Powder Burn (Burn with Sam Blackett #1)

by Chisnell, Mark

  She pushed the sleeping bag down to her waist, reached out and unzipped the inner door of the tent. A hand’s width to the right was the stove; she fumbled for the lighter and quickly stabbed at the ignition wheel. Flames responded, first yellow then blue. Moving another hand’s width to the right, she found the aluminum pot already full of water and placed it on the burner. She prepared it like that most nights, before she went to bed. Infuriatingly, Pete usually messed it all up again, but on this occasion she’d let him turn in first. Now she could enjoy the fruits of that strategy.

  She settled down to listen to the comforting hiss, slowly joined by the gurgle and burble of the water stirring in the pot. It should have been the best moment of the day – alone, with nothing to do, just the cozy anticipation of the coffee. Not this morning, it would take her a while to get over the nightmare. She watched the light steadily glow stronger through the tent walls. The pot lid began to rattle faintly, and she leaned over and made the coffee. She slipped almost silently out of the thin silk bag, dragged her trousers on, shuffling them up under her backside. Sitting in the doorway she put her boots on, taking some care with the lacing. Then, with a well-practiced flick of the upper body, she rolled herself onto her knees. She tapped Pete’s feet. “Coffee’s ready.”

  “Ngghhhmmm.”

  There was no one about. An early-morning mist lay eerily in the hollows along the forested ridge. As she walked away from the tent, she started to stretch gently, easing her head from side to side, and concentrating on her breathing. A pause for another couple of sips, and then she put the coffee down and started with some salutes to the sun.

  “Morning.”

  She was startled by Pete’s voice. Engrossed in her exercise and thoughts, she hadn’t heard him as he came up behind her. “You made me jump,” she said.

  “Sorry.” He sipped at his coffee as she resumed the exercise. “Is that Tai Chi?”

  “Yoga.”

  Pete nodded. “Good?”

  “Helps with flexibility, balance, strength – yeah, it’s good.”

  Pete slurped loudly at his coffee, then said, “You woke early, bad dream?”

  “Yes. Yes it was,” she said as she moved into the Warrior pose. His gaze stayed on her while he drank more coffee. “No sign of the others?” she asked. She wasn’t ready to tell him about her father.

  “I just poked my head through the door; they’ll be going in a minute.”

  “What’s today’s walk like?”

  “Fifteen miles, maybe a few hundred yards of elevation, nothing too serious.”

  “And then?”

  Pete glanced at the other tent. “You know I can’t say much, just take it as it comes ...”

  “I can’t believe you still won’t tell me,” she said, dropping her arms and standing up straight. The relaxed calm she had gleaned from the yoga evaporated like the morning mist.

  “Sam, please, it’s not my decision, you’ll know soon enough,” he replied.

  She stared at him. This whole secrecy bullshit was beginning to seriously annoy her. Another in a growing list of irritants, barricades between her and the guys, all ratcheting up the tension – they were supposed to be a team. She moved back into the Warrior pose and frowned.

  “Look, I shouldn’t tell you this,” started Pete, moving to just a few feet away. “But ... Lens is under a hell of a lot of pressure. He’s sunk everything he’s got into this film. If it goes bad, he’ll lose the lot, right down to the house. And his wife’s made it pretty clear that she isn’t going to stick around for that – they’ve got a little girl and, well, he thinks he’d lose her too.”

  Sam digested this for several seconds. “It still doesn’t explain why he won’t trust me.”

  “’Cos he’s freaked and he’s paranoid, that’s why.”

  “But it makes me an outsider. You all know where we’re going, what’s ahead of us, what to expect ...”

  “I know. As I said, I don’t agree with it, and I am trying to change his mind. But I’m just trying to tell you that there’s some powerful shit working in his head, and it isn’t necessarily helping him make good judgments.”

  “Oh. Great. That’s really reassuring headed into a twenty-thousand-foot peak in the Himalayas.” She could feel the emotion rising with her voice as she spoke.

  “No. Look ...” Pete stepped closer. The clear blue eyes were locked on hers. “It won’t affect the expedition; he’s given me total control on the mountain. I won’t let anything bad happen. Believe me.”

  She held his eyes. Steady. Infinitely reassuring. It’s not his fault – the thought came to her and the anger subsided as quickly as it had risen. Pete was the best thing about the trip, and she didn’t need to alienate him as well. In fact, she wanted to hug him.

  “Whatever ...” she said, took a deep breath and, releasing it, started to move into the Trikonasana posture.

  Lens struggled over the final few feet, each step kicking up a little spout of dust that hung on the still air.

  “Holy cow, it’s hot,” he said to Pete, who had watched his approach from a table at the teahouse. He dumped his pack on the floor by an empty chair, wiping a sweaty forehead with an equally sweaty forearm and grimacing. “Where did Sam and Vegas go?”

  “Vegas went on. I told him just to keep left and follow the river until he hits the town,” Pete replied.

  “He knows he’s got to ford the other one, at the junction?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be all right, it’s not far. And Sam’s down by the water. She swapped to a clean shirt and is rinsing the old one,” said Pete, pointing to where she was just visible.

  “Not a bad idea,” he replied, picking at the clammy cloth glued to his chest. He shuddered slightly as it fell back onto his skin. Then he sat, quickly adjusting his weight as the wooden chair wobbled precariously. He shifted the feet onto a slightly flatter piece of ground, and said, “Did you guys eat anything?”

  “They have some instant noodles, and they’re pretty quick.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Pete called to the man squatted a few feet away, who looked up from watching a goat nose listlessly at the dirt. Pete tapped at the empty bowl on the table and held up his index finger. The man stood with some effort and moved into the shack. They lapsed into silence for a couple of minutes. Lens watched a young girl run upstream with an origami boat, folded from newspaper.

  “So how’s the filming going?” asked Pete.

  “All right, I think,” he replied.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask – how are you going to stop people seeing the route we’re on in the interviews?”

  “Easy – I frame it tight and use a really narrow depth of field, then the background is out of focus, so no one will recognize it.” As he spoke, he watched the paper boat disappear into a stopper wave moments after it was launched. It didn’t reappear. The girl stared unhappily at the spot. He was struck with the urge to run down there and console her. Instead, he turned back to Pete and said, “Sam’s idea was a good one, no doubt about that. It’s going to add another dimension to the movie – but she’s a feisty one, your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl,” Pete replied, with a half smile.

  “I noticed that she seemed a little cool on you.”

  “Yeah, well, she was pretty cool on all of us when she got to the bus. And I figured, you know, girls like it to be romantic, and this is not romantic.” Pete waved at the ramshackle teahouse as he spoke. “Best to keep it friendly, lighthearted, it’s not worth making a move till we get back to civilization.”

  “So you’re still keen?”

  Pete shrugged. “Yeah, sure, if she is ...”

  Lens studied him silently. In the limited time that he’d known Pete Halland, all the girls that they had come across had been keen, but maybe Sam would be the exception. Lens couldn’t help but feel a slightly warm glow at the thought. He’d never been much good at that game; at school, the cool girls had all gone for the football players, the j
ocks, just like every high-school movie he’d ever watched. He’d been too busy watching those movies, with his cameras and his films. He’d been damn lucky to find Josey, and he couldn’t afford to lose her. He stared morosely down at the river. Sam was standing now, wringing out the shirt. “She’s got a temper and she doesn’t take any crap,” he said.

  Pete nodded.

  “If he ever stops sulking, Vegas will start up at her again, you know what he’s like,” he added.

  “I thought he wanted her to come with us as badly as you did,” said Pete.

  “Sometimes Vegas doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he said.

  “I heard he had a bit of a self-destructive streak,” replied Pete.

  Lens glanced at him a little more sharply than he intended.

  Pete raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  Lens shrugged. “You mean the little matter of the heroin addiction.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s clean now. Took six months out, in a clinic, got it sorted.”

  Pete was silent.

  Lens turned back to the river. He’d been expecting to have to explain this since he’d first asked Pete to join him and Vegas on the expedition. The only surprise was how long it had taken Pete to get around to asking – but at least he’d had plenty of time to think about his response. “I think with guys like Vegas, that compulsion for a rush, for action or drama or conflict or whatever, can reveal itself in a bunch of different ways. If it wasn’t for getting adopted by the owner of some skate shop back in LA when he was a kid, he’d probably be dead or doing some heavy time by now.”

  Lens turned back to look at Pete. “At some level, Vegas does understand that whatever he does, whatever he achieves, he’s never going to be more than one bad decision away from that fate. He’s just had a real close shave, and he knows how much he needs this ride, this mountain, this film, because it drags him back from the brink. Even so, sometimes he’ll need a little help from us not to screw it up.”

  After a few moments, Pete nodded. “I get all that, but it might chill her out a bit if we told her what we’re up to – that’s winding her up as much as anything Vegas might do, and I don’t really blame her. I thought she was going to have a go at me about it the other morning ...”

  He was quick to shake his head. “It’ll only chill her out if she doesn’t totally freak when she hears – no, it’s way too risky, there’s too much at stake. We just have to work at keeping them apart if it looks like it’s starting up again. I’m relying on you too, you know?”

  Pete frowned for a moment, glanced back towards Sam. “She’s coming,” he said.

  “So are my noodles,” Lens replied, as the teahouse owner reappeared in the doorway. “Do your best, OK? You’re still the one she likes,” he added.

  “I’ll try, but, for the record, I still think you should tell her now.”

  “Noted, counselor – but no dice. Let’s just keep it on the rails, and we’ll do it like we agreed.”

  Chapter 7

  “So, which way?” demanded Jortse.

  Tashi pulled the tiny, luminous compass out of the heel of his boot, saying as he did so, “South, there’s a line of hills to cross. After that we should hit a river if we’ve gone far enough along this road.”

  “And which way is south?”

  “That way.” Tashi looked up from the compass and pointed just to the left of the tepid yellow glow emerging from a single window of the building.

  “Great,” said Jortse.

  “We could go around.”

  “No, it won’t be long before the moon is out. There are a few clouds, but not enough to hide us. We have to get out of the valley and get some height, find somewhere to hole up.”

  “I think there are quite a few buildings,” said Tashi. Jortse didn’t reply. There were distant noises – the rumble of a generator, a door banging. But Tashi could make out a fold in the land, a hint of darker shadow. It led away to the south. “I think we could follow that little gulley,” he added, “it’s going the right way, and if we’re going to move closer, it’s safer than moving in the open.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said Jortse, and started forward.

  The shallow trench allowed them to move quickly, gaining a couple of hundred yards to the south before the land started to flatten around them. Jortse squirmed into the dirt, and Tashi caught up to him.

  “Looks clear ahead,” said Jortse.

  Tashi strained his eyes into the darkness, but could see nothing apart from a broken line to the south, cutting a path through the stars well above the rest of the horizon. It could be cloud, or it could be the hills they were aiming for – he said as much.

  “We have to keep moving, we’re going to get the moon in a minute,” replied Jortse. “Let’s go.” And with that he was running forward in a deep crouch. Tashi had no choice but to follow – bent double, arms jammed against his gear to stop it rattling. Then there was a muffled grunt and Jortse slid into the dust. Tashi dropped beside him, and the pair held their breath. Seconds ticked past and there was no response, no sound or movement.

  “What?” whispered Tashi, eventually.

  “Wire fence.”

  “We must go round it, away from the light in that building.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before Jortse replied with an affirmative. They rose to their feet and crept forward, more carefully this time. They had gone only twenty feet when Jortse pulled up again. “It’s a corner. It’s forcing us completely the wrong way,” he said.

  Tashi felt for the strands and gave them a gentle push. It was a long run of wire.

  “Here comes the moon. Look, we’re running out of time,” said Jortse, his breath hot on Tashi’s ear. “I say we go under the wire, head straight for those hills. We could be stumbling round this maze for hours in the dark. We’ve got to get clear of here before dawn.”

  “I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right,” said Tashi. But Jortse already had the bottom strand of wire lifted with his bedroll. He pushed his bag underneath it, and then crawled forward. From the other side he tugged insistently at Tashi’s sleeve, the wire still propped up. Reluctantly, Tashi followed. Jortse led at the same quick crouch across a hundred feet of open ground. Then he slowed. Tashi could feel it too, ahead of them, a building. The rustle and creak – which sounded like bedsprings – came out of the darkness, from the left and very close, much closer than anything else they had heard. Tashi felt a suppressing hand on his shoulder and bit his lip. The noise and movement quickly stopped, and after an age of silence he felt Jortse rise to his feet. In a few short paces they were up against rough concrete, sidling along a wall. They paused at the corner, breathing fast now in the cold, still air. Then a dog’s bark shattered the quiet, loud and close. Tashi’s heart lurched. There was a rattle, animal and chain, more barking: something was restraining the creature. A light clicked on, and suddenly everything became clear.

  Tashi sucked in a shocked breath. He felt Jortse grip his arm fiercely. The light was on the far side of a row of buildings ahead of them. It cast illumination beyond that, onto row after row of ugly concrete blockhouses. They had been lost against the blackness of the distant hills. But now they could see the camp for what it was: trucks, personnel carriers, even an artillery piece. They had stumbled into the middle of a military base. Tashi rolled his head back against the wall, gripped his fists into balls and tried to control the paralyzing wave of fear that was rolling through him. Then there was a yell, a thump and a whine in short order – the dog had been whipped into silence and the light was off.

  “I saw the fence on the far side of four rows of buildings,” whispered Jortse in his ear.

  Four rows, thought Tashi, and how far do they stretch in either direction? How many men do they contain? It seemed to him that everything they had planned would end right here.

  “We’ll go down one building before we cross, to get away from the dog,” continued Jortse. “Wait for a minute
after I go, if you hear anything, stay put until it’s quiet.”

  Tashi watched as Jortse eased a glance round the corner of the building – a little moonlight was filtering occasionally through the clouds now – then stepped away. He listened to the faint footsteps fade completely. He started to count at a third of the speed of his pounding heart. At sixty, all was still quiet. He didn’t want to move, but he certainly didn’t want to stay there on his own either. He pushed off the wall and crept into the darkness. He felt each step gingerly for rocks or gravel that might squirm or scrunch, eyes probing the gloom, ears humming with the silence. It felt an eternity, but finally he was back with Jortse, crouched beside another concrete wall.

  Their luck held. Jortse led them past one more, another and then the fourth and final row without incident. Just the wire to go, beyond it was open countryside and safety. The faint motion of his friend’s breathing was beside him. And then there was another sound ... footsteps, coming towards them, louder, just round the next corner. The noise stopped. There was the scratch of a cheap zip, the trickle of liquid on dust, a sigh, a sniff, then a spit. He felt Jortse move, the imperceptible pass of metal as he drew the sword. Tashi reached out, but his friend was gone and he could only press himself back against the wall, waiting, expecting the worst. The noise stopped, a brief pause, footsteps and then the soldier turned the corner in a glint of moonlight, still zipping up his fly.

  He could only have known his fate for the slenderest of moments. The sword lunged from the shadows without a sound, the tip landing at the base of the throat, just below the Adam’s apple. It hesitated there for a fraction of a second, long enough for the man to realize what was about to happen – but not long enough for him to do any more about it than a faint inhalation of breath. At which, Jortse leaned on the blade and cut off any possible cry before it even got to the larynx. The steel severed the windpipe and then drove through the spinal cord. Jortse’s feet were already set for the rotation; he jerked the sword back out and, as the body started to fold, he unwound. The sword took the man’s head off with the single swish, barely disturbing the trajectory of his fall. Jortse jumped forward, caught the rifle on its sling over the man’s shoulder and used it to lower the body silently to the ground. The head landed separately, bouncing once, and rolling briefly before it came to a halt.