” Bane muttered savagely after we’d gone some way. “Never trust someone whose first words are about your
value
, whose next are about how dangerous you are to
their
health, who looks like they’re about to
throw up
when dismantling is mentioned, who can muster no more enthusiasm than
‘I suppose so’
and who doesn’t answer when asked if they’re
sure.”

Greedy and scared. Not a good combination.

“I hope Doms and Juwan have... have a chance,” I muttered.

Bane was silent for a moment.

“We
can’t
do anything.”

It was almost unbearable to just travel on and leave them to whatever fate awaited them, but Bane was right. We’d three pocket knives and no backup or local knowledge whatsoever. Right now, we’d be lucky to get away ourselves.

“I hope to goodness Louis realized they’d be in danger and was careful exactly what he said.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he was trying to put it all on Juwan,” said Bane. “Like that will wash. Come on, less talking and more splish-sploshing, huh?”

We splish-sploshed on until eventually the stream began to curve.

“Whoa a minute,” said Bane, just as my feet slid in different directions for about the tenth time, plunging me up to my neck in icy water. I could feel how cold it was now despite the warm sun—either the adrenalin was wearing off or I was getting chilled. Probably both.

Bane helped Jon haul me back onto my feet and pulled out his omniPhone. After consulting this for a few moments he jerked his head onwards. “Come on.”

“But it’s turning to the southwest. We need to keep going southeast.” I’d looked at the map too.

“No,” said Bane, grim again. “Not now.”

“They knew we were heading for Zurich, didn’t they?” groaned Jon.

“Yeah,” said Bane. “We’d be mad not to assume the EuroGov know that’s where we’re heading—or will do soon.”

“So which way?”

“Southwest for fifty kilometers to get us out of their likely search area, then southeast for the passes beyond Lausanne. Not actually too much further, since whichever way we go, we have to make a bit of a dog-leg over the Alps into Italy. Huh, speaking of dogs, come on...”

The stream got deeper and deeper still and soon we were half-swimming. The current buffeted us, making it twice as hard to keep our footing, until we were all soaked from head to foot.

“Wait a moment...” A fallen bough lay right by the bank. “Let’s be smart about this. We’ll get a lot further, a lot faster, if we go with the current, won’t we?”

Bane saw what I was looking at. “Brilliant!”

We got the log poised to fall, without touching the bank and leaving our scent—then edged Jon back so he wouldn’t get hit.

Splash!

Soaked yet again. Ah well. We fitted ourselves between branches, Bane on one side and Jon and I on the other to balance it, then took our feet off the ground, letting ourselves float.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” sighed Jon, resting his head on his folded arms as the log drifted along, turning sedately in the water.

“Tell me about it,” I murmured. Wading was decidedly hard work.

“I hate to mention this,” said Jon, after a while, “but what will we eat in the future?”

“Carry on the begging routine?” I said doubtfully.

“You’d dare?” snorted Bane.

“No... The whole area’s going to be on red alert. And I really thought we could trust those three. Even Louis. If we couldn’t trust
him
... I don’t want to go near anyone. But Jon’s right, what
are
we going to eat?”

Bane grimaced. “We’re heading into a much wilder area. Fewer towns and therefore fewer hiking trails. Not many opportunities to beg food anyway. The isolation’s good for evading the EuroGov but as for what we’re going to eat... we’ll have to go a bit slower and spend more time practicing those hunting and gathering skills.”

My heart sank. Slower. What about those Alpine passes? And
what
hunting and gathering skills?

We floated on in a bleak silence. Lunchtime came and went without any of us suggesting we broach our meager food supply. Our stomachs rumbled. The afternoon wore on, and on we drifted. The banks remained forested and non-threatening as we struggled not to doze. Nothing at all happened except, sun or no sun, our teeth began to chatter.

“Is anyone else frozen to an icicle?” asked Jon.

“Just slightly,” I shivered. “Perhaps we should get out now. We must’ve come kilometers; they’ll never bring the dogs this far.”

“We’ve come tens of kilometers.” Bane sounded cold but satisfied. He cupped his phone carefully in a shaking hand to check our position yet again. “We’re going far, far, faster than we could walk, so I vote we stay afloat as long as the river is going the right way.”

“Heard of something called hypothermia?” said Jon.

“Oh, stop whining. D’you really want to walk all those extra kilometers?”

“Hmm.” Jon said no more.

“WAKE UP, YOU TWO!”

My eyes flew open. After the threat of rapids finally forced us to disembark, Bane had driven us mercilessly to our feet—my legs feeling precisely like jelly, so cold I could barely feel them and wholly unable to support my weight—and got us walking. But despite the need to get our blood moving, we hadn’t gone far. Couldn’t go far. We’d stopped in the first well-sheltered hollow we found and after putting on my dry thermals to collect wood, I’d slipped into the sleeping bag to try to warm up a bit while Bane got the stove lit. I must’ve nodded off.

“Calm down, Bane, the way we’re shivering, I don’t think hypothermia is imminent,” I mumbled.

“Neither do I, but the food’s ready.”

“Huh?”

I rolled over and focused as he placed a steaming pan and the three fork-spoons down by my head and slithered in beside me. On Bane’s orders, Jon had zipped all three sleeping bags together to make one giant one, wrapped in foil blankets, so we could share what little heat we had left. Jon and I must’ve actually warmed up a little, because Bane felt ice-cold.

Jon hadn’t stirred. I prodded him with my elbow. “Jon, food.” Jon carried on snoring. I shook his shoulder. No reaction.

“Try howling like a wolf.” Bane’s flash of weary humor drew an equally weary smile from me.

“Heard that,” muttered Jon, surfacing at last.

A real wolf was howling, somewhere not a million kilometers away. I opened my eyes. Moonlight bathed the hollow; it was deep night. I’d gone and nodded off again! I still felt chilled; inside, in my core. Bane was a lukewarm shape on my right, Jon a shivering weight against my side.

How late was it? Would the rocks I’d put to warm in the stove pan still be hot? Easing free of Jon, I began to slide out to check. Bane woke with a start and produced something that glinted in the moonlight. “Who’s there?”

“
Me
. Relax.”

“Margo. What’re you doing?”

“Checking those rocks. Jon’s still freezing and I don’t feel too warm myself.”

“Oh. Me neither.” Something less sharp and deadly appeared in his hand, glowing. “Hmm. We’ve only been asleep a couple of hours. The stove will have only just gone out.”

I felt the pan and drew my hand back quickly. “Yep, still hot.”

Plundering the rucksacks for our spare socks, I filled each one with rocks, and Bane arranged them around the edges of the bag, where we were least likely to roll against them. Several more wolves took up the song as I climbed back in and of course, that’s when Jon woke up.

“Gah,
wolves!
I take back my complaints about the smelly tent, Bane.
Any
tent’s better than none, even if it is just psychological.” But his shudder had nothing to do with the wolves. “Ugh, I’m so cold!”

“Careful, we’ve got those hot stones in here now, around the edges. Hopefully that’ll warm us up.” The fantasy of another pan of warm soup materialized in my brain and almost escaped via my tongue—I swallowed it back. Hot rocks were pretty much unlimited: soup wasn’t.

Jon eased away from me as though suddenly conscious of the absence of the usual sleeping bags—or even blanket—between us, so I rolled over and snuggled up to Bane. Bane’s fingers found my cheeks, traced their way to the nape of my neck and drew my mouth to his. Yep, he was definitely the warmest. Though far from thawed out, and only fortified by a scant few hours sleep, I shared his relief. We’d escaped—as far as we could tell.

We stole a couple more kisses. We were surely far too tired to fall into great temptation, quite apart from...

“Do you two mind?” protested Jon.

“Why is this the
one
time you’re
not
asleep?” complained Bane.

“I’d blame the wolves, but actually I can’t sleep for the smacking sounds.”

“Well, for your information this is entirely medicinal—just warming her up, y’know?”

“Need any help with that?”

Thud
. A gasp of pain from Jon. I caught Bane’s arm as he lunged over me again.

“Bane, knock it off.”

“I’ll knock his bloody
block
off!”

“Enough, you hit him already, and yes, he asked for it.” I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice, not when Bane had been so, so forbearing about the sleeping arrangements and everything. “If you don’t like it, Jon, keep your stupid remarks to yourself!”

Silence.

“Jon? Did he knock you out?”

“No.” Jon sounded subdued. “Some sense into me, maybe. I was just... thinking better of my...
stupid remark
. Sorry.”

It wasn’t clear if the apology was for me or Bane or both, but after a moment Bane said stiffly, “Did I hurt you?”

Jon snorted. “On the list of things likely to kill me at the moment, the bruise is fairly low.”

“Good.
Night
.”

“Night,” muttered Jon.

“Night,” I said.

Ahh-wooooo, said the wolves.
Good night, helpless little humans
.

***+***