The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  Nikolas stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the water. Ben passed him the soap and sat on the shore by the fire, updating Nikolas on the events of the day. Nikolas questioned him carefully on everything, then when he was satisfied things had been done according to his strict standards, he began to pummel the blood out of his clothes. He eyed the fire and the message on the beach. “It says help.”

  Ben nodded. “They wanted to do it, so I thought it couldn’t hurt. Will to survive, and all that.”

  “It might be more useful in Russian?”

  Ben frowned and coloured. “Damn. I didn’t think of that.”

  Nikolas laid his wet clothes by the fire and sat alongside Ben. He kissed him, meaning it to be only a quick kiss, but it deepened very rapidly. Naked, there was no doubting his intent. It had been two days and this abstinence was now translated into a risen, leaking cock. It wasn’t night by any means, and they were lying on the open shore with the camp only a hundred feet or so away. Nikolas opened his mouth wide over Ben’s, seeking with his tongue, hands roaming without his conscious control, to touch and hold and stroke and ignite. His urgent, painful erection stabbed into Ben’s side. He needed it stabbing into something else of Ben’s. He squeezed and released Ben’s cock through the material of his jeans in time to pushing against Ben.

  Nikolas was seconds away from losing any rational thought, so it was with considerable strength of will he responded, at last, to Ben’s attempt to push him off—Ben had been trying to control and calm him since the first, casual kiss.

  Ben looked up, his voice choked from desire and regret. “Later?”

  Nikolas clenched his jaw.

  He nodded.

  He sat up.

  He pulled his jacket over his lap.

  He acquiesced, but he didn’t have to like it.

  § § §

  Some minutes later when blood had returned to his brain and he could speak, Nikolas grumbled, “How’s your leg?”

  Clearly relieved at the effort Nikolas was making to sound normal, Ben nodded. “Good.”

  “Any trouble from NYPD Blue?”

  “I’m more worried about the reincarnation of Fred Phelps. We might want to check our shelter before we sleep in it. Snakes or scorpions.”

  Nikolas had begun savagely digging a small hole in the sandy bank with a stick. Suddenly, he lunged to his feet and pulled on his still damp clothes.

  “Wait here.”

  He knew Ben would forgive the barked command.

  He would understand its provenance.

  § § §

  Nikolas returned to the camp, looking around at the various people, noting those who were working and those who weren’t. He addressed them all and asked them to follow him to the shore. Emilia and Ulyana Ivanovna were walking alongside him immediately; the three hunters not far behind, and lurking in the rear, he could sense Jonas and his sons.

  When they were all gathered around the signal fire, he helped Ben to his feet and then began, “We all survived the crash yesterday, but the pilot and co-pilot didn’t. We should remember them.” He translated for Ulyana Ivanovna then picked up a pine branch and threw it on the fire where it sparked, the tiny orange fireflies of light winking away into the gathering evening darkness. Emilia, watching him with fascination, did the same, and then, one by one, each of them copied her.

  Finally Nikolas nodded. “Would anyone like to say anything?”

  No one spoke for a moment, but then the youngest of Jonas’s boys intoned, “In the midst of life we are in death. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

  There was a chorus of amen, and that was that. People wandered off. Nikolas allocated Lucas to the fire and returned to the camp with Ben.

  Under cover of the darkness, walking toward the camp, which was clearly illuminated by the fire, Ben took Nikolas’s hand, playing with his fingers. “That was nice…Funny old thing, though, you being the one to think of a service when we have a preacher on board. It must’ve made him feel very small…”

  “Really? I never thought of that.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “No. Apparently I am very fucking corrigible.”

  “That’s not a real word.”

  “Look it up. It means…”

  “Does it mean it’s dark now? Does it mean it’s later now?”

  Nikolas smirked and shouldered him off the track into the privacy of the trees. “Yes, thank you, Benjamin. That’s exactly what it means.”

  § § §

  Later that evening, curled together for warmth in their new shelter, life seemed pretty good to Ben. The chocolate Nikolas was melting in his mouth and then feeding slowly to him through kisses helped, of course. He could smell the intense, aromatic scent of the newly cut pine branches of their walls and roof, and feel the squashy comfort of the moss beneath. Tired from the exertions of the day, he was full of a sense of well-being.

  The venison had been superb. Ulyana Ivanovna was a very competent cook, and all three hunters knew good tricks for barbequing and making the most of fresh meat. They’d sat around the fire getting to know each other a little better. Despite his earlier assertion he would keep all the chocolate for Ben, Nikolas had handed around a few pieces to everyone. Even Jonas Terry. God didn’t forbid chocolate, it seemed.

  It was clear from the glances they gave the two sitting in each other’s arms that Jackson and Lucas weren’t comfortable with Nikolas and Ben either, but they were more confused than disgusted. They clearly couldn’t square the fact that these two highly competent, strong men were…together. It went against all their ingrained prejudices. Neither American had even murmured the word gay, because obviously two men who looked and behaved as Ben and Nikolas did couldn’t be queer, but quite what they were obviously confused them.

  Sean Sands was more openly hostile. He glared at them when they sat together and had once spat in the sand when he’d seen them laughing and messing around.

  Both Ben and Nikolas were aware they were under considerable scrutiny and the source of much speculation. Ben always allowed Nikolas to decide how much of their relationship they allowed others to see. If Nikolas didn’t feel comfortable, he wouldn’t be pushed, so Ben had learnt long ago to just go with the flow on this issue. He was therefore surprised and pleased that Nikolas made a show of sliding in behind him as he sat at the fire, making a very comfortable backrest for him. Nikolas even rested his chin on Ben’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him in the chill air. Eventually, though, Nikolas rose and stretched then went over to chat to Ulyana Ivanovna, who if Nikolas didn’t speak to her, spoke to no one at all. She always seemed to have a great deal to say, most of which made Nikolas laugh, so Ben was more than happy to let him go.

  Eventually, Jackson Keane, poking at the fire and raising small sparks the colour of Emilia’s hair, asked Ben gruffly, “You two known each other long?”

  “Six years or so.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “I worked for him. Still do, I suppose. It’s complicated.”

  Jackson huffed. “Lucas here works for me, but it ain’t that complicated.”

  Ben asked, trying to change the subject, “You guys flew to Russia just for this hunting experience?”

  “Shit, no. We’re working in Moscow. Sean’s security for the firm. You?”

  “Nikolas runs a charity—ANGEL. It’s—”

  “ANGEL? That the outfit that started those shelters for the Moscow street kids?”

  Ben was surprised. “Yes, that’s one of his new—”

  “Fuck! You’re that guy who does those TV programmes about disasters and shit…Hey! Guys, it’s that TV guy. You know, the one with the plumy British accent you think is so cool.”

  Ben had never thought of himself as having a plumy British accent.

  Jackson frowned deeply. “There are, like, fifty thousand kids on the streets in Moscow. Can’t believe the way those little fuckers have to live.” He looked thoughtfully at Nikolas, who was still
talking with Ulyana Ivanovna. “So, he’s the owner of ANGEL? That billionaire German?”

  Ben shrugged in a gesture that could be taken either way. Jackson took it as an affirmative. He whispered something to Lucas who was sitting alongside him, and they both stared openly but far less critically at Nikolas. Ben was fairly sure they were more impressed by him being a billionaire than that he’d saved hundreds of Moscow children from life on the streets.

  “So, what did you lose in the crash?”

  Lucas made a face. “You don’t wanna know, man. Carbon bows, two thousand dollars a pop; some really cool new elk hunting rifles; the tents of course.”

  “Yeah, okay, maybe not tell me?”

  Sean Sands was still staring at Nikolas. The thought he was a billionaire seemed to rankle him even more than what was already pissing him off—everything Nikolas did or said apparently. “I bet he’s a fucker to work for.”

  Ben raised his brows and thought about this. He guessed it depended how you took it. Fortunately for him, he had found Nikolas to be a fucker, but he didn’t say this to Sean Sands and replied neutrally, “Not when you get to know him.”

  “And you know him very well.” Ben turned to find Jonas Terry had come closer to the fire. He was clutching his chest, as if so used to clutching his Bible that even without it he continued to hold air as empty as his opinions.

  Ben debated whether this was the time or the place to get into it with the old man. It wasn’t. He merely confirmed, “Yes, I do.”

  “And he sayeth, ‘You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; that is an abomination. None who are guilty of homosexual perversion will possess the kingdom of heaven.’ You wanna go to heaven, son?”

  “Are you planning on being there?”

  He heard a snort from Lucas, and Jackson suddenly snapped, “Get back in your fricking pulpit, old man. You’re eating his meat and sleeping safe ’cause of him.”

  Ben was amused and touched by the defence, but he hadn’t been worried by the old man’s comments. How many people could say truthfully their god was a few feet away from them, made flesh, and that heaven was to be by his side? He snorted at his own gayness and went to lay the traps for the night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nikolas and Ben repeated their early morning ritual from the day before. Rising very early while there was still only a glimmer of dawn, they swam, then washed and cleaned their clothes. The signal fire had been banked high the night before and was now glowing embers. They spread their clothes to dry and stacked it high again. There was no shortage of wood, after all.

  When their clothes were dry enough, they returned to the camp via the trap line and were delighted to find a rabbit. They dispatched it and took it back with them. Nikolas was worried now about the food supplies, despite his earlier confidence. He reckoned doing the work they currently were, the group needed about forty thousand calories a day to survive. It represented a vast amount of time spent hunting. Unfortunately, once they began walking, they would need more calories, perhaps double this amount, but have far less time to catch, prepare and consume them. He wanted to lay down a stock of supplies, therefore, over the coming two weeks: salted fish, dried meat, dried mushrooms, anything that could be packed and taken to increase their ability to move over distance. He decided they needed to step up food supply.

  Before he allowed anyone to eat that morning, he insisted on everything in the camp being thoroughly cleaned and tidied. Food scraps were swept up and disposed of well away from the sleeping area. The shelters were emptied of moss, and that was laid out on the swept ground to freshen in the sun. Then he told the men to go and clean up, shave, and wash their hair and all their clothes. Emilia he left in Ulyana Ivanovna’s capable hands. He allocated a small piece of precious soup to each group. There were some grumbles, but no one could really complain when they looked at Ben and Nikolas—freshly shaven, clean, their shelter dismantled and laid out to air. While the others did as ordered, Nikolas and Ben prepared the rabbit and put it on to roast. The skin they strung out to dry. Ben wanted to start collecting skins to make some moccasins for Emilia, as she was only wearing light trainers and was, therefore, the only one of the group whose footwear wasn’t up to the long walk she had ahead of her.

  At last, everyone was allowed to eat. They finished off the last of the venison, parcelling out the fried liver and kidneys, along with all the rabbit and some fried field mushrooms. Nikolas then rose to his feet and collected one of the bows Ben had made the day before. Jackson volunteered his group to go with him. With a parting glance at Ben, Nikolas strode off with his three new acolytes behind him.

  Ben wanted to get started on a fishing line, but he didn’t fancy making it with the Terry family. He got Ulyana Ivanovna to show them the cloudberries she’d found the previous day and sent them off to try and find some more. Perhaps God would direct their steps.

  He and Ulyana Ivanovna set about making their fishing line—a long line of plaited yarn, which they strung hooks on at intervals. Emilia was given the task of finding worms, something she clearly loathed, but which she went about with remarkable perseverance. When the line was ready, Ben carefully tied one end to the plastic Gregory-box and let it float away over the lake, baiting each hook. Emilia utterly refused to stick the worms onto the hooks, but her grandmother had no such qualms.

  By this time, his leg was feeling very sore, and he mentioned it to the old lady. She made him lower his trousers, and she poked and prodded for a while. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but then he didn’t really need to. The wound was swollen, hot and oozing pus. She debated for a while then indicated she wanted him to return to the camp. He obeyed, and she set about boiling some water, preparing some bandages and sterilizing a needle and one of the surgical blades from Emilia’s pack. She waved for her granddaughter to come closer and gave her the surgical blade, indicating she wanted the stitches cut out.

  Both Ben and Emilia stared at each other in horror. He swallowed. “I have total trust in you. You know that, right?”

  She smiled at the hint of sarcasm in his voice and made the first slice. After that, she went about her task with the fascination only women can have for wounds and pus and stitches. She plucked out each tiny thread, and when it was all done and open, running with a bloody discharge, Ulyana Ivanovna washed it out with very hot water in which she’d seeped some more of her herbal concoction. As there were only women present, Ben allowed himself to howl and make a bit of a fuss.

  When she was done, she stitched the wound, smeared it with something that resembled Radulf’s vomit and bound him back up. She made a swimming motion, walked her fingers and shook her head. He got the message. He was pretty much out of action for the rest of the day. There was too much to do to just do nothing, so he made some more traps and tried carving some arrowheads out of the venison bone, something which, he discovered, was much harder than it’d looked when he’d watched his SAS survival instructor do it.

  § § §

  Nikolas hadn’t particularly wanted the three American hunters to accompany him, but he didn’t want to have to drag his kill back to camp by himself as he had the previous day. He didn’t like Jackson’s slick self-assurance. Sean Sands disgusted him. The man always took more than his share of the food but wore his gut like a badge of honour. He’d not been unaware of Sand’s focus on him and Ben, but he’d let it go. The guy was probably jealous. Who wouldn’t be jealous of the man who got to enjoy Ben Rider?

  Lucas, he dismissed as a sycophant. He’d tried to impress Nikolas with details of some of the cases they were handling, laughing at his own jokes.

  Nikolas wished he’d brought the redhead. Silent, she was still better company than these three men. More use too, probably, he thought with a smile.

  He took them to a new area about five miles down the lake where he’d not hunted yet and set up another spring trap. He then left Lucas monitoring it and took the others to set another two traps in different locations. He was hoping
their kills would be staggered and each could then drag a carcass back closer to the camp for butchering. When he’d set his last trap, he decided to move down to the lake and explore the area where it ran out into the river. He had an idea, still vague as yet, they could make a raft and travel that way. If they could, with Ben not having to walk, they could leave sooner.

  When he came out at the river’s edge, he reckoned he was about six miles from the camp. The lake was vast and deep. At this point it narrowed considerably, and the currents picked up speed, the river then cascading between vast glacial-melt rocks strewn like a giant’s marbles in the riverbed. They definitely couldn’t negotiate this stretch by raft, but he didn’t give up the idea entirely. It might be possible to construct one that could be easily dismantled and ported between stretches of white water.

  It was as he turned to go back toward the traps that he saw them—footprints in the muddy riverbank. Moccasin prints without tread…very heavy prints…and they were on top of his. Where they met his they were even deeper. Nikolas could read this little scenario like a book. Someone had walked past and paused at seeing his prints or seeing him. Very quickly, he faded back into the relative gloom of the forest and squatted down, listening. The prints continued for a while on the dry pine needles then just disappeared. With an icy chill down his neck, he peered up into the tree. No one. He was very much on edge.

  He’d entirely scattered the group on the belief that, other than animals, they were alone in this vast wilderness. Clearly, they weren’t. Why would someone see his prints but then not make themselves known? He didn’t like the answer to his own question. With far more caution than he’d used so far, he returned along his trap line. One deer and one small wild boar had been caught. The other trap hadn’t yet been sprung, and he left it in place to check the next day. Without telling the three Americans what he’d seen, he told them to drag the carcasses back to the camp, watching with open scorn as Sean Sands struggled to his feet, barely able to stand, let alone help with the carrying. He was anxious the whole way back, knowing Ben could take care of everyone, but preferring not to have this belief put to the test.