Paul Johnston - Maps of Hell

Fourteen

I flattened myself beneath the quilts, leaving a small space to see through. Unfortunately, my ears were still well covered, so the first sound I heard was the crash of the door being kicked open. I saw a figure in a gray uniform and beret, with a leveled assault rifle.

“Base, unit eleven at loggers’ cabin. Door has been forced. Fugitive not present. Over.”

I watched as his eyes moved up to the platform.

“Base, eleven. Wait one. Checking bedding. Over.”

The man slipped a walkie-talkie into a holder on his belt and slung the rifle over his shoulder before taking out a pistol like the one I was holding. Then he started up the rungs.

I considered what to do. Killing the guy would be easy enough, but I was less keen on that than I had been the day before. I didn’t want to be reduced to their level. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t going to get even with the shitheads in the camp at some stage, but I needed to get away first.

The man’s head gear appeared, then his face. I had to act quickly, while I still had the advantage of surprise. I moved forward and reared up from the bedding, head butting him squarely in the face. The contact was good and he lost his grip on the ladder and crashed to the floor. I slid down the ladder and held my pistol on him. That wasn’t necessary. He was out cold.

The walkie-talkie squawked before I could do anything else.

“Eleven, base. Confirm status. Over.”

I had to answer-if I kept quiet, more people would be sent after me. At least I’d heard the unconscious man speak. I took the device from his belt.

“Base, eleven,” I said, copying the accent as best I could. “Bedding clear. Stand by.” It suddenly occurred to me that, if I held my nerve, I could sell the bastards a dummy. I removed a leather strap holding a compass from his neck then looked cautiously out the open door. There was no one else in sight. I went out onto the veranda and decided on a direction that I wouldn’t be taking. “Tracks outside heading into forest. Bearing, thirty degrees. Over.”

“Roger, eleven. Return to RZ point Charlie. Confirm. Over.”

“RZ Charlie confirmed. Over and out.”

I waited for a response, wondering if I’d said anything wrong.

“Roger, base out.”

I exhaled hard, then looked down at the man by my feet. He hadn’t moved, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I checked the guy’s belt. There was a sheathed combat knife at the rear. I pulled off his jacket and hacked it into strips. Tying his wrists, I ran the material round the top of the heavy table and secured it. After binding his ankles, I reckoned he was there for the duration. I took the watch from his left wrist. The time was seven forty-one, but there was no date or month display. The cold at night and the relatively short days, along with the yellowing leaves on the occasional deciduous tree, suggested it was autumn.

I removed a couple of full ammunition clips from the young man’s belt and pulled on my jacket. After I’d laced my boots, hung the compass round my neck and stuffed my jacket pockets with cans of food and drink, I was ready to leave. I took the man’s rifle and pistol with me, as well as my own. They would be stashed in the forest where no one would ever find them. Finally, I dropped the walkie-talkie to the floor and crushed it with my boot-after the bug in my arm, I wasn’t taking any more chances of being located than I had to.

Going to the door, I had another look around, and then set off. From the heights the day before, I’d seen an area where the forest seemed less dense. If there was any civilization in this godforsaken land, it was that way. The bearing was 170 degrees, well away from where I’d sent my pursuers. I ran across the open ground at medium pace. Sprinting might have attracted attention and, besides, I didn’t want to put too much pressure on my suspect knee. I had an anxious minute before I made the tree line-I was panting more from apprehension than fatigue.

When I was about fifty yards inside the forest, I stopped and buried the second rifle and pistol under a thick layer of pine needles. I was on my knees with my head bent when I heard the male voice.

“Keep very still or I’ll drill you a new asshole.”

I did as I was told, cursing myself. The man I knocked out had identified himself as “unit eleven.” A unit consisted of more than one person. The best I could hope for was that there weren’t more than two.

“Get your hands up! High!”

“All right,” I said, my tone as reasonable as I could manage while I slipped the combat knife from my belt.

“Shut up or you’re dead!”

I considered pointing out that his superiors might not want me dead, but decided against riling him further.

“Stay on your knees and turn around. Slowly!”

I obeyed, feeling the forest mulch soak my trousers. The first thing I noticed was that my captor didn’t have a walkie-talkie or a compass, at least not anywhere obvious. The second was that he was very young, his face dotted with pimples.

“What did you do to Hans?”

I played dumb. “I don’t know any Hans,” I said, the knife now up my sleeve.

“A guy dressed like me?” His tone was less aggressive. He took a step forward. “What’s that you were burying?”

I ran through the permutations quickly. He obviously hadn’t seen me at the cabin or with his partner, assuming Hans was the guy I’d jumped. If he hadn’t seen the rifle and pistol, he must just have come upon me by chance.

“Shit,” I said apologetically. “No, really. I always go early in the morning.”

He stared at me, taking in the compass round my neck. “Where did you get that?” he said, jabbing the rifle’s muzzle at me. “Is it Hans’s?”

I decided to jack up the pressure. “Oh, now I get it. Hans was the pussy I kicked the crap out of.” I gave a harsh laugh. “You won’t be seeing Hans again.”

The youth’s cheeks flared and he moved closer, the rifle thrust even closer toward me. One more step…

“If you’ve hurt Hans, I’ll cut your balls off,” he said, a malevolent glint in his eyes.

I suddenly realized that, even though he was very young, someone had worked hard to bring out the worst in him.

I grinned. “You sure that won’t seriously piss off your superior officers?”

“You can live without balls.” Then he took the step forward that I’d been waiting for. I grabbed hold of the rifle with one hand, wrenching it out of his grip. At the same time, I let the knife slip into my hand. In a second, I had the blade at his throat.

“But you can’t live without your throat,” I said, breaking the skin above his Adam’s apple.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit,” he yelled, spraying my face with spittle.

“Keep your voice down,” I warned, jabbing deeper.

After a few more seconds, the resistance went out of him and his body slackened.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice softer.

“Fuck you.”

“Rank?”

“Fuck you.”

I laughed. “Serial number. No, don’t bother, I’ve got the message.” I looked at the letters on his cap badge. “How about this? What’s NANR?”

This time I’d pressed the right button. “North American National Revival,” he said with undisguised pride.

“What’s that?”

He stared at me, but kept quiet.

“Bad move,” I said, pressing the blade against his neck. Blood began to drip.

The young man whispered something and I leaned forward to catch it. The first word began with f and the second with y.

I made good progress through the forest after I’d gagged the young man and tied him to a tree with strips from his jacket. I’d buried the rifles, pistols and other equipment I’d taken from him and from Hans in a heap of needles a good distance from where he was. I wondered how long it would be before he was found, and was thinking that perhaps I’d finally got out of the zone controlled by the men in gray when I was distracted by the sudden sounds of a large animal crashing through the trees.