by Tom Wood
Naël’s face glimmered with sweat. He didn’t answer.
Michelle answered by lowering the Beretta. ‘What do we do?’
‘Get Joshua,’ Victor said. ‘Get out of here.’
Naël said, ‘He’s lying. He’s bluffing.’
Michelle approached him. ‘He’s not. He came to warn us. He’s right. If he wanted to take Joshua this isn’t how he would do it.’
‘How does he know all this? I told you. I told you there was something wrong about him.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ Victor said. ‘You have good instincts. If you hadn’t, Michelle and Joshua would have stayed in their home and Garrett and his team would have already taken him back to his father, and I’d have left town before it even happened.’
‘They’re not trying to take Joshua for his father.’
SIXTY-NINE
Michelle looked down as she spoke. Embarrassed. Ashamed. The Frenchman stepped closer to comfort her, and she shooed him away.
‘Joshua’s dad wasn’t a good husband, but I was young and stupid when I married him and had no self-esteem. It was only when Joshua came along that I understood what a horrible man he truly was. He couldn’t handle Joshua’s … He couldn’t love him. When I left, he didn’t care. He was glad to see the back of us.’
Victor listened.
‘His parents worshipped him,’ Michelle continued. ‘They’re horrible people, yet he was their pride and joy, their only heir. They treated him like a prince. Beyond spoilt. Then he got sick. And he wasn’t going to get better. That’s when I heard from his parents for the first time in years. They, like their son, had never loved Joshua, but they told me they had had a change of heart. I wanted to believe it. I really did. But I knew, I knew the second we met up with them … The way they looked at Joshua. I’ll never forget it. The distaste. They didn’t even try and hide it. There was no love in them for him. So, no more visits. They got angry. They had all the money in the world, they reminded me. Joshua could have everything he needed if he lived with them. It wasn’t about what was best for Joshua. He’s simply the last remaining connection they have to their son. They only want Joshua as a replacement. I told them where they could stick their offer. They said it wasn’t up for debate. I could either do the right thing or they would do it for me. I knew what they meant. If my husband was awful, they are worse. They always get what they want. When Joshua’s dad died, I knew they’d try and take my boy.’
Victor said, ‘That won’t happen.’
‘Why are you here?’ Michelle said. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Victor didn’t answer because Joshua had entered the room. He wore green shorts and a white T-shirt. No superhero motif on his socks this time.
‘Hello, Wilson Murdoch.’
Michelle put her right hand to the small of her back to hide the pistol. Naël set the shotgun down.
Victor turned to face the boy. ‘Hello, Joshua Joseph Levell.’
Michelle stepped towards him, lowering herself to his level. ‘What are you doing, baby? You were supposed to count to a thousand.’
‘I did,’ Joshua protested. ‘All elephants. Every single one. I promise.’
She wiped her eyes. ‘Okay. Good. Well done. You win again.’
He was suspicious. ‘Did you even look?’
She hesitated, not wanting to lie.
Victor said, ‘It’s my fault. They were doing a great job of looking for you, but I turned up and got in the way.’
Joshua blew out a long sigh. ‘That’s okay. I always win anyway. It’s getting boring.’ He had an idea. ‘Can Wilson Murdoch play? Maybe he can beat me.’
‘I don’t think we can,’ Michelle said. ‘We’re going to go for a drive first.’
Naël approached. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good—’
Michelle kept a smile on her face as she said, ‘We don’t have a choice, do we?’
Naël looked from her to Victor and back again. Hesitated. Then nodded. ‘I’ll grab our things.’
‘There’s no time,’ Victor said.
‘We have bags already packed and ready. We’re prepared for this.’
Victor said, ‘Get them.’
‘What’s going on?’ Joshua asked.
His mother stroked his hair. ‘Remember I said one day we would go on a road trip?’
‘And see the Grand Canyon?’
She nodded, swiping at the corners of her eyes. ‘That’s right, baby. We’re going to see the Grand Canyon and we’re going to have ice cream on the beach and we’ll do all the fun things we talked about.’
Joshua beamed while his mother tried to hide her tears.
‘Is Wilson Murdoch coming too?’
Michelle looked at Victor.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If you want me to come along I—’
He didn’t finish. He took a few steps towards the front door, towards the window. He’d heard a noise.
Michelle heard it too. ‘Oh no.’
Vehicles. Two engines. Two exhausts.
At the window, Victor couldn’t see them but knew it was a matter of seconds instead of minutes. They were on the dirt track, a few hundred metres away and hidden by the trees.
Michelle said, ‘What do we do?’
‘My truck is parked on the other side of the hill, by the waterfall.’
‘How?’ Naël said, re-entering the room with two pre-packed sports bags.
‘I came up the creek in case they had eyes on the track. Go up the hill, not around.’
‘Two miles,’ Naël said, nodding. ‘Up and over. Double that to circumvent.’
‘That’s right.’ He tossed him the keys.
Michelle looked to Victor.
‘Go,’ he said. ‘If no one’s here they’ll look for tracks. One team will follow you on foot, the other will turn around in their vehicle and head you off.’
She hesitated.
‘I’ll keep them busy but go as fast as you can.’
Still she hesitated.
‘Go,’ he said again. ‘Every second matters now.’
Joshua frowned. ‘Why isn’t Wilson Murdoch coming with us?’
Michelle didn’t answer. Naël didn’t know what to say.
Victor said, ‘I’ll catch you up.’
Michelle said, ‘I don’t know how to—’
‘You don’t need to. Just go.’
Naël took her arm. ‘Come on. There’s no time.’
She resisted, but only a little, as he pulled her through the room to the back of the cabin. As they reached the back door, Naël tossed Victor the Benelli.
Victor caught it in his left hand.
‘Good luck,’ the Frenchman told him.
Victor resisted saying he didn’t believe in luck and nodded instead.
Then they were gone.
He had time for one quick recce to familiarise himself with the layout of the cabin before the first Escalade pulled up outside. The second arrived moments later.
Before the first bounty hunter was out of one of the vehicles, Victor had the front door of the cabin open and had fired the shotgun.
SEVENTY
The penetrative power of a pellet of double-ought was negligible, so he didn’t aim for the occupants. Not at ten metres away, where the cloud of pellets would spread out to a tennis-ball-size diameter. They would go through window glass, but would deflect as they passed and not hit where he aimed, and if they made it through a door they would have little energy left to cause a severe wound.
Instead, he aimed for the Escalade itself. The closest wheel. The closest tyre.
It exploded.
Rubber stripped away in flayed black snakes. Air rushed out. The nose of the SUV dipped.
He pumped out the empty shell. It smoked and cartwheeled through the air.
He shot again. This time for the rear wheel. The pellets hit a little too low, some striking the ground and sending up sprays of mud. Enough hit the tyre for the vehicle to visibly drop. That was all he needed. The Esca
lade was going nowhere now.
It couldn’t chase Joshua, Michelle and Naël.
It couldn’t head them off either.
The occupants of the disabled SUV were already low in their seats, expecting blasts to come their way. The doors on the far side were opening so they could make their escape.
Victor ignored them for the moment because the second Escalade was shielded by the first and the men inside that vehicle were taking cover behind it, ready to return fire.
Before they could, Victor was back inside the cabin. He’d had the door open only enough for him to see the vehicles. At range, in the shadows, they wouldn’t be able to identify him beyond his gender. He slammed the door shut and dropped to the floor as the bounty hunters opened up.
They were well armed, as he had expected.
A deafening unleashing of automatic fire came his way – assault rifles and sub-machine guns.
Dozens of holes appeared through the front door. Splinters and wood dust turned the air thick. Glass shattered. Ornaments exploded.
No rounds made it through the walls, however. Not through timbers thicker than Victor’s torso, but he felt the reverberations like a hailstorm on his back. Paintings on the interior wall shook. One fell from its hook.
The shooting was over in a few seconds.
A short, effective show of force from half of the bounty hunters to keep him down while the others hurried into position.
Then, silence.
‘It doesn’t have to be this way,’ a voice shouted from outside.
Garrett.
Victor didn’t respond because he didn’t want Garrett to know it was him until it was absolutely necessary. He didn’t want the bounty hunters to suspect Joshua was already gone.
The longer they thought he was inside, the bigger the lead Victor could give them.
‘Hand over the boy and no one has to get hurt.’
To be static in a firefight was to die, so Victor shuffled across the floor on his stomach, reaching the staircase and only standing when he knew there was no line of sight through the window.
He dashed up the stairs.
He entered a small bedroom, made his way to the window, and peered out just enough to see the three Escalades now out front and the bounty hunters taking cover behind them.
Twelve, he counted, disappointed.
The very top end of his estimate.
For an instant, he imagined the hunting rifle in his hands instead of the shotgun. He imagined it dried and greased and assembled. He imagined taking off the scope to use the iron sights for faster target acquisition at close range. He imagined pivoting from his position next to the window, lining up the first shot, squeezing the trigger. He imagined a neat hole in the glass and a thump in his shoulder.
One dead bounty hunter.
A split-second to work the receiver as he adjusted his aim.
Another dead bounty hunter.
Maybe another two dead before they realised where he was and what was happening. The SUVs were armour against shotgun pellets but paper to a .338 calibre rifle round. They couldn’t hide from him.
A thirty-three per cent reduction in opposition before they had even returned fire.
But he had no rifle.
Instead, he only had three shells left in the shotgun.
He had to make every single one of those three count, which meant wasting one now at targets too obscured for a shotgun’s inaccuracy, but he needed to keep them pinned down as long as possible.
He shot through the window, exploding glass, aiming at the closest bounty hunter behind the closest SUV.
A hit, but not enough pellets to take him down. He cried out, one shoulder bloody, dropping lower behind the vehicle.
Victor was already backing away before bullets destroyed the rest of the window, shredding curtains and plugging holes in the bedroom ceiling and walls. A light bulb shattered. Glass rained over his head.
He made it back downstairs before the shooting ceased. He was at the main window on the ground floor by the time Garrett called again.
‘This is the last chance for both of you. Surrender now while you still can.’
Both of you.
They had fallen for Victor’s ruse, believing there was a shooter on the ground floor and one upstairs too: Michelle and Naël. That would make them much more hesitant. That would buy Joshua and the others more time.
‘You can’t win this,’ Garrett called. ‘One after the other, come out with your hands to the sky and you get to live.’
Victor moved to the front door.
Reached across and turned the handle and pushed it open a little without exposing himself.
He pictured half of the bounty hunters now watching the open doorway in expectation while the other half covered the upstairs window.
Which meant no one was watching the ground-floor window.
‘Nice and slow and no one has to die,’ Garrett continued.
Victor ducked down beneath the window.
‘Do it,’ Garrett called out.
Victor popped up and fired the shotgun.
A snapshot, because he couldn’t risk the time it took to aim, but still a good shot.
One of the bounty hunters covering the upstairs window was exposed at the corner of an Escalade, looking up. The double-ought hit him in the flank, between the armpit and the hip. Clothing tore and he fell to the ground, but there was no blood and he scrambled into cover as Victor ducked back down behind the safety of the timbers.
Body armour under the outer jacket.
One shell left in the shotgun.
He would have to go for a limb or a headshot.
This time when Garrett spoke, he didn’t call out. Instead, he gave an order to his men.
‘Gas them.’
SEVENTY-ONE
Victor didn’t have enough time to prepare – they already had a launcher ready – and the best he could do was dash from the window.
He heard the distinctive pop of a compressed-air launcher, a second later the thud of the grenade hitting an interior wall, and then the clatter of it rolling around on the floor.
Then he heard the hiss.
No doubt CS gas because they couldn’t risk anything more toxic with a child inside they needed alive. Victor didn’t hang around to find out. He raced up the stairs, which would only be a temporary respite until the gas spread upwards, but still a respite.
Yet far shorter than he had hoped because there was another pop and another gas canister entered the cabin through the upstairs window.
They had bought his ruse, of course.
He slammed the door shut to the bedroom to slow down the spread and headed to the bathroom. It was a small space but it did have a shower and that was all he needed from it. He twisted the dial to turn it on and cold water sprayed down. He kept twisting until the pressure was at its maximum. He grabbed a towel, soaked it under the spray, then laid it on the floor outside the bedroom to seal the gap beneath the door.
White fumes were already snaking through it; he coughed, and his eyes watered as the gas entered his system.
He didn’t know if they would wait for the gas to do its job and flush the cabin or if they had masks and would use the gas to cover their entry.
Either way, it was bad.
He had slowed the spread from the gas grenade in the bedroom. He couldn’t do anything about the one on the ground floor. An opaque white cloud swirled at the bottom of the staircase. The entire ground-floor space had filled with gas. It rose in snaking wisps up the stairs.
Victor knew he had a minute, maybe two.
Then, he would be incapacitated by coughing and blinded by the intense burning in his eyes.
In the bathroom, he stripped off his shirt. Tore a sleeve away at the seam and soaked it under the shower. He then wrapped it around his mouth and nose and tied it into a knot at the back of his skull.
His lungs already felt tight.
His eyes already streamed tears.
M
aybe not even a minute.
Whether they had masks and were about to storm the building or were waiting to flush out those inside, the bounty hunters would exploit the distraction of the gas to change positions. Flanking would be the most obvious course of action. They would surround the house to make sure no one could get away.
That they hadn’t done so already said that they knew the terrain. There was nowhere to go on foot except near-endless wilderness, so no escape as far as they were concerned. They didn’t know about Victor’s presence or that his truck was parked at the creek. As far as Garrett and his crew were concerned, there was no escape for Joshua.
He hoped Naël was carrying Joshua and they were running harder than they had ever run before.
He hoped they didn’t get lost in the trees. It would be tough-going up the hill. Steep. Difficult terrain. Lots of boulders and outcrops and gorges to avoid.
He moved to a window at the back of the cabin, intending to climb outside, maybe on to the roof or down to the ground if he had time.
He peered out of the window only to immediately throw himself away because a bounty hunter outside was already covering it with an assault rifle and opened fire when he saw a figure at the window.
Sheets of glass fell away from the pane.
A thick splinter of wood the size of his index finger tore away from the frame and stabbed into Victor’s chest just below the clavicle.
He used the wall as cover, ignoring the splinter, the pain, the blood.
He told himself to think of something, fast.
Nothing.
No plan. No strategy.
The bounty hunters had the cabin covered. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t stay.
He had clipped one and winded another but neither were out of action, so it was still twelve against one and he was down to a single shotgun shell.
He coughed despite the wet rag over his mouth and nose. He blinked away the relentless welling of tears from his eyes that felt on fire.