The Valhalla Prophecy_A Novel Page 13

  But now they knew where their prey had gone. And they would soon climb down to track it.

  He risked a peek around the tree. The overhanging branches meant that the men from the camp no longer had a clear line of sight on him. That gave him a short window in which to move out and force them to search for his trail.

  He picked Natalia up again. The thought of abandoning her did not even cross his mind. His job was to get her to safety, and he would do just that – or go down fighting.

  The ground was muddy, but not as bad as it had been nearer the ridge. If he stayed close to the trees, he could use roots and stones to keep his footprints to a minimum. Which way? He tried to recall the map. The cliff ran roughly north–south, parallel to a nearby river . . .

  ‘Okay, hold on to me,’ Chase told Natalia as he headed in what he hoped was the right direction. She managed to raise one arm and cling weakly to his shoulder.

  He made his way as quickly as he could through the jungle. His feet sought out the unyielding firmness of rocks and roots, but sometimes he had no choice but to cross soft, wet ground. With Natalia’s weight added to his own, his boot prints would not be hard to spot. All he could do was keep changing direction in the hope of forcing their pursuers to waste time reacquiring his tracks.

  Minutes passed. His progress was as good as it could be given the conditions, but Chase was all too aware that Natalia was slowing him considerably. And a look back revealed torchlight in the distance – on the ground, not above. They had descended the cliff and were on his trail.

  A new sound rose above the storm’s din. Running water. They had reached the river.

  Chase emerged from the jungle on to its edge. The river was swollen by the downpour, white froth gushing around the bases of the trees where it had burst its banks. More pale splashes on the far side told him it was about fifty feet wide, but it was impossible to know how deep it was.

  No choice. The sure knowledge that the Vietnamese and Russians were getting closer every moment forced him to commit to his plan. If he didn’t cross the river, not only would he be hemmed in, but there would be no break in his trail. They would quickly catch up.

  ‘Natalia?’ he said. She turned her head towards him. ‘The men who kidnapped you are coming after us. We’ve got to cross this river to get away from them. We’re both going to get wet. You understand?’

  ‘I already am wet,’ she sighed.

  Chase gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Okay. Just keep hold of me. Here we go.’

  He stepped into the torrent.

  Even with only a few inches of water covering his boots, he could still feel the relentless pressure behind it. He continued onwards. The river deepened with each step. No time to play games of bluff and double bluff with his pursuers to make them unsure if he was heading up or down the river; he needed to get across as quickly as possible, following a direct line to the far bank.

  The rushing water was now up to his waist, every step a strain against the current. Cold spray splashed Natalia’s back. She gasped and tensed in his arms, the thin material of her robe providing no warmth. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘This is where it gets really bad . . .’

  Another couple of steps – and the riverbed dropped away underfoot, plunging them both into open water.

  It was much deeper than Chase had feared. Natalia screamed, then the sound was cut off as her head went under the surface. The coldness of the water squeezed his chest like a giant’s hand. He raised his arms and pushed her back up, kicking furiously to hold position.

  It wasn’t enough. The river was sweeping them along, deep enough that he couldn’t find bottom. Natalia gasped before being submerged again. A wave smacked against his face. He coughed, blowing water from his nostrils, then pulled his arm out from beneath Natalia’s legs while gripping her torso more tightly. Her head came up as her feet went down. She took in a choked breath.

  With one arm free, Chase now had some control over their direction, however limited. ‘Keep your head up!’ he spluttered, trying to raise the young woman higher in the water as he headed for the other bank.

  ‘I’m trying!’ she wailed. ‘I can’t see!’

  She was close to panic. Chase steeled himself and thrashed his free arm to bring them around, then raised her as high as he could before leaning forward in the water. ‘Use your legs, kick! We’ve got to swim for it!’

  It took her a moment to take in what he was saying, but then he felt her move, thighs beating first against, then in time with his. The line of froth at the base of the trees slowly drew closer. ‘Keep going!’ Chase shouted as the toe of one boot made contact with the riverbed. He scrambled for purchase, foot slithering in the submerged mud before finding grip. ‘We’re almost there!’

  Natalia managed to bring up one arm, making increasingly powerful strokes as they neared the bank. Both the Englishman’s feet found solid ground. He took her weight again, the water dropping lower with each stride. ‘Yeah, yeah!’ he grunted. ‘We did it, we’re there!’

  He hoisted the young German up in both arms once more and half ran, half staggered the final metres to the bank. They entered the trees. The ground was far from dry, but to Chase it felt like a rocky desert. Panting, he lowered Natalia so she could lean against a tree. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I thought I was going to drown!’

  ‘Close bloody call,’ he agreed, coughing. ‘But we can’t stay here. They’re still coming after us.’

  The shock of being submerged in chilly water had shaken her out of her drugged befuddlement. ‘Who is coming? What . . . what happened to me?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘I . . . do not know.’ A pause as she searched her memories. ‘We were travelling, then . . . they stopped us! Some bandits—’

  ‘Yeah,’ he cut in, ‘but they aren’t really bandits.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I don’t know, but some of them were Russian. I think they took your whole group hostage just to get you.’

  ‘Russian?’ she exclaimed, shocked. ‘But why would Russians . . .’

  Her words trailed off. To Chase, it seemed as if some horrible realisation had just struck her – but whatever it was, explanations would have to wait. ‘We’ve got to go. Can you walk?’

  She pushed herself upright, wobbling before steadying herself. ‘I – I think so.’

  ‘Good. Come on.’

  He took her hand to lead her deeper into the jungle. She hesitated. ‘What . . . what did you say your name was?’

  He looked back at her. ‘Chase. Eddie Chase.’

  Even in the gloom, he saw that she had managed a small smile. ‘Oh – like Bond, James Bond?’

  ‘Better than James Bond. Except for Roger Moore.’

  That confused her, but: ‘All the same, I am very pleased to meet you . . . Eddie.’

  ‘Don’t thank me until I’ve got you somewhere safe. You ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great. Let’s go.’

  Despite Natalia’s insistence that she could walk, it was not long before she began to falter, the effects of her captivity and the exhaustion of the swim catching up with her.

  And that was not all that was catching up. Their pursuers had followed their trail to the edge of the river – and crossed it. Shouts and flashes of torchlight warned Chase that they were moving through the jungle behind him.

  They were spreading out, though. That meant they had not found his and Natalia’s tracks – yet. So far all his efforts had been put towards simply running, but now a new option presented itself. If the Russians and Vietnamese dispersed too widely, he might be able to slip through the gaps in their net . . .

  Natalia suddenly cried out in pain, almost tripping. ‘What’s wrong?’ Chase asked.

  ‘I stepped on something sharp,’ she replied, close to tears.

  He crouched; she was holding one foot off the ground like a cat with an injured paw. Gingerly touching her bare so
le, he found a large splinter of wood or bark jutting from it. He pulled it out and wiped away dirt, but there was not enough light to see if the puncture wound was superficial or something more serious. ‘Can you walk?’

  She lowered her foot, flinching and stifling a gasp as she put weight on it. ‘I think there is still a piece in my skin.’

  Chase swore under his breath as he turned to locate the hunters. He got a long enough view of one of the torches to judge its distance before it disappeared behind the trees. Less than two hundred metres away. And getting closer.

  ‘I’ll carry you,’ he said, picking her up. Another gasp, but this was of surprise. He set off again, glancing back every few steps to find their followers.

  They were definitely fanning out. The current had swept Chase and Natalia further downstream than the Englishman had intended, and so far it didn’t seem that anyone had found where they’d made landfall. The odds of escaping were increasing. Very slightly, but Chase would take whatever he could . . .

  Natalia mumbled something in German. Her voice was slurred, and she was having trouble holding her head up. An after-effect of the drugs? ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, concerned.

  ‘I feel . . . very tired,’ she answered. ‘And . . . sick.’

  Chase suddenly realised that if she had no memory of being held in the cabin, then she had been kept unconscious the whole time – and had not eaten, maybe for days. Even if one of the IV lines had been feeding her nutrients, her body would be close to exhaustion, and she was now also cold, wet and hurt. She needed warmth and rest.

  She would get that when they reached the rendezvous and were taken out of the jungle, but – he reluctantly had to accept – the Vietnamese and Russians would probably catch up long before then. Simply running would not be enough. He needed another course of action.

  Natalia began to say something more, but the words faded away to silence. She went limp. Chase stopped, trying to assess her condition. Her breathing was worryingly shallow. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, moving behind a tree and looking back. One of the men was heading in his direction. A chill of dismay ran through him as he realised the man would cross his tracks. If he spotted any footprints, he would alert the others and bring them running like hounds.

  Although . . .

  He kept watching. Other lights winked in and out of view between the trees – but further away. Chase felt a surge of hope: the hunters had spread out too far. They would be able to pick out their companions’ lights in the distance, but their voices would be lost under the ceaseless hiss of the rain. Even if the approaching man found a footprint, he wouldn’t be able to call to anyone else. The mere fact that they had been communicating by shouts gave away that they didn’t have radios.

  A new option presented itself. Attack.

  Chase’s gaze went back to the torch, judging distance, direction . . . then he turned and surveyed his surroundings. He needed somewhere safe to leave Natalia. A large rock rose from the ground at an angle, bushes overhanging one side. He pushed the branches aside with his body before carefully laying the young woman down alongside the stone. When he retreated, the bush bent back into shape, covering her.

  Not well enough. Her white gown was still discernible through the leaves. He should smear it with mud to break up her shape—

  A shout, close by. Out of time. His trail had been found.

  He ducked behind a tree and peered into the jungle. Another urgent cry in Vietnamese. The man was less than eighty metres away. He shouted again, waving his flashlight. Chase rapidly checked to each side. Those other hunters that he could pick out by their torches were advancing in a widely spaced ragged line, some of them now level with his position. Unless they looked back and happened to have a clear line of sight on their companion, they would not see or hear his warning.

  What would the man do? Leave the trail to run after the others – or follow it?

  The latter. The torch beam moved back down to the ground, then began to advance on Chase’s position. Fast. The man was moving at a near-run, certain he had his prey’s scent.

  The trail would lead him past Chase’s hiding place. He dropped low, keeping the tree between himself and the approaching light.

  The man shouted again, excited triumph clear. Rain-dripping metal gleamed; his gun. The AKS came up, tracking back and forth as he searched for his quarry.

  Chase hunched lower. He heard squelching footsteps over the wind and rain. The Vietnamese man was almost upon him.

  The hunter jogged past the tree – then slowed, the torch warily sweeping the surrounding vegetation. The boot prints had become muddled, tracks crossing over each other. He hesitated, then started to follow one set.

  Towards Chase.

  The Englishman kept moving around the tree as the Vietnamese lifted his torch. Its beam followed the trail to the base of the trunk. Chase sensed his sudden wariness, afraid of an ambush.

  Gun and torch came around in unison as he turned the light on the undergrowth. Chase tensed as it reached him—

  A low moan. Natalia.

  The man spun, torch beam locking on to the wet rock – then the figure in white beside it as she lifted her head. He raised the gun—

  Chase burst out from behind the tree and dived at him.

  The man whirled to shoot, but the Yorkshireman had already lashed out at his gun as they collided. His arm caught the magazine, knocking it out of the receiver and sending it spinning into the darkness. Both men hit the ground, mud splashing around them.

  But there was a round already in the rifle’s chamber. If it fired, it would draw all the other hunters to their position.

  The Vietnamese knew this too. Chase was on top, but the other man still held the AK in his right hand. He tried to bring it around to fire into his attacker’s side. Chase felt rather than saw the movement and snapped his left hand across as the man pulled the trigger—

  It didn’t move. Chase had thrust his thumb through the trigger guard – behind the trigger itself.

  The hunter squeezed it again, harder. Metal dug into Chase’s thumb like a guillotine blade, nerves and tendons crunching. He gasped in pain, but kept his grip on the gun.

  The Vietnamese snarled as he struggled against Chase’s weight – then jerked his left hand free and smacked his heavy flashlight against the side of the Englishman’s head. Chase cried out. The light swung again—

  Chase moved – not sideways to avoid the blow, but down, delivering a punishing headbutt. The man shrieked as his nose broke, cartilage cracking like damp wood.

  The crushing pain on Chase’s thumb suddenly eased. He yanked at the gun, wresting it from the Vietnamese’s grip and tossing it out of reach. The other man was still paralysed by pain, bloodied face scrunched up in the spill of light from the torch, but Chase knew he only had moments before he recovered his senses.

  He rolled off his attacker and grabbed him by the throat, hauling him over to clamp his arm around his neck. The Vietnamese realised what was happening and struggled, kicking furiously and slamming his elbows into the Englishman’s body, but Chase grimaced, withstanding the pain of the blows, and tightened his hold. The hunter’s fury turned to panic as he choked, but there was nothing he could do. His attacks grew weaker, then stopped. His body convulsed before going limp.

  Chase eased his grip, taking several seconds to recover his breath and let the adrenalin rush subside, then brought up his aching hand to check the man’s pulse. It was slow, but steady. He pushed the unconscious form away and painfully rose to his knees.

  Natalia had also risen. She stared at him in horror. ‘You – you killed him!’

  ‘No, he’s still alive,’ Chase rasped, ‘but we’ve got to get away from here before his friends realise he’s missing and come looking for him.’ He picked up the Kalashnikov, the rifle feeling unbalanced without its magazine. A rapid check of the ground around him revealed no trace of the curved metal clip, and he had no idea where it had landed. ‘Bollocks!’

  He hel
ped Natalia up. She gasped when she put weight on her foot, so he hoisted her over one shoulder in a fireman’s lift and, the AK in his right hand, moved off into the jungle, angling away from the other probing lights.

  It wasn’t long before he heard shouts from behind. The Vietnamese man had regained consciousness and was yelling for help. By now, the gap in the search line had been noticed, some of the other hunters having turned to investigate. All Chase could do was keep going, trying to camouflage his tracks as much as possible.

  He pushed on for five more minutes, ten. A look back. The pursuing lights had finally been lost in the storm. But could he risk trying to find a hiding place?

  A feeble moan from over his shoulder forced an answer. Exhausted from the drugs and whatever experiments the Russians had been carrying out on her, drenched and cold in only her thin surgical gown, Natalia had reached the limit of her endurance. If he didn’t find shelter for her soon, there was a definite danger that if she passed out again, she might never wake up. He clambered over more roots, eyes straining to pick out details in the darkness.

  A shadowy shape on the ground resolved itself into that of a fallen tree as he approached. One end was higher than the other, propped up by a hunk of half-buried stone. A black void told him that the log was hollow. He went to the open end, using the rifle to probe its interior – partly to check if it was large enough to fit Natalia, and also to make sure it was not home to any venomous snakes. It seemed big enough to accommodate her – just – and nothing hissed at him.

  He bent forward, carefully letting the young German slide off his shoulder and taking her weight with his arms. ‘Natalia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to put you into a hiding place. I’ll be right here with you.’ He lifted her again, this time trying to manoeuvre her bare legs into the open end of the log. It felt like trying to push wet spaghetti through a keyhole, but after a couple of attempts he finally got both limp limbs into the gap and eased her inside. When she was fully swallowed by the log, he shrugged off his backpack, then removed his rain cape and draped it over her as best he could.