Nightrise

EAGLE CRY

They had come from nowhere, riding out of the desert in dusty pick-up trucks, open-top cars and jeeps. If this had been an old Western, Silent Creek would have been a fort and they would have been wearing war paint and feathers – for they were all American Indians, at least thirty of them from different tribes, firing with guns and rifles as they approached the perimeter fence.

They were aiming at the arc lamps. One after another the lamps shattered and darkness took hold once again. But more lights had come on inside the buildings. The supervisors knew they were under attack and they had weapons too. The alarm had been raised in the outlying houses and more guards were pouring out, some of them halfdressed, roused from their sleep.

One of the jeeps hurtled towards the fence then swerved away at the last minute. There was a man standing in the back, clinging onto the side bars, and as he drew near, he threw something: a home-made grenade. It landed on the sand, bounced, then exploded – a ball of flame that tore a gaping hole in the perimeter fence. At once, a siren went off, howling uselessly into the darkness. On the other side of the prison there was a second explosion as another part of the fence was ripped open. Now one of the cars roared into the inner compound, the last strands of razor wire ripping apart as it burst through. Four men, almost invisible in the shadows, tumbled out and took up positions around the football pitch. Another explosion. This time it was one of the satellite dishes behind the teaching wing. The attackers had made sure there would be no more communications tonight.

Not that they needed to have bothered. Colton Banes was watching the attack with amazement and already he had realized something that the attackers must have known from the start. Silent Creek was a maximum-security youth correctional centre: it had been built to remove the slightest chance of anyone breaking out. But nobody had considered the possibility of a well-armed force trying to break in. Worse than that, its position, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, had become its Achilles’ heel. There was nobody for miles around. By the time anyone arrived to help, it would be far too late.

Banes’s car drew level with one of the trucks, and for a moment he had one of the attackers in his sights… another man with black hair and eyes that were alight with excitement. The man was wearing jeans and a tattered T-shirt and he’d painted streaks of red and white down the sides of his face. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Banes took careful aim and fired. But at the last minute, Koring jerked the wheel, avoiding a pot-hole in the track. The shot went wild. The car swerved off the track. Banes swore. The truck raced ahead.

“Who are they?” Koring rasped. His eyes were wide and he was sweating. Perspiration dripped from his moustache. It wasn’t just the heat of the night: Colton Banes scared him. This situation was out of control. And that scared him more. “What do they want?”

“They’re here for the boy!” Banes snarled. “Jamie Tyler. There can be no other reason.”

“What do we do?”

“Kill him! Kill Tyler! It doesn’t matter what else happens. He mustn’t leave here alive.”

Inside the Block, Jamie had heard the gunfire and the explosions. There was a loud bang and the lights failed again. His torch was still on and he swept it around him. All the other prisoners were awake now. He could hear them shouting and cheering in their cells. Daniel McGuire had already got dressed. Jamie had to admire him. He had been locked up for seven months and suddenly he had been woken in the middle of the night and in total darkness by a stranger who seemed to be covered in blood. A pitched battle was going on outside. But he was completely calm, waiting to be told what to do.

Joe approached, hurrying down the corridor behind the beam of a second torch. “My friends are here,” he shouted. He no longer cared if the cameras saw him. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination for Jamie to see that the Intake Officer wouldn’t be coming back. “Now we go!”

“What about the others?” Jamie asked.

There were twenty cells in the corridor, ten on each side. Flashing his own torch over them, he saw faces through the glass windows set in the doors. Not just boys – girls too. He remembered what Alicia had once told him. The kidnappers had been interested in both sexes, girls and boys, provided they had some sort of paranormal ability. He had no doubt that this was where they had all ended up. It was incredible. A prison within a prison. And he still had no idea why they had been brought here.

Joe Feather was waiting for him to go. But Jamie wasn’t moving. “We can’t leave them,” he said.

“We have to!” Joe exclaimed. “My friends came for you. Only for you. It’s too dangerous to take them outside…”

“But they’ve done nothing wrong!” It was Daniel who was speaking. He had a high voice; obviously it hadn’t broken yet. “They’re like me. They were all snatched and brought here.”

Joe shifted from one foot to the other as if he were standing on burning coals. “When you are out of here, then you can help them. You can speak with the authorities. But if we don’t go now, we will never leave.”

Jamie knew that he was right. It would take them too long to open all twenty doors – and what about his friends back in the unit? He couldn’t get them out either. Scott wasn’t here. His first job was to get Daniel back to his mother. Then Alicia would be able to go to John Trelawny. And the senator would see to the rest of it.

“Joe’s right. We have to go.” He turned to Daniel. “I promise you, we’ll come back and help the others.”

Daniel nodded, and just for a second Jamie had the weird sensation of being, for the first time in his life, the older brother. For so many years he had looked up to Scott – even though they were the same age. But Scott hadn’t been around for a while and maybe in that time Jamie had changed. He’d had to start to think for himself.

There was another explosion and more shooting. The gunfire had intensified and Jamie guessed that the supervisors must be shooting back. Following Joe, they ran along the corridor into the medicine wing. As soon as they were there and could look out of the windows, they saw the truth. A fierce battle was taking place in the prison grounds. There were gaping holes in three different parts of the fence and the cage holding the generator had been blown apart. The generator itself was on fire. That explained the second power failure, and for some reason the emergency generator hadn’t yet kicked in. Half a dozen different vehicles had come to a halt in front of the four units, the dining hall, the gymnasium. He saw figures, little more than silhouettes, popping up to take a shot at the prison windows. There were brief flashes of white as the supervisors returned fire.

The three of them pushed the door open and slipped out into the warmth of the night, crouching down in case anyone saw them. Daniel was next to Jamie, who put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him close. Joe Feather rose up and called out in a language that neither of the boys understood. It was almost a high-pitched war cry, his voice echoing across the compound above the noise of the shooting. A moment later, someone answered back. There was the sound of an engine starting and renewed firing as a pick-up truck came hurtling over the sand, making towards them.

“Now we go!” Joe said.

The truck slid to a halt. Jamie caught sight of a driver and a passenger leaning out of the window with a rifle balanced over his arm. They were both young – only a few years older than him. Quickly, Jamie helped Daniel into the back, then climbed in himself.

“Hold onto the back!” Joe told them. He was the last in. No sooner had his feet left the ground than they were on the move again.

There was a bar running across the back of the driver’s cab. Jamie found himself standing up, clinging onto it for dear life. Daniel was lying down, being bounced around on the wooden floor as the truck lurched forward. The ground suddenly seemed to be pitted with holes – maybe it was a result of all the explosions. More bullets were fired. One of them smashed into the side of the cab, ricocheting off with a loud clang. Whether it was a lucky shot or deliberately aimed at them, Jamie couldn’t say. They were heading for the fence, a few metres away from the gate that had been opened, less than a week ago, to allow Jamie in. The gate was still there but the fence had been blown apart. He could see the track and the guards’ houses on the other side.

They drove through. Jamie ducked down, afraid of being gashed by a piece of dangling razor wire. The driver fired a shot through a window and a guard spun backwards in the sand, wounded. The other vehicles were also leaving the prison. Looking back, Jamie saw half a dozen of them following not far behind.

The wind – warm and welcoming – rushed over his shoulders and through his hair. He almost wanted to laugh. He still didn’t know who these people were but they were on his side and they were taking him and Daniel out. He would contact Alicia and the prison would be shut down. And surely someone there – one of the supervisors, a nurse or an administrator – would know what had happened to Scott. There would have to be a record somewhere in one of the files.

They passed a jeep parked next to the track. Jamie saw it and assumed it was empty. He didn’t see the man rise up next to it. Nor did he see the gun aimed at his back.

Colton Banes had been waiting for him. He had realized that there was no point entering the battle inside the prison. Everything there was dark and confused. It would be better to wait just outside the compound. If they were going to bring out the boy, they would have to come this way. And he was right. He could see Jamie, standing up, holding onto the driver’s cabin for support. He was a perfect target, almost like one of those paper cutouts Banes had used for practice at the range.

He fired.

Jamie heard the shot and felt the bullet smash into his back, high up, next to his shoulder. It was like being stabbed with a white-hot knife. All the strength went out of him. His legs folded under him and he fell, sprawling, on top of Daniel. He hadn’t closed his eyes, but suddenly everything was black. He heard Joe call out, but before the Indian had reached the end of the sentence the words had faded away. He couldn’t feel the floor of the truck. He couldn’t feel anything.

Colton Banes hadn’t finished yet. He had seen the boy go down but he still had time for a second shot. Although he was fairly sure that the first bullet would have done the job, this one would make certain. A smile spread across his lips as he brought the gun up, taking careful aim.

But he never pulled the trigger. He heard something come whistling out of the darkness and jerked back, wondering what had happened. He looked down and was surprised to see an arrow, complete with feathers, jutting out of his chest. Had it just been fired into him? Had one of these people really brought along one of their ancient weapons and used it against him? A car sped past. The young man with the war paint was leaning half out of the window, whooping. The bow was in his hands.

For a moment Banes stood there, unaware that his hand had dropped and that the gun was now pointing at the ground. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. Hot blood flowed over his lower lip. His last thought was that he had never expected to die like this, and certainly not quite so soon. Then he fell onto his knees and crashed face down into the sand.

Max Koring stood up shakily. A few supervisors were still firing, but it was already over. The last of the vehicles had disappeared into the desert night.

Sunrise.

Daniel McGuire woke up and found himself lying on a thick woollen rug in a tent that was completely circular, tapering to a point high above him. The walls were made of some sort of leather and were wrapped around a framework of wooden poles. There was a flap for the door and he could see the sunlight filtering through the cracks. It was still early in the morning. The air inside the tent was cool and the light was tinged with red.

He had slept fully dressed. He blinked and stretched and then crawled forward, pushing his way through the flap. He saw at once that he was in the mountains. There were great boulders all around and although the tent had been erected on a flat shelf, the ground rose up steeply behind him. And it wasn’t a tent. Looking round, Daniel saw that he had spent the night in an Indian tepee.

There was a figure sitting cross-legged in front of a small campfire, his eyes fixed on the smoke curling into the air. Daniel recognized the man who had helped rescue him the night before. What had Jamie called him? Joe. Now Daniel recalled what had happened. The sudden appearance of Jamie in his cell, the blackout, the gunshots, the race out of the prison. As he had awoken, he had thought it might all have been a dream – but with full wakefulness came the realization that it had actually happened. And Jamie…

“Where is he?” he asked.

Joe Feather turned. “You must have something to drink,” he said. “And eat…”

“Is he all right?”

Joe gestured. Daniel had noticed a number of bundles spread out over the ground. Now he saw that one of them was Jamie, completely wrapped in blankets with only his face showing. The face was very white. His eyes were closed and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Is he dead?” Daniel asked.

“He is very close to death.” Joe’s voice was low. “I have done what I can for him.”

“We’ve got to get him to a hospital!”

“A hospital cannot help him now. And anyway, there is no hospital. Not for thirty miles. Even if we could carry him there, he would be dead before we arrived.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“You are going to eat and drink.”

“I don’t want anything.”

Joe’s eyes flared. “This boy risked his life to take you out of Silent Creek. You won’t help him by sitting there dehydrating. He wanted to take you back to your mother and I will make sure that happens. But for now you must trust me.”

“Can you help him?”

“I have already helped him. I have called for the shaman. The shaman will be here soon.”

Daniel nodded. There was a bottle of water and a basket containing fruit, bread and some sort of dried meat. He forced himself to eat. Joe was right. He could hardly believe it but the nightmare of Silent Creek was finally behind him – and it was all thanks to this boy he had never met but who somehow knew his mother. He glanced across at the silent figure. He remembered the moment when the bullet had hit him as they sped out of the compound. It seemed so unfair. One more minute and they would have been away.

The morning wore on. The sun rose, becoming ever hotter. Jamie had been placed in the shade, protected by a great boulder. Daniel was worried that someone would find them – the police must surely be looking for them by now – but Joe seemed unconcerned. Yet of course, Native Americans had spent years hiding in the mountains. Not being found had been the only way for many of them to survive.

A little before midday, there was a movement and a figure appeared, on horseback. At first it was difficult to see who it was. The sun was behind the person, who seemed to shimmer, out of focus, as the warm air rose up from the ground. Joe sprang to his feet, relief flooding into his face. Daniel understood.

It was the shaman. The medicine man.

The horse and its rider seemed to take for ever to reach them, struggling against both the steepness of the slope and the heat of the day. Daniel saw the shaman kicking at the horse, but not very hard and with little effect. At last the figure drew close and he was able to see the man in whom Joe had such faith. He wasn’t impressed.

The shaman was one of the oldest men Daniel had ever seen. He had the sort of face one would have expected to see on a corpse, the skin withered and yet at the same time stretched tight over the skull. What few teeth he had left seemed to be on the edge of falling out. His arms were emaciated and there was a hollow in his throat you could have put your fist into. His hair was silver. It was long, hanging down to his shoulders, but tied with a piece of black ribbon. Only the shaman ’s eyes were truly alive. They were grey in colour but seemed to shine with an inner strength.

Very slowly, he climbed down from the horse. Joe was still standing there, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes turned down.

“Goddamn horse!” The shaman turned and spat. “I’ve only been on it a couple of hours and I swear I’ve been sitting on a cactus.” He turned to Joe. “Don’t just stand there, Joe Feather. Make me a cup of tea! And I wouldn’t say no to a piece of pie if you happen to have one.”

It was only now he heard the voice that Daniel realized the shaman was not a man but a woman. Her body had reached such a stage of decay that it was hard to tell the difference. Suddenly he felt her eyes on him.

“You Danny?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Danny wasn’t sure what to call her.

“How long they keep you in that prison of theirs?”

“I was there for thirty weeks and three days.”

“You counted every one of them.” She shook her head. “There’s evil people in this world. People who don’t deserve to walk the land and that’s the truth. Now, let’s take a look at this boy.”

Her manner changed as she approached the silent figure of Jamie. She knelt down beside him and rested a gnarled hand against his forehead. Joe was busying himself with a kettle but she called out to him. “Forget that, Joe. Come and help me turn him.”

Joe hurried over and the two of them turned Jamie onto his side. The back of his T-shirt was saturated with blood. Daniel could see the hole where the bullet had gone in. The shaman examined the entrance wound, touching it gently with the tip of her finger.

“Is it bad?” Joe asked.

“It’s bad. It couldn’t be much worse. The first thing we’re going to have to do is get that bullet out. Lucky you’ve got a fire burning. We’re going to need that.”

“Is he going to live?”

The shaman shook her head as if dismissing the question. She turned to Daniel. “I want you to go back into the tepee,” she said. “I know you want to stay and help, but there’s nothing you can do and this is something no young child should have to see.”

“Please…” Daniel wanted to argue, but one look at the old woman’s eyes told him not to waste his time. He did as he was told.

The shaman nodded at Joe. “Take off his shirt.”

Joe knelt down beside Jamie. He didn’t try to pull the shirt over Jamie’s head. Instead, he used a knife to cut the material, then ripped it apart, exposing the wound. The skin was bright red and puffed up around the bullet hole. Meanwhile, the shaman went back to the horse and untied a leather bag that had been strapped to the saddle. As she returned to the unconscious boy, she opened it and took out some muslin packets tied with strips of sinew, some bowls, two glass bottles and a wooden wand, about ten centimetres long, with an eagle carved at one end. Finally she produced a knife. Joe looked at it and winced. There was nothing ancient about the knife. It was a straightforward surgical scalpel.

She caught his eye. “The spirits will only do so much,” she said. “To start with, we have to cut the bullet out.”

Joe nodded.

“Tell me when my tea is ready,” the shaman said.

She leant over Jamie and made the first cut.

Daniel waited for as long as he could. He tried to sleep, but now that the sun was up it was too hot, even in the shade of the tepee. He wished he could talk to his mother but he doubted that the shaman carried a cell phone – and anyway it was the wrong time to ask. Perhaps he did manage to doze off in the end, because the next thing he knew, there were long shadows falling across the tepee and the heat seemed to have lessened. Once again, he crawled out through the flap not sure what he expected to find.

Joe was sitting next to Jamie, who looked no better than he had the last time Daniel had seen him. He was lying on his side with a dressing over the wound. The shaman had made some sort of poultice. Daniel could both smell it and see it, seeping through the bandages. The shaman herself was further down the slope, on her knees, facing the sun. It was late in the afternoon. The sky was already tinged with red. The campfire was still burning, sending a thin trickle of smoke up towards the clouds.

“How is Jamie?” Daniel asked.

Joe turned round angrily. “Stop!” he said. “You must not say his name.”

“Why not?”

“It is our practice. When someone dies, you mustn’t speak their name for four days.”

“When someone…?”

The full impact of what Joe had just said hit Daniel. “You mean…” He forced himself to finish the sentence. “He’s dead?”

There was a long silence. Then Joe spoke. “We took the bullet out,” he said. “The shaman cleaned the wound with yarrow and other herbs. But there was nothing more she could do. He has crossed to the other side.”

Daniel felt the tears well up in his eyes. He looked down at Jamie lying there, at peace. He couldn’t believe that it had ended like this. He had met Scott, Jamie’s twin brother. The two of them were so alike. When Jamie had come into the cell the night before, it had been like the beginning of a new friendship, the first chapter in a story that still had pages to run.

And now…

“I thought…” Daniel began. His voice choked. He turned away and looked at the old woman, who was muttering something, holding the little wand in her hand.

“What’s she doing?” he asked.

“You mustn’t ask questions,” Joe replied. Then, more gently, he continued. “She is doing what she can. She is using powerful magic. Summoning up what we call we ga lay u. Her spirit power.”

“What is that? I don’t understand.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “The medicine men get their powers from helpers who give them guidance in their work. They take many forms – but always animals or birds. This woman may not look it but she is very strong. She is not from my tribe but she is famous. You saw her wand with the wooden carving. Her spirit power is the eagle.”

“But if he’s dead…”

“The eagle is the only spirit power that can cross over and bring him back. It is so powerful that none of my people will even keep one eagle feather in their house. It can do too much harm. But she has summoned it to help her. Look…”

Joe pointed.

Daniel didn’t see it at first, and when he did he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. A bird was swooping down, flying directly out of the sun as if it had just been born in the flames. As it descended, it cried out, a sound that echoed across the mountains. It didn’t land, but flew over them in a circle.

The shaman raised her arms. Her spirit power had heard her call and it had come.

The eagle circled twice more, then soared back into the sky.