“Under there,” instructed Jortse.
Tashi crawled under the protection of what was effectively a lean-to shelter, and Jortse followed him into the cramped space.
“They’ll find us –” Tashi started, but Jortse shushed him. The silence settled quickly now that they had stopped moving. Tashi was sweating from the exertion in his heavy clothes, but the cold wind searched them out and he soon gave a little shudder at his chilling perspiration. There was no sound or sign of pursuit. “The one that shouted, do you think it was us he meant, do you think he chased us?” whispered Tashi, eventually.
Jortse shook his head. “I don’t think so, or we’d have heard them by now. We were almost round the corner by then. How long till it’s dark?”
“Not long,” replied Tashi. He reckoned it had been early evening when they headed into the town, but a thick layer of cloud hid the confirmation they needed from the sun.
“Looked like they were starting a house-to-house search,” said Jortse.
“I wonder what they’re looking for.”
“I have a bad feeling that it’s us,” said Jortse, “but I don’t understand how they could possibly know.”
“Did you see the cameras? They’re everywhere. It wasn’t like that before,” replied Tashi.
Jortse was silent for several seconds before he said, “Their grip is tightening – there’s not much time left to act.”
Tashi shrugged his shoulders deeper into his coat and tried to squeeze even further under the broken ceiling. “It’s too dangerous to try to reach the house,” he said.
Jortse didn’t reply.
This was the third time they’d tried to make contact with one of Tashi’s friends. Each time they had been blocked by a high level of army activity.
“It would be suicide to go further into the town,” said Tashi. “And the end of this alley leads us straight out into open country, right to the cave and the gear.”
“I think we should wait till nightfall, and then go and see them,” said Jortse, straightening and pushing his hat back a fraction.
Tashi hesitated under Jortse’s cold, dead-eyed gaze. “It’s too dangerous, a bigger risk for them than us,” he said. “I won’t take those chances with my friends’ lives when we don’t know if they’ll support us. With all those surveillance cameras, we won’t even be able to get into their house without it being recorded.”
“We’re never going to get anywhere if we can’t talk to people,” retorted Jortse.
“There’s one person we might be able to get to without a problem.”
“Yeah?” The blank eyes bored into Tashi’s face.
“On foot it’s maybe twelve days, a couple of weeks away, very isolated. It’s near the border and there won’t be any military there.”
“This friend, does he have a name? Can he help?”
Tashi rubbed his calves to try to loosen them. “Dromo Gache, the secretary, he can call together the Council,” he said, and looked up.
“The Council? We talked about that, we agreed it was pointless. They won’t listen to us. The rebellion has to come from below, from the people.”
“But we can’t talk to the people without taking the kind of stupid risks that will finish this thing before it’s even started. The Council is the only way.”
“And if they say no, what then?” asked Jortse.
“They won’t,” replied Tashi, gripping his friend’s forearm with all the intensity he felt, “they cannot say no to the man carrying the sword of the first Emperor, of Dali Shakabpu himself. We have the sword, Jortse! We didn’t even really believe it existed, that it was possible, but now we have it!”
Jortse was silent for several seconds. And then he nodded. “All right, we’ll wait till after nightfall, when things are quiet, then get out of here. We’ll try the Council.”
Chapter 5
“Ambitions in snowboarding? I don’t really have any, I just like to ride. If it’s a cool line on a big mountain, that’s great, but if it’s just mucking about in the crud, that’s fine too.”
“What about doing something famous?”
“How do you mean?”
“Like riding Powder Burn, people will talk about that as long as there’s snowboarding.”
“If people want to talk about it that’s up to them, I just want to do it. First descent, last descent – that’s not in your head when you’re on the mountain. You don’t worry about that stuff. There’s no time to worry about anything except your line and the next move.”
“That’s good,” said Sam, turning from Pete to Lens. “Exactly what we want, don’t you think?”
Lens nodded, then waved to Vegas, who was lying on his jacket, watching. “Your turn, Vegas, move in beside Pete.”
“OK, boss,” said Vegas, dragging himself up and shuffling into position.
“Good. Rolling.”
“What about you Vegas, King of the Parks, World Champion in the half-pipe three out of five years, only injury kept you from the last Olympics. Is that still an ambition? Is there anything left in the sport that drives you on?”
“This free-riding thing, man, I’m really into being up here in the mountains with my buddies, hucking sick filth. But I still wanna ’nother shot at the title, and next year I’m gonna start focusing on the circuit again. Yeah, there’s plenty to do.”
“After seven years at the top of the sport, where do you get your motivation from?”
“Still just burning to ruthlessly abuse some mountains.”
“But why take the risks on a huge mountain like this?”
“’Cos the hot chicks just love it when you kick ass, right, girl?”
“Pete, what about you?”
“It’s just the feeling, just you, the mountain, when it all comes together and you’re just, you know, there, doing it.”
There was a moment when only the bubble of the stream bordering the campsite could be heard, before Lens’s voice cut in clear and loud.
“That’s perfect, Sam,” he said, “this is going to work really well, but the light’s going fast, it’s enough for tonight.”
Vegas stood, returning to lie on his jacket. Sam watched him, thinking that one more smart-ass sexist comment like that and she was going to slap him, camera or no camera. After two long days on the trail, she was seriously over it – no matter what Lens had got to say about getting along.
“Coffee?” asked Pete, as he moved over to pour himself another one from the pot on the stove. The smell drifted out.
Sam shook her head. “No thanks, I won’t sleep.” She stretched and yawned in the warm, still night air as she moved back to her sleeping mat, in pole position by the fire.
“Very Zen,” murmured Lens.
“Huh?” said Sam, sitting down.
“Very Zen – Pete and his in-the-moment thing, shame he can’t articulate it a bit better.”
“As opposed to Vegas’s perfect articulation of ‘I’m in it for the glory, sex with the groupies and the cash,’ you mean?” she replied. “And I assume that for your audience it doesn’t matter that he’s not talking any sort of American that I understand,” she added. “‘Hucking sick filth’? Please.”
Lens smiled. “Good book, by the way,” he added, nodding at a battered copy of The Hunger Games that sat beside her.
“Yeah, it’s a favorite,” she replied.
“And a great movie. Jennifer Lawrence was awesome as Katniss Everdeen,” said Lens, as he went back to packing his gear up.
She had brought a single bottle of Sherpa beer with her, a final treat before the wilderness. However, after carrying the damn thing for a couple of days, she thought she might drink it a little earlier than originally planned – like, maybe now. She got back up, walked the handful of paces to their tent and pulled it out of her pack, twisting the top off as she returned to sit by the fire.
“Mind if I join you?” said Pete, waving at her mat as he turned from the coffeepot.
“Of course not.” She
shuffled closer to one end. Pete sat down and opened the book he was carrying in his other hand. “You want a swig?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” he said, “I’ve got the coffee.”
“Nice work on the interview, you’re coming over really well.”
Pete looked up. “You think? I’ve never done this before.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“That’s something I missed in the questions. We can do that tomorrow. Hey, Lens,” she spoke across the little campsite, “Pete says he’s never done any filming before.”
“I know, I’m gonna be the man who discovered Pete Halland.”
They all heard Vegas grunt.
“So where’d you guys hook up?” asked Sam.
“Alaska, end of last season,” said Lens. “I saw him ride Cordova Peak, then tracked him down to a hotel where he was working behind the bar. Had to offer him the Powder Burn trip to get him involved in something; fortunately everyone wants to ride Powder Burn.”
“So how come?” Sam asked Pete in a lower voice. “You’re obviously pretty good or you wouldn’t be here. Why didn’t you do contests like Vegas?”
Pete sipped the coffee. “It just doesn’t grab me, judges, paperwork ...”
“So instead you finance your riding by working in a bar?” she asked before taking another mouthful of beer.
“Not usually, I was running low on cash and wanted to stay a bit longer. I normally work electronic-systems maintenance jobs on oil installations, usually in places other people don’t want to go. I save as much as I can, then bail and head for the mountains.”
“What kind of places?”
Pete shrugged. “Very hot, or bloody cold, dangerous preferably – they all pay better than the normal ones.”
“Wouldn’t a sponsor make it all easier?”
“Then there’s a whole load of other stuff – being told where to go, what to do ... I kind of like doing my own thing.” He picked up a stick from their woodpile and poked it into the fire a couple of times; a jet of smoke and ash soared into the night.
Sam shuffled a little closer and whispered, “Did I detect at dinner last night that Vegas isn’t quite so into the whole low-budget thing?”
“I don’t think either of them is that keen.”
“But I thought Lens was into the hard core – no planes, no choppers, no glamour, or whatever it was he said.”
Pete leaned towards her to reply. “I heard that he doesn’t have much choice, his last couple of films didn’t do that well, so he’s tight on cash.”
“So that’s why he didn’t pay for the commercial filming permit?”
“I guess,” he said, tapping the stick on the toe of his boot.
“There’s a good chance they won’t let you back into the country once this film comes out, you know that?” she told him.
“Nah, it’s OK, the mountain’s ...” Pete stopped. “The mountain’s worth it. Now Vegas,” he went on quickly, “also has a money problem, if you believe the stories.”
“What kind of problem?”
“I heard he got done for drugs a couple of times, finally ended up in rehab.”
“Wow. So why bring him?”
“I dunno. Vegas told me that when people heard it was a ten-week budget expedition and they were going to spend most of it humping gear around the countryside, they weren’t exactly biting Lens’s hand off. Maybe Vegas was the only one who’d come.”
“And maybe he needs it to rescue his career,” she said, and swallowed a ruminative mouthful. “So what you’re trying to tell me,” she added, eventually, “is that we’re heading into the Himalaya with the Robert Downey Junior and Lord Grade of snowboarding, betting on a last throw of the dice for professional survival?”
Pete looked lost. “Who?”
“Robert Downey Junior, the actor, he got busted for drugs, and Lord Grade lost millions on a movie called Raise the Titanic.”
“Oh ... I never really looked at it like that.”
Sam shook her head. “So how did you look at it?”
Pete did the shrug again, took a last mouthful of coffee and flicked the dregs into the fire. “I want to ride the mountain.”
Which of us is the more naïve? she wondered – her for not asking the questions before they left, or Pete for knowing the answers and still signing up?
“Hey, you two lovers got a bottle of beer over there?” asked Vegas, loudly.
Pete threw the stick into the flames. Another gush of smoke rose upwards.
“Maybe, if you ask nicely,” she replied.
“Please?” said Vegas.
Sam held out the bottle in her right hand, and Vegas, who had rolled onto his stomach, crawled round the campfire on his hands and knees to get it. As he reached for it, Sam slowly pulled it back towards her. Vegas moved nearer, unthinking. Until – with a speed that wouldn’t have embarrassed a rattlesnake – Sam’s left hand came up and grabbed him by the nose ring. Vegas inhaled hard, but he wasn’t so stupid as to move.
“Less with the lovers and the sexist backchat – all right?” demanded Sam.
“Uh-huh. Uhhhhhh!”
Sam eased a fraction of the twist she’d put on the ring. “All right?” Vegas wriggled and muttered, so she twisted a little harder again.
“Uh-huh! Yes!”
“Now say sorry.”
“Yes, shit! Sorry.”
Sam let go.
Vegas immediately clasped at his nose with one hand, the other raised. “Heinous bitch!” He brought the fist down, hard.
Pete had dropped the mug and now he stuck out an arm, blocking Vegas just short of Sam’s head. Pete was fast, very fast, but nowhere near a match for the other man’s weight and power. The momentum of the blow meant his intervention only slowed and parried it, but it gave Sam a fraction more time to move. She rolled backwards in the dirt to get clear, and in that instant Lens was between them.
“Enough,” he said, with an authority that surprised her. He held up both hands. “She didn’t mean anything by it. It was a joke, right, Sam?”
“Yeah, I was kidding, just like he has been,” she muttered.
“We’ve got a long way to go together, and we’ll show each other a little more respect, please. We just all want to be cool, get along, be a happy bunch of campers,” said Lens.
For a moment, Vegas remained immobile in front of him. Sam could almost feel the anger shimmering off him in waves. “Shit!” Vegas scowled at Lens, then Pete, then Sam, and finally stomped off towards the tents.
“Jesus, Sam, what did I say to you a coupla nights ago?” whispered Lens, as the sounds of rustling fabric coming from Vegas’s tent diminished.
Sam shuffled slowly back to her mat. “I’m not going to let him abuse me for the next month,” she replied.
Lens’s troubled black eyes settled on her in the flickering light of the fire. “If he gives you any more problems, you talk to me and I’ll deal with it. If this happens again, I’ll be forced to consider who’s the most valuable member of the team – got it?” Lens’s voice had lost its normal light beat.
Sam looked away as Pete sat back beside her, listening to the stream gurgle its way downhill over the rocks.
“Understand?” said Lens.
“I got a bit of a temper from my mother,” she said.
“Like I said before, Vegas comes from a pretty hard background, his old man used to beat his drunken mother to a pulp whenever they let him out of prison for long enough. He doesn’t necessarily have the same boundaries of decent behavior that we might. Mostly, he takes his angst out on the hills, but there’s a dark fire in there that we don’t want to stoke a long way from home, help and law and order. So just try to keep your temper, and if you have any more problems, come to me.”
Sam looked round and met Lens’s gaze for a long moment. “That’s not an excuse for hitting women.”
“I didn’t say it was – violence doesn’t solve anything – but nor is your mot
her an excuse for lashing out in a temper. I’m just telling you how it is, be careful unless you want to reap what you sow.”
She nodded, slowly, almost imperceptibly, then picked up the beer, which she had dropped – most of it had spilt, but there was a final mouthful.
“I just want us all to get along, for this to be a good experience,” Lens added.
They all fell silent, and slowly the sounds of the night gathered closer – the burble of the stream, the chirp of the cicadas, the crackle of the fire and the rustle from the trees in the light wind.
“I think ... maybe it’s bedtime,” she said, eventually.
Pete and Lens mumbled good night, and she left them by the fire. As she crawled into the tent, she could hear the low murmur of conversation start up. She undressed quickly, climbed into her sleeping-bag liner and lay on her back, staring up at the roof of the tent. One thought dominated – stupid cow. She had risked everything by coming on this trip, and now she had risked getting thrown off it.
It was a long while later that she heard the zip start upwards on the tent door. She quickly rolled onto her side to face the nylon wall. She listened as Pete kicked his boots off, and then shuffled inside and zipped the door shut. She tried to even out her breathing, slowing it down, as though she were asleep. It seemed to work, or perhaps he had no desire to disturb her either – and soon she was listening to the sound of his gentle snoring.
Chapter 6
Sam awoke in a flood of adrenaline, took a single heaving intake of breath and sat up with a jerk.
“Unnhhh ...?”
She looked round. Pete’s voice was muffled by his jacket, pressed into service as a pillow. She let the breath go slowly and watched him settle back into sleep. The tent shivered lightly to some faint imbalance of air pressure or breeze around her. There was no sound of human activity from outside the thin walls, but the others were slow starters. Three days had passed since the argument with Vegas, and although the nightmare was an old one and nothing to do with him, she couldn’t help thinking that the fight was the reason it had returned. Still, at least it had woken her at the right time – a hint of illumination through the fabric told of the dawn.
Powder Burn (Burn with Sam Blackett #1) Page 4