David Morrell - First Blood

Like punching Mitch.

Like not warning Orval to stay low.

The first noise confused with the thunder, and he could not be certain that he had actually heard it. He stopped and looked at the others. 'Did you hear?'

'I don't know exactly,' Shingleton said. 'Up ahead, I think. Off to the right.'

Then three more came, and they were unmistakable shots from a rifle.

'It's Lester,' Ward said. 'But he's not shooting this way.'

'I don't think he saved his rifle anymore than we did,' Teasle said. 'That's the kid shooting.'

There was one more shot, still from a rifle, and he listened for yet another, but it never came.

'He ran around and caught them at the break in the cliff,' Teasle said. 'Four shots. Four men. The fifth was to finish somebody. Now he'll be after us.' He hurried to lead Mitch in the opposite direction from the shots.

Ward balked. 'Hold it. Aren't we going to try and help? We can't just leave them.'

'Depend on it. They're dead.'

'And now he'll be coming for us,' Shingleton said.

'You bet on it,' Teasle said.

Ward looked anxiously toward the direction of the shots. He closed his eyes, sickened. 'Those poor dumb bastards.' Reluctantly he bolstered Mitch, and they moved off to the left, gaining speed. The rain eased off, then got heavier.

'The kid will probably wait for us at the cliff in case we didn't hear,' Teasle said. 'That will give us a lead. As soon as he's sure we're not coming, he'll set off across the bluff to find our trail, but this rain will wipe it out and he won't find anything.'

'We're in the clear then,' Ward said.

'Clear then,' Mitch repeated stupidly.

'No. When he doesn't find our trail, what he'll do is run toward the far end of the bluff and try to get ahead of us. He'll find a spot where he thinks we're most likely to climb down, and he'll lie waiting for us.'

'Well then,' Ward said, 'we'll just have to get there first, won't we?'

'First, won't we,' Mitch repeated, staggering; and Ward made it sound so easy, Mitch's echo sounded so funny, that Teasle laughed, nervously. 'Hell yes, we'll just have to get there first,' he said, looking at Shingleton and Ward, impressed by their control, and he suddenly thought that things might work out after all.

At six the rain changed to big cracking chunks of hail, and Shingleton was hit so hard in the face by some that they had to grope close under the shelter of a tree. The leaves had already fallen from the tree, but there were enough bare branches for most of the hail to glance off of, and the rest of it came down striking sharply against Teasle's bare back and chest and the arms he had raised protectively over his head. He was desperate to start moving again, but he knew it would be crazy to try: a few wallops from chunks of hail this size could lay a man flat. But the longer he stayed huddled by this tree, the more time the kid had to catch up, and his only hope was that the hail had forced the kid to stop and take cover also.

He waited, glancing around, braced for an attack, and then at last the hail stopped and no more rain came, and with the light clearing and the wind dying, they worked fast across the bluff. But without the distraction of the wind and rain, the noises they made hurrying through the underbrush were loud, a signal to the kid. They tried going slower, but the noises were almost as loud, so they hurried on again, crashing.

'Doesn't this top have an end?' Shingleton said. 'We've been going for miles.'

'For miles,' Mitch echoed. 'Four miles. Five. Six.' He was dragging his feet again.

Next he sagged; Ward heaved him up; and then Ward himself heaved up, careening backward. The report from the rifle was rolling through the trees, and Ward was now on his back, arms and legs stuck out in a death frenzy, and from where Teasle lay on the ground, he saw that Ward had taken the bullet directly in the chest. He was surprised to be lying on the ground. He didn't remember diving there. He was surprised that he had his pistol out.

Christ, Ward dead now too. He wanted to crawl to him, but what was the use. What about Mitch? Not him too. He was fallen into the mud, lying still as if he had been shot as well. No. He was all right, eyes opening, blinking at a tree.

'Did you see the kid?' Teasle said fast to Shingleton. 'Did you see where he shot from?'

No answer. Shingleton was flat on the ground, staring blankly ahead, his face drawn tight around his massive cheek-bones.

Teasle shook him. 'Did you see, I asked you. Snap out of it!'

Shaking him was like pressing a release valve. Shingleton broke into motion, fist up close to Teasle's face. 'Keep your fucking hands off me.'

'Did you see him, I asked you.'

'No, I said!'

'You didn't say anything!'

'Anything,' Mitch echoed dumbly.

They looked at him. 'Quick, give me a hand,' Teasle said, and they dragged him forward into a slight hollow ringed with bushes, a rotting tree fallen across the forward rim. The hollow was full of rain water, and Teasle sank slowly into it, cold against his chest and stomach.

His hands were shaking as he checked his pistol to be sure no water plugged the barrel. He knew what had to be done now and it frightened him, but he did not see any other way, and if he thought about it too much, he might not be able to make himself go through with it. 'Stay here with Mitch,' he said mouth-dry to Shingleton. His tongue had not been moist in hours. 'If somebody comes back through these bushes and doesn't first say it's me, shoot him.'

'What do you mean stay here? Where—'

'Out ahead. If we try running back the way we came, he'll only follow us. We might as well save ourselves the trouble of running and try to end this right here.'

'But he's trained to fight like this.'

'And I was trained for night patrol in Korea. That was twenty years ago, but I haven't forgotten all of it. I might be slow and out of practice, but I don't hear any better ideas.'

'Stay here and wait for him. Let him come to us. We know he'll come. We're ready for him.'

'And what happens when it gets to be night and he sneaks right onto us before we hear him?'

'We'll move out when it's night.'

'Sure, and make so much noise he won't even need to see us to shoot us. He'll just have to aim toward where he hears us. You just said it. He's trained to do this, and I'm betting that's our edge. With any luck he won't expect me to go out there and play it his way. He'll expect me to run, not attack.'

'Then I'm going with you.'

'No. Mitch needs you to stay with him. Two of us crawling around out there might make enough noise to warn the kid.'

He had another reason for doing it alone, but he didn't wait to explain anymore. He had waited too long as it was. Immediately he crawled up out of the hollow, to the left around the fallen tree. The mud was so chill against his stomach that he had to force himself down along it. He squirmed forward several feet, and paused to listen, and squirmed forward again, and each time he dug his shoes into the mud to push ahead, the mud gave a sucking noise and he tensed. The suck increased until finally he stopped using his feet to push and switched to wriggling forward on his elbows and knees, always careful to keep his pistol free of the mud. Drops of water spilled icy onto his spine as he wormed under bushes. He stopped and listened and crawled on.

Shingleton wouldn't understand his other reason for doing this anyhow, he thought. It wasn't Shingleton who had been in charge and made the mistakes that killed Orval and Lester and the young deputy and Ward and Galt and the two men in the helicopter and all the rest. So how could Shingleton understand why he couldn't bring himself to let anybody else die for him? This time it would be just himself and the kid and nobody else, just the way this thing started, and if there were going to be anymore mistakes, this time it would be just himself who would pay.