by Paul Adam
They came out into the lobby by the lift. Alexander Cassidy stumbled and Max had to hang on tight to prevent him falling. Dmitri reached out with an arm to assist, momentarily taking his eyes off Clark. Then everything seemed to happen at once. The lift doors opened and three guards piled out, two with their sub-machine guns raised, the third – the man Dmitri had knocked out – with a pistol he must have got from upstairs.
Dmitri yelled out a warning, but he was off balance, his gun swinging sideways. Clark didn’t hesitate to take his chance. He darted forward suddenly, breaking away from the group, shouting at the guards.
‘Shoot them!’
But the tycoon was still in the line of fire. The guards had to wait a fraction of a second and that delay was enough for Dmitri to let off a burst from his own gun. He’d obviously never fired a sub-machine gun before because it jumped in his hands, the bullets spraying wide, missing Clark and two of the guards, but catching the third man in the shoulder, knocking him to the floor.
The other guards dived out of the way and Clark scuttled behind them, yelling at them again to shoot. Max and Dmitri grabbed hold of Alexander between them and ducked into the shelter of the nearest corridor. The route to the stairwell was cut off now, so they had no choice but to retreat. Alexander was breathing heavily, his feet trailing along the floor as Max and Dmitri almost dragged him down the corridor.
Dmitri had his head twisted round, looking back, watching out for the guards. A head appeared around a corner, then a guard stepped out, his sub-machine gun braced against his hip. Dmitri squeezed the trigger on his own gun and the guard threw himself sideways, firing a quick burst which peppered the wall only inches away from Max’s head. Plaster showered down on him and he increased his pace, urging his father on.
‘Hold on, Dad, we’ll get you out of here.’
They turned sharp right into another corridor and paused. Dmitri let go of Alexander to peer back round the corner. A guard was creeping out cautiously. Dmitri squeezed his trigger again, but nothing happened. He swore violently.
‘Out of bullets,’ he snarled furiously. Those two bursts had emptied his magazine and he had no more ammunition. He threw the sub-machine gun down in disgust and took the rucksack off his back. ‘Hold them off for a second,’ he shouted at Max.
Max propped his father gently against the wall and unslung the hunting rifle, unsure what to do with it. He’d never fired a rifle in his life. Dmitri was rummaging in his rucksack, taking out a couple of small blocks a few centimetres square and a couple deep.
‘What are those?’ Max asked.
‘Plastic explosives,’ Dmitri replied.
Max stared at him. So that was what he’d been doing inside the windowless concrete building. ‘You’re going to blow the place up?’ Max was horrified at the thought.
‘We’ve no choice,’ Dmitri said.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’
‘I watched the miners using it loads of times. They showed me how to set the detonators.’
‘But what about—?’
‘We’re outnumbered, Max. We can’t hold them off with just a hunting rifle and only a few bullets.’
‘Dmitri—’
‘Do you want to get out of here?’ Dmitri barked angrily. ‘Watch the corridor.’
He bent down, placing one of the blocks of explosives against the wall and adjusting the timer. Max cocked an eye round the corner. The guard was halfway along the corridor. Max raised the rifle to his shoulder, looked down the sights and squeezed the trigger. The barrel jerked up, the stock hammering back into his shoulder and the bullet shot away over the head of the guard. Max fired again, aiming lower, ready this time for the recoil. The guard crumpled to the floor, clutching his leg. I hit him, Max thought, appalled at the idea of shooting someone. At least the guard wasn’t dead. He was crawling away to safety, leaving a smear of blood behind on the lino.
‘Give me the rifle,’ Dmitri said, snatching the weapon away from Max.
Max went back to his father. Alexander was sagging against the wall with his eyes closed. He was only semi-conscious, unaware of what was going on around him. Max slipped his arm around his shoulders and led him away along the corridor while Dmitri followed, walking backwards so he could watch their rear.
Max saw a doorway coming up on their left that looked familiar and realized it was the way they’d come in, the room next to the mine shaft. Then he saw a figure at the far end of the corridor. Two figures – guards who’d circled around to come at them from the other side.
‘Dmitri!’ Max yelled.
The Russian boy spun round and fired two shots in quick succession, neither hitting their target. The guards kept coming, aiming their sub-machine guns, so Max pushed his father through the doorway and leaped in after him. Dmitri hurled himself to the floor just as the guards opened fire, sliding along the concrete on his stomach. Then the plastic explosive detonated, blowing a massive hole in the wall. Lumps of debris flew through the air, and smoke and dust billowed out in a choking cloud, blinding the guards.
Dmitri scrambled through the doorway. He had the second block of explosives in his hand and was already setting the timer. He tossed it out into the corridor and grabbed hold of Alexander.
‘Get back!’ he shouted. ‘Away from the door.’
They retreated deeper into the room, around the piles of rubble. The door to the mine shaft was still open, just as they’d left it, but there was no chance of escape that way. Dmitri dropped to the floor, pulling Max and his father with him.
‘Take cover!’ he ordered, putting one arm round Max, one round Alexander. Max hugged his father close, protecting him as the charge exploded outside. They heard an almighty bang, then the wall of the room shattered, severing the pipe bringing hot water up from underground. A jet of water shot out. If it had hit the three of them directly, the force would certainly have killed them. But it hit the ceiling first, then the deflected water surged down and across the room, sweeping them away. Max had never felt anything so powerful in his life. It was like a tidal wave, an unstoppable wall of water driving all before it.
The pressure was unbelievable. In seconds they’d been swept out through the door into the mine shaft and propelled upwards like corks in a fountain. The water swirled around them, over their heads and in their faces. It was hot, but not scalding hot. Max held his breath, hanging on tight to his dad and Dmitri, feeling the water shooting them higher and higher. He could see nothing in the blackness, but he sensed the walls flashing past, the waves foaming against the rock, then the flood hit the roof and changed direction. He was flung sideways along the horizontal passage, still clinging desperately to Dmitri and his father.
The pressure eased off as they got further from the shaft. The flow of water decreased. Max snatched a breath, held his dad’s head above the surface. His leg scraped on rock and he was deposited heavily on the ground like flotsam washed up on a beach. Dmitri and Alexander were lying next to him, water lapping over their legs.
‘Dad? Dad?’ Max cried, trying to feel if Alexander was breathing. ‘Dad?’
Alexander gave a cough, then he was spitting out water, gulping in air. Dmitri, too, was coughing up water, getting his breath back.
‘You OK?’ Max asked.
‘I think so,’ Dmitri replied with a gasp. ‘Your father?’
‘He seems to be OK. Can you get up, Dad?’
Alexander gave a murmur of assent, too shaken to speak. Max stood up and helped him to his feet. They stumbled along the passage, pushed open the barred gate and stepped out into the open air. It was lighter here. Max could see his dad’s drawn face, his hair slicked down by the water, his clothes dripping. Dmitri came out behind them. Max glanced up at the workers’ flats. Had anyone heard the alarm bell, or the explosions? The bunker was a long way down. Maybe the noise had been inaudible on the surface.
‘We can’t walk to the port,’ Dmitri said. ‘Not with your dad like this. We need a vehicle.’
&nbs
p; ‘What about the other prisoners?’ Max said. ‘We have to go back and get them.’
‘Into the bunker? Are you out of your mind?’
‘We can’t leave them, Dmitri. Maybe it’s safe now. Maybe the guards are all dead, or injured. You shot one, I shot another. Who knows what those explosions did to the others.’
‘It’s madness, Max. I lost my rifle in the flood. We’re completely unarmed. We have a chance to get away now. We should take it.’
‘We can’t abandon them,’ Max insisted. ‘Let’s go and look, at least.’
He didn’t wait for Dmitri to respond. There was no time for discussion. He put his arm around his dad’s shoulders and walked slowly away, quite prepared to do it on his own, if he had to. But Dmitri caught up with them before they’d gone five metres. Max was expecting him to argue, but he didn’t. He just took hold of Alexander from the other side and helped Max carry him.
They went round the back of the processing plant and across to the storeroom. Alexander was groaning softly, as if he were in pain.
‘He needs to rest,’ Max said. ‘All this is too much for him.’
‘Over here,’ Dmitri said. ‘Not much further.’
They carried Alexander to one of the open-top jeeps, parked beside the line of trucks in the yard, and put him in the back, lying down on the seat.
‘Stay with him,’ Dmitri said. ‘I’ll go and check the bunker.’
‘No,’ Max said. ‘My dad will be OK. I’m coming with you. We’ll be right back, Dad.’
The two of them raced across the yard and along the access road next to the offices. As they turned right between blocks, they heard footsteps ahead, saw a shadowy huddle of figures coming towards them. Max stopped dead, thinking at first it was Clark’s men. Then he saw that two of the group were being helped along and recognized the face of the man at the front as he passed through a pool of light. It was the Australian, Ken.
Max and Dmitri ran to meet them.
‘You got out?’ Max said in amazement. ‘How?’
‘Walked up the stairs,’ Ken said phlegmatically. ‘We heard the shooting, then the explosions. It seemed a good time to make a move.’
‘And the guards?’
‘There were none by the entrance. They must all have gone down into the bunker.’
‘This way,’ Max said. ‘Quickly.’
He led them back along the road and across the yard to the trucks. ‘What about keys?’ he asked Dmitri.
‘They usually leave them inside,’ Dmitri replied. He pulled open the nearest cab door and peered inside. ‘Yes, in the ignition.’
He went round to the rear and let down the tail-board. The able-bodied prisoners clambered inside, with the weaker ones being lifted up to join them.
‘You OK to drive?’ Dmitri asked Ken.
‘Sure. Which direction?’
‘Head down the road. It goes straight to the port.’
‘Let me get my dad,’ Max said. ‘He’s in one of the jeeps.’
He walked towards the vehicle and was almost there when two men burst out on the far side of the yard, one of them letting rip with a sub-machine gun. Max hurled himself to the ground by the jeep and glanced over his shoulder. Ken was scrambling into the truck cab, starting the engine. Dmitri was on the ground, snaking across towards Max. The truck pulled away, the tail-board still dangling down, the terrified prisoners crouching inside.
Dmitri wormed round the front of the jeep, yelling at Max to get in. There was another volley of gunfire. The bullets hammered into the bodywork of the jeep. Dmitri was behind the wheel now, turning the key. Max dived in beside him, crouching low as the Russian boy spun the wheel and the jeep sped away.
The two men were running across the yard, climbing into one of the other jeeps. Looking back, Max saw who they were: a uniformed guard – and Julius Clark.
‘Hang on!’ Dmitri shouted.
The jeep swerved violently out onto the road. Max could see the tail lights of the truck two hundred metres ahead of them. He looked back. The other jeep was racing out of the yard, Clark himself driving, the armed guard beside him. All the other guards must have been out of action, Max realized. That was good. Surely they could get away now. He lowered his gaze to his father who was sprawled out on the rear seat, his eyes closed. We can do this, Max said to himself. It’s only seven kilometres to the port, to the safety of the Reunion Star. We can get there.
Dmitri floored the accelerator. The jeep bounced over the rough surface, kicking up stones and dust. They sped across the plain, the terrain flat for a distance, then the road started to climb, winding up the valley side. The truck slowed, struggling with the gradient and the bends. Dmitri had to slow too, the engine roaring as he changed down a couple of gears, the jeep headlights cutting across the trees at the side of the road, picking out the branches, the leaves silver in the beams.
Clark was slowing as well. He was sixty or seventy metres back, hunched over the wheel, staring forwards with intense concentration. The guard next to him was hanging onto the door handle, the barrel of his sub-machine gun resting on the dashboard – waiting for the right moment to shoot.
Dmitri spun the wheel to the right and the jeep skidded round a bend, nearly sliding off into the forest. Max let out an involuntary cry of alarm.
‘You driven a jeep before?’ he called across, almost shouting to make himself heard above the din of the engine.
‘A few times,’ Dmitri replied. He turned the wheel again, fumbling for the gears.
‘You got a driving licence?’ Max asked, and saw a flash of Dmitri’s teeth. It might have been a grin, or a grimace.
‘No. But at the mine no one cared. Come on, move.’
He was staring at the lorry in front, urging it on. They were nearing the top of the hill now. They rounded the final bend, then the road dropped away over the other side. The lorry accelerated. Max looked back again. Clark’s jeep had closed the gap and Max could now see his face, his spectacles glinting faintly in the reflected light from the headlamps. The guard was lifting his sub-machine gun from the dashboard, getting himself ready. Max called out a warning. Dmitri gave a nod, glancing in his rear-view mirror, then veered across the road, swerving back and forth to disorientate the guard, make it harder to shoot.
Up ahead, the lorry was pulling away from them. Ken was driving like a maniac, taking bends at a dangerously high speed. In the back, the other prisoners were cowering against the walls, clinging on for their lives. Max took another look over his shoulder – the guard had put down his gun and was hanging onto the door handle again.
‘How’re we doing?’ Dmitri asked.
‘They’ve dropped back a little,’ Max replied.
‘Good.’
Dmitri put the jeep into another skidding turn, stones flying up and pinging on the doors. Then they straightened up and were out on the plain, heading for the river. The speedometer crept over seventy kilometres an hour. They could have gone faster, but the truck was in the way. Dmitri held back, watching his rear-view mirror all the time.
‘Get down!’ he yelled, ducking his head over the steering wheel.
A hail of bullets smashed into the jeep, shattering the windscreen, the glass spraying out over the bonnet. Max crouched down in the footwell, peering anxiously back between the seats, relieved to see that his father hadn’t been hit. Alexander was on his back, his head rolling from side to side.
‘Keep down, Dad!’ Max shouted.
There was another burst of gunfire. More bullets pounded the body of the jeep, punching holes in the metal. Dmitri drove almost doubled up in his seat, squinting over the dashboard at the road in front. They were on the causeway over the river: no edges to the road, just a two-metre drop to the floor of the plain, the shallow channels of water meandering underneath them.
The guard fired again and the jeep slewed to one side, Dmitri fighting desperately to control it.
‘The tyre’s blown,’ he cried, trying to straighten up. But the jeep was
heading inexorably for the edge of the road. Dmitri braked – too hard. The wheels locked and the jeep careered out from the causeway, flying through the air and crashing heavily into the river. Max clung on tight, the impact jarring through him as the vehicle ploughed through the shallows and bounced to a halt on a sandy bank. He pushed open his door and dived out, stunned to be in one piece, thinking first of his dad. Alexander had been thrown forwards onto the floor. He was lying behind the front seats groaning, trying to sit up.
‘Dmitri?’ Max called.
‘I’m OK.’ The Russian boy was hauling himself out on the other side. He didn’t seem to be injured.
‘Help me with my dad.’
Max whipped open the rear door and they lifted Alexander out, supporting him between them. They scrambled up the bank and across the undulating grassy meadow beside the river. Glancing back, Max saw that Clark’s jeep had stopped on the road. The tycoon and the guard were jumping down over the edge, splashing through the water after them.
‘Hurry!’ Max said urgently.
The forest was only thirty metres away. If they could get into the trees, find cover, they might have a chance. They lifted Alexander’s feet off the ground and ran, stumbling and tripping in the darkness, but somehow staying upright. The grass gave way to low bushes and scrubby undergrowth. Max and Dmitri forced a way through and plunged into the forest, ducking under the low branches, catching their feet on the tree roots. Almost immediately, the ground began to slope upwards. Carrying Alexander became even harder. Max and Dmitri had to slow down, panting heavily, but they kept climbing. They could hear Clark and the guard behind them, chasing them up the hill. Glancing back, Max saw the glimmer of a torch in the trees.
He was gasping for breath, so was Dmitri. Alexander, still only half conscious, was slumped in their arms. Max knew they couldn’t move silently through the forest – it wasn’t possible with his father so incapacitated. But stopping and finding somewhere to hide wasn’t an option either. Clark was very close behind and he had a torch. He’d find them for certain.