Black Mountain

THIRTY-EIGHT

Adira drew in cold air and then blew it out in huge smoking plumes. She had vomited onto the snow from exhaustion a few minutes ago, but still continued to push herself up the slope. She grabbed another handful of snow and held it to her battered face. She had taken a blade to her eye, slicing the outer corner away from the palpebrae muscle to release the enormous build-up of blood that was forcing the eyelid down over the eyeball. The viscous fluid had run hot and fast, and her eye was now open enough for her to see, but she dreaded another blow.

The sound of gunfire drew her on with as much urgency as her fatigued muscles would allow, anxiety fuelling her desperation. She had invested so much in Alex Hunter; the idea of bringing him this far, only to lose him to some mad personal vendetta was too much to contemplate. More gunfire came, and she jerked her head up to stare into the darkness. If anyone put a bullet in Alex, she would destroy whoever was responsible or had been involved in the event.

She cursed and punched both of her thighs as hard as she could, the pain bringing a small jolt of adrenaline into the rubbery muscles. Through pain-gritted teeth, she clambered up the steep slope, at times having to drop to all fours to keep going.

At the edge of a small slip valley, she crouched against a tree, breathing heavily but doing her best to remain silent. Blows and grunts from below drew her eyes to the bottom of the ravine, where a number of large men were fighting viciously — Alex among them, and also Jack Hammerson. She couldn’t make out their opponents — more Mossad agents?

She kneeled up to look closer, then immediately hunkered back down as she saw two figures huddled beside a tree trunk a short distance away. She wormed her way forward, staying low, and drew her weapon. In another moment she was behind them, wrapping a hand around the woman’s mouth and aiming the gun into the young man’s startled face as he turned.

He dropped his gun, and held up his hands. ‘Don’t shoot.’

Adira released the woman, who immediately huddled closer to the man. She saw shock and terror on their faces, and guessed some of it came from the sight of her own swollen, blood-streaked features.

‘Identify yourselves,’ she ordered.

The couple talked over the top of one another, and she managed to pick out references to the thing Alex had alluded to, as well as some connection with Jack Hammerson and also Alex himself. She could use that. She needed to get them off the mountain; there were too many people around, and in such a situation confusion would be the killer.

‘I am also a HAWC,’ she said. ‘Part of Colonel Hammerson’s team. You need to get out of here, now!’ She nodded down to where the fight was still raging. ‘I will look after them from here. Go.’

‘But —’ the man began, pointing back up the mountainside, but Adira gave him a push.

He grabbed the woman by the arm and together they started to run, but the man kept glancing back. Adira wondered whether he intended to obey her instruction. She watched them disappear into the dark, then crouched low and started to move in closer to the fighting.

She stopped and sniffed through her blood-clogged nose — there was something acrid and animalistic floating on the air.

The creature reached the high edge of the sharp ridge and stared down at the small creatures as they beat and tore at each other. The aggression and blood lust excited it.

As it tensed its tree-thick limbs, ready to launch itself into the battle, there was movement to its right. Two shapes sprinted away into the darkness, and it was drawn to pursue them. After a few paces, it slid to a stop as the intoxicating odour of fresh blood and raw flesh filled its broad nostrils. Hunger flared and it bared its teeth.

It would take the meat first.

It moved closer, readying itself.

The single remaining attacker turned side-on in a shooter’s stance and aimed at Alex Hunter as he threw snow over his decomposing comrade. Hammerson brought his own gun up and fired several rounds at the man, keeping the trigger depressed for full automatic. The bullets blistered out from the long barrel like a swarm of hot angry wasps. In this mode, the small compact weapon delivered more bullets, but the force of the recoil made it extremely difficult for even the most accomplished marksman to control the spread. Only a couple of bullets struck the white-clad figure’s armoured torso before he flung himself out of the way and rolled.

Hammerson tried to track the rapidly moving figure. He was astonished when, instead of seeking cover, the man came to his feet and sprinted directly towards him in a blur of white. The man’s speed made it impossible for Hammerson to draw a bead; and when about fifteen feet out, the figure dived, Hammerson didn’t have time to recalibrate his aim or even dodge. The six-foot-two-inch missile hit him mid-chest, slamming him painfully backwards.

The man easily wrenched the gun from Hammerson’s hand, and a blow just under his diaphragm knocked the wind out of him. Hammerson heard the crack of his ceramic armour plating as the man’s fist connected, then pulled back to strike again.

The HAWC commander felt himself lifted and spun. He struggled in his captor’s unnaturally powerful grip, but might as well try to break lengths of steel cable. There was a hand around his neck, the other holding the gun up beside his face — but it was pointed not at him, but at Alex. Hammerson realised that he had never been a real threat… it had been about Alex all along.

Hammerson was pushed towards his former protégé, who seemed to be focused on something along the top of the ridge rather than what was going on in his immediate vicinity. Hammerson knew exactly what was happening — the masked soldier was using him as a shield to get himself close to Alex so he could take him out at point-blank range.

Hammerson struggled again, but every time he did, the grip on his neck tightened. Breathing was becoming difficult. He strained against the iron-like fingers around his throat and tried to reach down to the last weapon he had — the shorter Ka-Bar strapped to his leg. It was only seven inches long, but lethally sharp. Unfortunately, the way he was being held kept it just out of reach.

Alex was aware of Hammerson shooting at the last white-clad figure and then being overpowered, but his attention was elsewhere. There was something moving stealthily along the top of the ravine, trying not to be seen or heard, but he could tell that it was big and breathing deep and slow.

Alex knew the creature was hunting them, stalking them.