Paul Johnston - Maps of Hell

“Oh, you do, do you?” Dave says, grabbing the weapon. He’s been up here numerous times over the years and can hunt as well as any expert. Then again, he does have a talent for anything to do with weaponry and sudden death. “That’s your problem, you know. A few hours and you reckon you’re a professional. Jesus, killing isn’t as easy as you think.” He breaks off and grins. “Then again, you just found that out, didn’t you, Matt?”

I came to with a start. Matt. That was my name. I had a vague memory of a blanket lying on a cell floor. I had remembered before, but I must have lost it. My name was Matt, short for…Matthew. That flashed back to me, too. But nothing more. I thought about the deer-hunting scene. Dave. My friend Dave. The recollection of him was strong, in the sense that I was convinced I’d known a Dave, that he had been close to me. But there was nothing else, apart from the facts that he’d been a soldier and had instructed me in rifle-shooting. I thought again. He’d been a rugby player, too. We’d been on the same team. I suddenly remembered the scarring on my knee. Fortunately, although I felt a dull ache, my leg had stood up to the pressure of all the running I’d done.

I was strangely glad to find that the scene had stayed in my memory. Dave had often talked about us going to the Scottish Highlands. Where from? I tried to bring back where I lived, where I’d been born and brought up, but there was no response from my damaged memory. Scottish. What did that mean? Scotland came to mind. A country. But it wasn’t my home, even though it was connected in some way I couldn’t put my finger on.

At least I knew my name. Matt. But I had the feeling I had other names. I wasn’t just patient L24 from the camp. But Matt what? Matthew what? Again, my memory failed. Whatever had been done to me in the camp was restricting me to only a few glimpses of my past. I could only hope there would be more. In the meantime, where was I? I thought back to the hillside in the rain. I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t in Scotland, even though I could remember pine trees alongside the fern-covered slopes where we’d tracked the deer. But they were much smaller than the ones I had so recently run through, and there was no way I could have spent the night halfway up one of those small Scottish pines. So where was I? And who was I? Matt, with no other names and no memories of other people except Dave, wasn’t enough for me.

Eventually I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and woke to the sound of birdsong. There was a stripe of gray over the ridge that must have been to the east. Dawn was breaking. I surveyed the country from my high position and took in vast slopes covered in trees and mountain ridges running between isolated summits. I felt lost, not just geographically but spiritually. This was not my home. How had I got here? How was I to get back to civilization without food to sustain me? It looked like no one lived anywhere nearby. Besides, I couldn’t trust anyone-perhaps the people who ran the camp owned the land and any towns on it.

I listened intently for a few minutes, but heard no indications of the armed men. Unstrapping myself and stretching stiff limbs, I clambered down to ground level. I drank most of the water in my bottle, leaving a few mouthfuls in case there were no more streams in the vicinity. Ahead, I saw a narrow gap between the slopes of two mountains and decided to head for it. Perhaps there would be a road there, a way out of the wilderness. I set off and was immediately aware of my stomach-the water had obviously woken it up. I stopped and ate the rest of the bread, aware that I might have been making a big mistake. Then I saw the rabbit.

I raised the rifle slowly to my shoulder. I was about to squeeze the trigger-with no compunction this time-when I realized that firing would give my location away. I watched helplessly as the rabbit hopped back into the undergrowth. I swore quietly. Even though I’d have had to eat the flesh raw, it would have given me some much needed protein. I decided I’d risk the shot. I was waiting for the animal to reappear when I heard the unmistakable sound of a dry branch cracking. Either there were larger creatures in these mountains or my pursuers had caught up with me.

I considered running, but from the sounds I could tell they were too close. I had to choose a position and make a stand. But not on the ground-I had to assume there would be more than one of them. I looked around for a suitable tree and found one with a larger than average trunk. I pulled myself up until I was just below the cover provided by the top of a shorter tree before me. Then I pushed my head slowly through the pine needles and scanned the area.

At first there was no movement apart from small birds. Then I saw a figure in gray emerge slowly about fifty yards to my right. Shortly afterward, another man appeared, this one to my left. Both were carrying assault rifles like the one I had. I was relieved that there was no sign of the dog. A third man came into the open almost directly in front of me. I’d chosen my spot well. All three would have to cross the open area between the trees. I slipped the safety catch off my rifle and brought the stock up to my right shoulder. Then, looking down at the men, I saw something that made my stomach clench.

The man in the center was looking at a small device and making hand movements to the others. Those movements were directing them right toward me. How did he know…? Then I understood-there must have been a bug somewhere on me. I ran a hand over the rifle, but found nothing obvious. Shit. The bug could have been anywhere, given that I’d stolen everything I had. I considered stripping and leaving it all behind, but quickly dismissed that idea. They were close enough to hear me move. If I didn’t act soon, they’d be so close they couldn’t help but discover me.

I brought the rifle up and trained it on the man with the receiver. He had to be dealt with first. Before I pulled the trigger, a vision of Dave flashed before me. He was smiling. I felt myself smile back, and then I fired. I missed the device, but hit the man’s wrist. The receiver flew up in the air as he dropped to his knees. I turned to the man on my right. He had stopped halfway across the dead ground. I flicked the rifle to automatic and let off a burst that peppered the ground in front of him. He turned tail and ran, leaving his rifle on the ground. I shifted my aim to the third guy. He was already heading back into the tree cover. I went back to single fire and let him have one a foot behind him to send him on his way.

Slipping down the tree as fast as I could, I hit the ground and started running. I had probably bought myself half an hour at most. I needed to stretch that and then find a place to hole up. My next priority was to locate the bug.

After about half an hour of uninterrupted running, I slowed to a walk and looked at the rifle, pistol and water bottle again. Nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye. I ran my fingers over my clothes. Again, nothing was obvious. That left my boots. I stopped briefly to check the soles. They appeared normal, though there could easily have been something hidden deep down.

As I picked up my pace again through the pine trunks, an unpleasant thought struck me. Maybe the bug wasn’t in my boots or clothing at all. Maybe it was under my skin.

Richard Bonhoff was in gridlock on the Beltway. It was late afternoon and the low autumn sun was giving extra color to the already spectacular leaves on both sides of the freeway. Richard briefly thought of the more subdued shades in the fields back in Iowa, then concentrated on making the next exit for central D.C. He’d already missed one. The battered pickup stuck out like a Model-T among the pristine limos and SUVs that the capital’s inhabitants drove. Not for the first time, the farmer asked himself what the hell he was doing. He’d considered flying, even though he hated the dry air and unexpected bumps and bangs, but he wasn’t sure if his credit cards would have accepted the charge. At least with gas he could spread the cost around different bits of plastic.