Читать книгу Through the Devil’s Eye - C.R. Cummings - Страница 11

Chapter 5

APPALLED

For a few seconds Willy was so scared he could not move. He kept thinking, This can’t be real! But he knew with a sickening certainty that it was.

We have stumbled into some criminal activity here and they are ruthless, he thought. But thinking about what that might be was pushed aside by the fear for his own survival. Mr Dragovisic was only fifty metres away and holding the rifle that he had just demonstrated he had no compunction in using.

I must get away, Willy told himself.

He risked another glance and was relieved to see that Mr Dragovisic was looking in the wreckage of the aircraft. That gives me a few seconds, Willy thought. But he knew he could not stay where he was. The piece of wing he was hiding under was both the nearest and the most obvious piece of wreckage and the man was sure to search it.

But that gave Willy a cruel dilemma. The helicopter was about to take off and his white shirt would be really obvious against the green of the grass—but if he waited he might not have time to reach cover before Mr Dragovisic arrived. As he turned the options over in his mind Willy clenched his fists and shook almost uncontrollably. Fear and pain swamped him. Sweat and blood trickled into his eyes. With a hand that was shaking so much he could hardly control it he wiped the blood away. He tasted more blood but ignored it.

I’ve got to go or I am dead, he thought. But which way?

Twenty-five metres to his right was the gully but what he had seen of it did not give him much hope. It was shallow, only a metre or so deep with a dry, sandy bottom. The sides were typical of all streams in that part of the world—mostly vertical. Worse still there were almost no trees or bushes along it. Almost frantic with fear Willy lifted his head and looked around. The other choices were to crawl directly away and stay low in the grass; or go diagonally away across the floor of the valley to the limestone ridge. The base of this was about a hundred metres away and had patches of dense green vegetation on it.

The ridge, Willy decided after thinking about the fieldcraft training he had received as an air cadet. By then the helicopter was starting up again and Mr Dragovisic had pulled his head back out of the wreck and was now fingering the bullet holes in the rear of the fuselage.

Shirt, thought Willy and he set to work with fumbling fingers to undo the buttons. But he was shaking too much so he gave that up and in desperation tore at it. Within seconds he had ripped the shirt open and rolled on his back to shrug it off. Rolling in the grass covered his sweaty body with grass seeds and dirt but he barely noticed.

Knowing that he was running a terrible risk Willy bunched the shirt up into a tight ball in his right hand and started wriggling through the long grass using a leopard crawl. As he did he heard the helicopter’s engine note change and he froze and cringed, then glanced back. To his horror, Mr Dragovisic was already ten paces closer. But the man then stopped and looked back as the helicopter lifted off.

I must risk it! Willy thought.

He started crawling quickly, knowing that there was a risk of the pilot spotting him as the machine rose. All Willy could hope was that the man’s attention was focused on making sure his rotors did not strike a tree.

Gasping and sobbing with pain Willy continued to crawl. Sharp stabs of agony lanced through his right arm and shoulder and his whole left side seemed numb and unco-operative. But desperation gave him the strength to ignore the pain and to drag and push himself along.

Then another thought came to him. If I crawl directly away I will leave a trail of flattened grass that Mr Dragovisic can see along.

Willy immediately changed course and began crawling diagonally away. The effort of moving and keeping as low as he could really hurt but he forced himself to do it.

Almost as nerve wracking Willy found, was not knowing where the man was or what he was doing. Driven by absolute fear Willy dragged himself to a tree and then summoned the courage to carefully raise his head. He knew it was a risk but felt it was one he had to take.

I must know! he thought.

And there he was! Mr Dragovisic was only twenty metres away and looking at the broken wing Willy had just hidden under. Willy froze in fear and hunched lower, tensed to run. If only I had a weapon, he thought. The idea of finding a piece of wreckage he might use flitted across his mind but he knew that it would be just pure luck to find such a piece while crawling away.

Now there was the danger of Mr Dragovisic seeing the trail of flattened grass. All Willy could hope was that it would look as though the grass had been crushed by the crash. Even as he thought this Willy heard the man start walking, muttering in some foreign language as he did. Willy risked a glance—the grass was not tall enough to hide him properly anyway. The man and his rifle seemed to grow and shimmer in his sweaty vision but he saw with relief that the man was not looking in his direction and was still walking across behind his left shoulder about twenty paces away.

He is focused on some other piece of wreckage, Willy thought. Now go the other way.

Willy squirmed around the tree and began to crawl diagonally back towards the main wreck while still angling upslope. In his haste, he knelt on a dry stick that gave an audible snap as it broke. He paused and silently cursed. His heart hammered wildly and he berated himself.

Watch where you are going, you bloody fool!

But Mr Dragovisic had not heard the sound. Probably because he is making more noise himself, Willy thought.

He now set off crawling directly upslope, keeping the man to his left rear. As he did the thought crossed his mind that he was going in the wrong direction.

Muldarga is somewhere off to my rear. I am heading back towards the cattle station, he thought.

Then Willy shrugged and kept crawling. In the short term the actual direction did not matter. But it might not be a bad plan. They won’t expect me to go that way, he told himself.

But the more immediate need to reach proper cover and to put some distance between him and the man kept him going until his trembling muscles demanded a break. He came to a shivering, sweating stop in the grass about fifty paces from the nearest rocks.

Halfway, he thought.

There was an anthill nearby and he wriggled to it and cautiously raised his head. What he saw made him sigh with relief. Mr Dragovisic was now at least seventy-five metres away. He was studying another large piece of wreckage.

The other wing? Willy wondered.

He realized he was now high enough up the slope to be able to see much of the valley floor. A litter of small pieces of wreckage was strewn along it for about a hundred metres and there were patches of torn up grass and bare earth. One wheel was visible, sticking up on a torn off undercarriage leg. Several small trees had been snapped off but otherwise there was little sign of the crash.

All Willy could hope was that the search planes would arrive before the crooks could clean up the wreckage. That idea and the one of setting up cattle pens struck him with reluctant admiration.

He is a clever bastard, and a quick thinker, Willy mused.

By then he had recovered his breath and as soon as Mr Dragovisic started walking on towards more wreckage he resumed crawling. Once again he followed a diagonal route. This brought him to a point almost directly up the slope from the wreckage of the fuselage. He could even see Mr Drew’s body sprawled in the grass.

A look around told Willy he had a problem. If I try to crawl straight up that limestone ridge I will be very visible, he told himself. I need to get further away and go up behind one of those small ridges.

But the nearest was opposite the place where the helicopter had landed. What to do? Willy lay there trembling in an agony of indecision. He wiped more sweat from his eyes and bit his lip. By now he was feeling exhausted and nauseous. His whole body seemed to be a mass of pain and bruises and his skin itched and stung.

There seemed to be nothing for it but to take the risk and go on past the place where the helicopter had landed. Willy took several deep breaths and began crawling on across the slope. All the while he was dreading the helicopter’s return. He was sure it would bring Zoltan and his rifle.

He will be much harder to get away from than Mr Dragovisic, Willy thought.

So, as he crawled desperately along, Willy kept straining his ears for the first sound of the helicopter. Despite the sweat that stung his eyes he kept glancing at the sky, hoping to see a search aircraft.

Another glance behind showed Mr Dragovisic standing and looking up at where the Cessna’s port wing tip had struck the big ghost gum. The man was now about a hundred metres away and Willy began to hope he might get away.

And then his heart seemed to clench tight as the sound of the helicopter reached him. As quickly as he could he slithered over behind a small log which lay in the grass. It wasn’t much cover but it was better than lying exposed in the open. Hoping that nothing else that slithered was lurking under it he pressed himself hard in against the rough bark. He was just in time as the helicopter clattered over the crest of the ridge almost overhead.

As the rotor downdraught shook the nearby tree tops Willy risked another look. What he saw made him gasp with relief. He had expected the helicopter to land in the same place but now he saw Mr Dragovisic waving and the helicopter swung round in a wide circle and came in to land in the clearing where Mr Drew had tried to put the aircraft down. The machine settled about a hundred metres away.

But it was facing Willy so he did not dare move. All he could do was lie and watch, sweating and wracked with pain. Then out of the helicopter climbed Zoltan—and he had his automatic rifle. That sight set Willy trembling and he whimpered as the terror coursed through him.

Mr Dragovisic walked across and spoke to the helicopter pilot and then moved back with Zoltan. Willy saw Zoltan pass him something and then saw that it was a hand-held radio. Damn! Willy thought. It was getting harder and harder. Quickly he glanced around and as soon as he was sure that Mr Dragovisic and Zoltan were watching the helicopter he began crawling quickly up the slope towards the nearest bushes.

I must get up over this ridge before Zoltan really starts looking, he thought.

But he could not move because the helicopter was lifting off. Willy didn’t have to look to know that. The engine noise told him. With an effort he controlled his neck muscles so as not to move his face and have it reflect sunlight.

As soon as the sound was overhead Willy resumed snaking through the grass. Through eyes stinging with sweat and misted with pain he saw the bushes appear to get closer with each few seconds. And then he had reached them. Gasping from the exertion he dragged himself in under the tangle, ignoring several sharp stones and dead sticks.

The bushes were a real tangle of twisted small branches and within seconds Willy had received several more shocks and realized he had made a mistake. The bushes were thickly intertwined and prickly but without thorns—but they were inhabited by numerous green ants. The first bite gave Willy such a painful surprise that he let out a muted cry. At first he thought he had been bitten by a snake or scorpion or some such creature. Then his frantically searching eyes noted the hurrying little green shapes.

“Bloody green ants! Ow!” he muttered.

But green ants were mere trivia compared to the threat presented by the two men so Willy just gritted his teeth and ignored the bites and the itchy feeling of the ants scuttling on his bare skin. Shivering with pain, shock and fear he peered back through the bushes.

The two men were standing near the trees that the Cessna had first struck and Willy saw Mr Dragovisic point up and then along the valley.

Discussing the crash, Willy surmised.

He saw Zoltan nod and then look around. The man hefted his rifle into both hands and began walking across towards the shallow gully in the centre of the valley floor. Mr Dragovisic started walking slowly along the line of the crash, his eyes scanning the ground.

Seeing Zoltan start searching along the gully gave Willy a tiny spurt of satisfaction. He had been right.

If I’d tried to hide there they would have caught me almost at once, he thought. But it was terribly evident that these men would quickly sus out what his options were. Once they find my tracks in the grass they will be up here in no time, he reasoned.

So he could not stay where he was. I have to get up over this ridge, he reasoned.

Driven by a visceral fear so intense it almost made him ill him Willy crawled up through the bushes. Now he regretted having come into them at all. It wasn’t so much the ants as the dead leaves and sticks. It was impossible to move quickly and quietly. All he could do was hope that the men did not hear him.

It took him nearly two minutes to crawl the twenty metres to the other side of the bushes and by then Zoltan was already halfway along the gully to the wreck site. Willy lay on the dead leaves and dry grass and studied the limestone slope above him through blinking eyes. There was a shallow depression or cleft running up but he knew he would have to be quick as when Zoltan was directly below him he would be able to see right up the dip.

Driven by that thought Willy scrambled out from under the bushes and up onto the bare limestone. Almost at once he gasped in pain and waves of dismay surged through him. For a second or so he had to stop to take stock of the sheer agony that swept up from his right knee cap and the pain in his hands and forearms. To his dismay, he realized that the limestone was sharp—so sharp it had cut the skin over both knees and the palm of his right hand. Willy stared at it in disbelief. How could rock be so sharp!

And it was hot! Just touching it was painful and he broke into a new sweat as the heat transferred from the blistering rock to his sweaty flesh. He was profoundly thankful that the bunched-up shirt in his right hand was protecting it from both heat and harm and he wondered if he should tear it in half to try to protect the left as well. But there was clearly no time.

Go! Don’t wait! Willy told himself.

Knowing he would both cook and be seen if he hesitated he went crawling up the rock like a huge spider, trying to keep his knees and elbows clear of the sharp point and ridges that he now saw made up almost every square centimetre of the surface.

Once he spiked himself so badly that he had to pause to let the pain ease. While he did he cast a fearful glance over his left shoulder but there was no sign of either man. The bushes and the small ridge of rock hid them. But the wreck of the Cessna and Mr Drew’s body were both clearly visible. Fearing to end up like Mr Drew and certain the men would just shoot him the moment they saw him Willy continued his painful scramble.

It was fifty metres up the slope and he was sobbing for breath and perspiring freely as he reached the crest. Heedless of scratches and torn clothes he dragged himself over at the lowest point (‘Keep off the skyline!’ his Air Cadet instructors had taught). Then he flopped down on the other side, gasping and trembling so badly he could barely move.

No shout had indicated that he had been seen but Willy knew he had to keep moving. After only a few seconds to gulp air and to steady his shaking muscles he transferred his shirt to his left hand and moved to a crouch. The heat had already made its way through his trousers to burn at his skin.

Keep moving, he told himself. But which way? Crouching just below the crest Willy paused to think and to study the lie of the land. What he saw both appalled and shocked him. The ridge he was on ran off in both direction like a monstrous dragon’s back, all sharp spikes and lumps, shimmering in the heat. To his left was another valley almost identical to the one he had just escaped from—savannah woodland and a shallow creek bed along the middle. Beyond it was an almost identical limestone ridge, all pocked with dark shades and blotches of green and visibly reflecting waves of heat. Beyond that ridge was another one looking liquid in the heat haze.

God! What an awful place! What a wilderness, Willy thought.

But he had made a decision. He knew that his friends and safety were off to his right front, back across on the other side of the wreck.

I will do the unexpected and go the other way, he thought.

At the back of his mind was the thought that when he could not be easily found the helicopter would be back and with it buzzing around he would be pinned down and much more likely to be spotted.

So he risked a peek around a clump of rock—spotted Zoltan nudging Mr Drew’s body with his boot—and ducked down instantly. The man’s callous action made Willy even more scared of Zoltan and sent him scampering down the far side of the ridge as quickly as he safely could. As he did he turned left and went west, angling down the rough rocks and dodging around any bushes. The afternoon heat radiating from the rocks was so intense he felt like he was being fried. His skin seemed to shrivel and he could feel burning pain every time he had to touch the rocks with his hands to steady himself.

Five minutes of painful scrambling, and two falls that left his knees skinned and an elbow bleeding, had Willy at the bottom. Each time he broke his fall using the bunched-up shirt that was gripped in his left hand. He thanked his foresight in taking it off. As soon as he was clear of the rocks and there was only grass Willy began to run. From time to time he cast a glance back to check if either of the men had climbed to the crest of the ridge. To try to stay in cover as long as possible he did not run directly across the valley but ran close beside the base of the ridge, heading back past where the Cessna had first come down.

But Willy was no athlete and within a couple of minutes he could not run any more. By then his breath was coming in rasping hot gasps and his heart was hammering so hard he was scared it would burst. There was the beginning of a painful stitch in his right side and his muscles all felt weak, quite unable to keep lifting legs that increasingly seemed to be made of lead.

Reluctantly Willy slowed to a gasping walk. Still casting fearful glances back, he hurried on close under the ridge. Fear of the men overcame any fear of snakes and he just strode through the long grass, only taking care not to trip on rocks, logs or anthills.

After another couple of minutes Willy began to entertain cautious hopes that he had made a clean break. He knew he was now at least three hundred metres from where he had crossed the ridge and he could no longer see that area. He slowed slightly but kept walking.

Now he was very aware that he was walking away from his friends, but he kept going in that direction because another idea had come to him. His boiling emotions were churning both his insides and his thoughts. By this time Willy was in such a state of shock and disbelief that he could only shake his head. But growing fast was a deep sense of grievance and outrage. Anger began to replace terror as the dominant emotion.

The murderous mongrels! I’ll show them, he told himself.