Andy Mcdermott - Temple of the Gods

He had to catch up. But he had abandoned his skis after reaching the bottom of the slope, and it would take too long to retrieve them. He needed a faster alternative…

The luge run.

The long wooden shed at its top was almost directly beneath the cable lines. If he could get to a sled, it would be the quickest way down the mountain short of flying.

Movement in the hotel. Two mercenaries barged through a set of glass doors, readying their MP5s—

Eddie altered course, raising his arms to protect his head and diving through a window in the side of a small hut beside the ice rink. His thick coat protected him from the broken glass, but the rough landing still hurt. He jumped up, seeing that the hut’s rear wall was lined with shelves full of ice skates.

He also saw that there was only one exit — a door facing the hotel.

Which would bring him straight into the gunmen’s sights—

The mercenaries opened fire, spraying the hut with bullets. Splinters exploded from the wooden walls. One man was shooting at chest height, the other aiming lower as he swept his gun back and forth in case their target had thrown himself flat.

Both their magazines ran dry almost simultaneously. They put in fresh ammunition as they tromped through the snow to the door. Lines of bullet holes ran across the hut’s façade, the largest gap between them little more than six inches. Anyone inside would be Swiss cheese.

The pock-marked door was kicked open—

Apart from broken wood and scattered skates, the hut was empty.

The mercenaries looked at each other, puzzled. There was nowhere their quarry could have exited unseen. One man leaned cautiously through the door to check if he was skulking in a shadowed corner…

A long spike of gleaming steel whisked down from the ceiling and stabbed deep into his eye socket.

The mercenary screamed and fell backwards against his companion as Eddie dropped from the rafters, having used the same concealment tactic as Stikes’s men had in the Alpine Lounge — with equal effectiveness. He wore a skating boot on his right fist like a misshapen boxing glove, the tail of its blade coated in blood. The mortally wounded man collapsed, the other merc trying to bring his MP5 back up.

The blade slashed again, sweeping across the second man’s neck and sending an arcing cascade of gore over the clean white snow. Gurgling, the mercenary clutched helplessly at his slit throat, then slumped on top of his comrade.

Eddie tossed the boot away and snatched up an MP5, then resumed his run for the luge track. He spotted the cable car again as he neared the top of the slope, now little more than a small box of light fading into the snowy darkness below. Was he too late to catch it?

Only one way to find out. He raced into the shed, the open-ended building a garage of sorts for sleds. Some were luges, designed to be ridden feet-first; others were ‘skeletons’, where the rider lay on their stomach to make a head-first descent.

It only now occurred to him that he had no idea how to control either.

‘It’s a sledge, how hard can it be?’ Not quite convinced, he slung the gun and pulled a luge into the open. It had a leather strap resembling reins attached to its front, but there was no apparent steering mechanism on the runners. The only way to guide it was presumably by shifting his weight.

He would have to figure it out on the way down. Hauling it to the top of the track, Eddie was about to take his seat when he heard shouts from the ice rink. The two corpses had been found — and their discoverers were already following him, weapons at the ready—

Eddie threw himself bodily on to the luge as the first shots whizzed past him. His momentum sent it slithering on to the track… where it picked up speed with alarming rapidity.

He was in completely the wrong position to control it, lying prone with his head at the front and legs dangling off the back. He frantically grabbed the strap and pulled it tight, then looked ahead. Snowflakes stabbed at his eyes, forcing him to squint. There was just enough residual twilight for him to make out the line of the track, its sides marked by raised walls of snow and ice — and he was veering straight for one of them.

‘Shit!’ He pulled hard on the reins, leaning as far as he dared in the opposite direction. The luge’s runners rasped over the icy ground as it skidded, going almost side-on down the track before he shoved down the toe of one boot to act as an anchor and swing him back into line.

He was only doing about thirty miles per hour — but lying just inches off the ground with his head out front like a bony bumper, it felt more like a hundred and thirty. The ride was horribly rough, not even the snow on the track smoothing his descent. Another curve ahead. He shifted his weight again, the sled this time turning in a slightly more controlled manner. The wall whipped past a hand’s breadth away.

The lights of the cable car swung back into view as he came out of the bend. He was already gaining. If he kept up this pace — and didn’t kill himself first — he would overtake it well before it reached the village…

A new sound over the grind of metal on ice. An engine.

The harsh rasp was unmistakable. A snowmobile.

He didn’t dare look back to find it. The luge was still gaining speed, the track twisting through a stand of trees. Another wall rushed at him; he slammed down a foot and rolled almost fully on his side to swerve away from it. Too fast, nearly out of control — but the snowmobile was closing, its engine snarling as it bounced over the terrain. He was trapped by the track’s confines, but the other driver could take the quickest route to intercept him.

The luge ploughed through a hump of snow, the explosion of powder briefly blinding him. Gasping, he put both feet down to slow the sledge, the ice scraping viciously against his toes.

Another curve, his sleeve brushing the wall as he strained to make the turn. The snowmobile’s engine was briefly muffled as he passed behind a large snowbank. He had almost caught up with the cable car—

The snowmobile’s muted roar suddenly became a terrifying howl as it burst over the top of the bank and swept down into the track directly behind him.

Its headlight pinned him in its glaring beam. Eddie now had a clear view of the track ahead, but a crash was no longer the greatest danger. He looked back. The snowmobile was less than ten feet behind, twin front skis slashing through the ice.

The engine revved. The gap closed. He brought the luge skittering round another bend. The snowmobile followed, its rider feathering the throttle to hold it in a controlled skid before applying full power again. The light grew brighter.

Eddie braced himself—

One of the skis bashed against his foot. The impact knocked the sled round, sending him at a wall. He desperately tried to counter it, but overcompensated. The luge wriggled like a fish beneath him, almost throwing him off. He was forced to jam both feet down against the track to keep control — and the snowmobile rammed him again, harder. Pain shot through his ankle as his foot was almost crushed under the skid.

The snowmobile dropped back slightly, then revved again, rushing forward to run him over…

Another curve — and the wall was partly covered by a snowdrift. Eddie flung the luge into a sharp turn. It hit the wall — but the drift was just thick enough for the runners to ride up over it.

Even so, the impact flipped him off the sled. He sailed helplessly through the air. Trees loomed ahead—

He missed a trunk by less than a foot, smacking down in deep snow beyond it. The luge thunked off the tree and spun away in pieces.

His pursuer turned hard to follow him. The machine slammed over the wall, going airborne—