They spoke in English.
He wanted to be still so his unseen visitors wouldn’t detect his presence, but he had to admit he froze because he was too scared to move. It took long moments before he could convince his body to curl over and duck his head down between his shoulders to hide his face. And no matter what he did, his lungs demanded oxygen and sounded like a bellows working it.
“Jake, there’s something moving over by the trees.”
He was beginning to sympathize with poor Jake: that daft bugger really wouldn’t shut up.
“Yeah, I see it. Let’s work our way over there, quietly, now.”
Faust tensed every muscle he possessed, ready to run or fight for it. But he wasn’t near any trees. His nerves quivered as the wind danced over his skin. It might be a small animal, shaking the branches at the far end of the field — then he remembered how his parachute had billowed about like a live thing and blown away toward those trees. He stuffed his hand into his mouth, stifling a giggle.
He held himself still, breathing more easily, until the discreet footfalls waned in the night. Then he scrambled up, balanced a moment to make certain he’d stay that way, and staggered in the opposite direction. A hedgerow bordered the field at the foot of a small hill, and a white-painted gate partway along glowed like a beacon. He scuttled toward it. There had to be somewhere he could hide.
***
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Standing in the Storm Page 34