Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

He gently eased Roger’s head against the bare road that had smashed through the man’s side window and pulled himself through the sky-facing window that Laith had punched a hole through. He jumped down onto the asphalt and pulled out his gun. He looked up and down the road, at the roadsides, and into the forest, but he could see nothing. He glanced at the sky. Darkness was rapidly descending.

Laith had moved ten paces ahead of the vehicle and was crouched down in the middle of the road, pointing his gun directly ahead and in the direction where the bullets had come from. He remained very still, and Will knew that he had positioned himself so that he presented a human barrier against any bullets intended for Will.

Will climbed back onto the vehicle and tried to open the front passenger door. It seemed jammed, but after four attempts he managed to yank the door open. He looked into the car and at Roger. The injured man’s eyes were screwed shut, telling Will that he was in severe pain but also, more important, that he was conscious. “Roger, can you speak?”

The man wheezed but said nothing.

“Roger, I want to get you out of there. But if I move you and you have a broken neck or back, I’m likely to kill you. Do you understand?”

Snow fell hard over Will, through the window, and onto Roger. At first there was no response. Then Will could see the man move his hands and his feet slightly. He could see that Roger was trying to determine if he had any broken bones.

Finally he spoke. “Bullet in my left arm.” His voice sounded weak and thready. “At least one bullet in my shoulder. . think I can be moved, though.”

Will wasted no time, lunging headfirst so that his upper body was facing downward in the vehicle, thrusting his hands under Roger’s armpits and hauling him up. Roger screamed, but Will kept pulling, focusing all his strength on slowly dragging up the large CIA man’s deadweight. Will’s biceps and back muscles tightened in agony, and as he moved Roger inch by inch, he wondered whether his body was strong enough to do this. His breathing increased rapidly. He squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on nothing else but lifting his colleague upward little by little. He spread his legs wide against the vehicle’s exterior to give himself extra leverage and stability. For a moment he had to stop pulling and just lay there panting with the strain of the effort. Then he sucked in a lungful of air, held his breath, banged his legs hard against the car, and heaved with every muscle he had. He pulled until his whole body was racked with pain. He pulled until he felt Roger’s head brush against his chin. He held still momentarily, knowing that he would have to adjust his grip and in doing so support the injured man’s entire weight with one hand. He exhaled and inhaled again, braced his right arm, released his left hand’s grip, and immediately felt his right biceps tighten to the point where he thought it would burst. He quickly thrust his left arm around Roger’s chest and breathed again. He yanked with both arms and guided the man through the window. Then he slowly moved onto his feet and used his leg muscles to aid him in pulling the man the rest of the way out of the car.

He called to Laith, “You’d be dead by now if the shooter’s still here. I need your help.”

Laith came to the vehicle and helped Will to gently lower Roger down to the road and onto his back. Will stood on top of the car for a moment, breathing heavily and trying to relax his muscles after their supreme effort. Eventually he jumped down and crouched next to Roger. Laith joined him.

Will saw three bullet holes in Roger. “I’m not going to leave him here. He’ll die.”

Laith nodded. “Damn right. But what are we going to do?”

Will looked up the road in the direction of Saranac Lake. It was nearly night, and the distant village was illuminated with artificial light. “Megiddo’s got his own burden in Lana,” he told Laith. He looked at Roger. “Now we have our own burden. But nothing changes.”

Laith nodded. “I’d say we’re about two kilometers away from the village. Switch over every five hundred meters?”

Will agreed. “Roger, you know this is going to hurt a lot, but you also know how this works.”

“Do it,” the CIA team leader muttered between clenched teeth.

Will grabbed one of the man’s arms, swept his other arm under Roger’s back, lifted him to a seated position before hauling him onto his shoulder. He stood looking at Laith. “You take point. Let’s go.”

Laith jogged ahead with his handgun at waist level, pointing directly at the route they were taking. Will ran a few meters behind and tried to keep his feet flat on the snow- and ice-covered ground in order not to bounce and cause Roger any further discomfort beyond what he was already suffering. They ran down the middle of the road toward Saranac. They ran using only moonlight and the faraway glow of the village to guide them. They ran knowing that a man with an assault rifle or a machine gun could cut them in half before they could do anything about it.

Will silently counted every step, and he knew that Laith would be doing the same. He kept his grip tight on Roger and focused on moving. Just as Roger would have done when he carried Will on his shoulder to get him away from Harry’s house. Just as the man they were now hunting would have done when he carried Will on his shoulder out of the inferno within Lace’s residence.

Will counted to five hundred and shouted, “Switch!”

He placed Roger carefully on the ground, pulled out his handgun, and moved ahead of Laith.

He heard Laith moving Roger to hoist him up onto his own shoulder. He heard Laith say, “I’m ready! Go!”

They ran on. Will held his gun ahead of him, his elbows crooked and squeezed together. The forest on both sides of them was now in total darkness, and he made no effort to search for hidden dangers within its blackness. He just looked down the road ahead, looked for oncoming cars, looked for anything that could be a man with a rifle pointed at them.

After a few minutes, they switched over again, and Will ran with his head low and with the deadweight of Roger on his shoulder. He heard him wheeze, occasionally rasp in pain, but he heard no complaints from him.

Soon Laith called “Switch!” and he took possession of Roger. They were now only one kilometer from Saranac Lake.

Snow fell fast through the night air and caked on Will’s face as he took point and ran forward with his handgun. He felt light-headed, exhausted, but single-minded. He cared about nothing other than keeping Roger alive, finding Megiddo, rescuing Lana, punching Megiddo to the ground, pointing his gun at the man, finding out what could be worse than attacking Camp David, and then shooting him in the head. He ran over thicker snow, and his legs felt weak-but he kept running. His feet sometimes slipped and stumbled-but he kept running.

They changed over one last time, and Roger’s weight on Will’s shoulder felt almost unbearable. But Saranac was now very close and easily visible. Will focused on Laith’s back and ran behind him, concentrating on every footfall and ensuring that he just kept up. Every second seemed to last a minute, every lungful of air seemed to be a lungful of ice, every footfall seemed to be a naked step onto a bed of nails.

It seemed an eternity before Laith finally slowed, ran off the road into the edge of the forest, and stopped. Will stood looking at his back for a while before allowing his legs to buckle and send him down to his knees. He gasped for air as he rested Roger on the ground. He rubbed his hand over the man’s face to brush away ice and snow. He asked, “Are you still alive?” and saw Roger give the tiniest of nods. He arched his back to try to ease the searing muscular pain. Laith came over and crouched down next to Will. Both men looked through the trees at the village of Saranac Lake. They were right beside it but remained hidden in the forest’s darkness. They saw a few cars, a few distant pedestrians, and a few buildings and streetlamps, and they heard a few noises of normal human existence.