Scott Mariani - The Doomsday Prophecy

‘Not to mention the victims of a bombing in Corfu that you don’t even know about,’ he said. ‘But which you caused. And the doctor who risked his life to help you, and died trying. And your friend Skid McClusky, hiding in a dingy motel with his legs smashed. All of it thanks to you, you stupid little twit.’ He was getting breathless with pain. He fought the urge to grab a fistful of her hair and smash her face in. ‘I’ve always treated women just the same way as men. But if you were a man, Zoë, I swear this would be your last day. You have no idea what you’ve done.’

There was a long silence, the only sound Zoë’s quiet sobbing, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the call of a buzzard somewhere high overhead.

Alex was the one to break the silence. ‘So where does this leave us?’

Nobody replied.

Nausea came over Ben like fever. He felt something tap his foot, and looked down. His left hand was slick with blood, fingertips dripping fat splodges onto the forest floor. Alex saw it too, and her eyes flashed worry.

Then came the steady thump of rotor blades in the distance. Ben looked up. The chopper was just a dot on the sky, but it was getting rapidly bigger.

‘Company,’ Alex muttered.

‘Under cover,’ he said. ‘Now.’ He grabbed Zoë’s arm and hauled her roughly off her feet, sending her tumbling into the bushes. Alex ducked in after her, and Ben squatted close by. He could smell Alex’s hair, her hot skin. Even in his pain, there was a strange tingle from the feeling of closeness.

The chopper approached, its thudding roar filling the air. Then it swooped over the wooded valley, shaking the trees, and was gone.

Alex let out a long breath. ‘You think they found the car?’

Ben shook his head. ‘They’re combing the whole area. That’s what I’d do. Jones must have called on every resource he could muster up.’ He got to his feet, listening to the fading thud of the chopper. ‘Time to move on.’

The long, weary two miles felt like they were Ben’s last. He could feel his strength ebbing away with every step. Alex led the way, carrying his bag, stopping frequently to help him across the difficult terrain. Zoë followed silently, thirty yards behind, her face pale, avoiding Ben’s eye as they threaded their way through the pine trees and down a long rocky slope to a river.

‘We have to cross,’ Alex said. ‘The water’s fast-flowing but it’s not deep.’ She took his hand and they waded out. He stumbled and fell, and the impact of the icy water made his body spasm with chills. Alex helped him stagger to his feet. ‘Just a little further,’ she said, and tried to smile reassuringly.

He gritted his teeth and fought back the dizziness. One step at a time, he made his way across the river and then collapsed on the rocky bank. Zoë caught up after a few minutes, and then he willed himself to keep moving. The ground sloped sharply back up from the river. Then, at the top of the next rise, Alex took the binoculars from the bag and rested on a rock to scan the valley below. ‘There it is,’ she said happily.

Despite the pain and exhaustion, Ben noticed the spectacular view from up here. Open prairie stretched for miles in front of them, and the early afternoon sun was sparkling off the snow on the distant mountain peaks. Alex handed him the binocs, and he focused on the rambling range of farm buildings a mile away across the waving grassland. The place looked like a typical small hill farm, with assorted barns and horses grazing behind white-painted fences.

‘I don’t see anyone about,’ he said. ‘But there’s smoke coming from the chimney.’

‘Let’s get down there and take a look,’ Alex replied.

It took another forty-five minutes of painfully slow progress to reach the farm. They walked inside the gate and followed a dusty path between run-down timber outbuildings towards the house. Ben rested against a fencepost while Zoë hovered uncertainly in the background and Alex approached the farmhouse. One window was boarded over and the porch steps were worm-eaten and supported on bricks.

She thumped on the door. ‘Hello? Anybody around?’ There was no answer. She stepped back from the house, gazing up at the windows, then shrugged back at Ben.

The sun was hot and high above them now, and he shielded his eyes from it as he scanned around the farmstead.

Then he saw the body.

The old man was lying in the long grass a hundred yards from one of the horse paddocks. Ben and Alex hurried over to him. She kneeled down next to the limp figure in the worn-out jeans and red check shirt and felt for a pulse. ‘He’s alive,’ she said. Ben fetched a pitcher of water from the nearby paddock and splashed some of it on the old man’s face. He groaned, blinked and tried to sit up. His hair and beard were long and white, and his face was tanned to leather. He winced in pain and grabbed his ankle. Ben saw that it was badly swollen.

‘Damned colt there pulled me off my feet,’ the old man said, pointing. In the paddock, a young chestnut looked up from his grazing and gazed across at them, trailing his lungeing rope from his halter.

‘Don’t try to talk,’ Alex said to the old man. ‘We’ll get you in out of the sun.’

They helped the old man up the broken-down porch steps and into the farmhouse. The house was cool inside and smelled faintly damp. Through a shady hallway was a sitting room with wallpaper hanging off the walls and a low couch that looked as if it had been there since the fifties. They laid him down. Ben wiped the sweat out of his eyes and gently peeled back the old man’s trouser leg. ‘Looks to be just a bad sprain,’ Alex said, peering down at it.

‘Mighty glad you folks turned up,’ the old man said. ‘Don’t get a lot of visitors out here.’ His wrinkled eyes focused on Ben’s bloody shirt, but he said nothing. He extended his hand. ‘Riley Tarson’s the name.’

‘Ben Hope. This is Alex.’

Zoë had wandered into the house, standing idly watching from a distance.

‘What about this little lady?’ Riley asked. ‘She got a name?’

‘Yeah,’ Ben said. ‘Trouble.’ He eased off the old man’s boot, then turned to Alex. ‘I think I saw some comfrey growing outside in the yard. You know how to make a decoction? That’ll help ease the swelling.’

‘No need,’ Riley said. ‘Ira keeps a jar of some damned Indian potion on the kitchen shelf.’

‘Ira?’

‘He helps out on the farm. Ain’t here, though. Rode out two days ago to chase up a missing steer. Not been back since.’

‘I’ll see if I can find the jar,’ Alex said. Zoë trailed after her.

Riley eyed Ben carefully. ‘You’re a little out of your way, mister. It’s my guess you’re no ordinary travellers.’

‘You guessed right,’ Ben said.

‘And I guess that chopper earlier was out looking for you. Right about that too?’

Ben said nothing.

Riley’s old face creased into a grin. ‘I know what them helicopters are. I got no love for no G-men.’

‘They’re CIA,’ Ben said quietly. ‘They’re looking for us.’

‘I have no problem with that, son. If you was fixing to harm me or rob me, you’d have done it by now. I don’t know your business, and the less I know the less I have to tell. A man’s actions is all I care about.’ Riley grunted. ‘Now, the sonofabitch in the helicopter, he came down low while I was lying there in the dirt. Saw me and just smiled and flew off. If you hadn’t showed up, I wouldn’t have made it through till morning. So you ask me to pick sides, I won’t be picking his and that’s for sure.’

Alex came back into the room, holding a big jar full of greenish lotion. Ben examined it. ‘That’s comfrey, all right,’ he said. ‘It’ll help.’ He smeared it over the swollen ankle, then immobilised the foot with the cushion, rolling it carefully around and strapping it up with tape. ‘You need to rest up a while,’ he told Riley.