Stones of Fire

71

For the second time that morning the spectre of death hovered at Edie’s shoulder. But this time, unlike those petrified moments when she’d stood shaking beneath Braxton’s pickaxe, she had time to prepare for her death. Harliss and Sanchez had loaded them into the Range Rover and headed east — somewhere towards the sea, Edie beginning to discern the tang of salt in the air.

In the distance she heard the outraged screech of a gull. The faint roar of a jet engine. Familiar sounds. Probably the last sounds she would hear.

At least she’d lived longer than her mother.

She turned and glanced at Cædmon, who, duct tape over his mouth, hands cuffed in front of him, stoically stared at the passing scenery. She wondered if he too had used the time to take stock of his life. He could have saved himself back on the isle. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had tried to gain her freedom. From a madman, no less. Although furious with him for passing up his one and only chance, she thought she might just love the brave, quixotic Englishman.

Harliss, again relegated to co-pilot, peered over the headrest. ‘Soon you two will be sleepin’ with the angels. The colonel is fond of sayin’, “The judgements of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold… sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.”’

Oh yeah. A bullet to the back of the head. How sweet is that?

Still leaning over the back of his seat, Harliss reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pack of filterless Camels. ‘I’d offer you one but…’ Chortling, he shook a cigarette free. He then flipped open a silver lighter. Taking a drag, he blew a perfect smoke ring into her face.

Forced to inhale the smoke through her nostrils, Edie gagged. Beside her, Cædmon twitched, his muffled protest sounding as though he were attempting to speak underwater.

Sanchez steered the SUV onto what looked like a farm road, the Range Rover lurching from side to side as they drove slowly down the rutted lane. They’d gone approximately a half mile when Sanchez put on the brakes and cut the engine.

Edie and Cædmon simultaneously turned and looked at one another.

I’m sorry, Cædmon.

Craning from side to side, Harliss gave an approving nod. ‘This looks as good a place as any. Don’t know that anyone’s been down this road in a good long while.’ He turned to his partner. ‘What do ya think?’

‘I think I gotta take a crap,’ Sanchez blurted, releasing his seat belt.

‘Jesus! A body could tell time by your bowel movements.’

‘Shut up and get me the wipes out of the glove compartment.’

A few seconds later, packet in hand, Sanchez was ambling towards a clump of trees. Harliss, another half-smoked Camel sticking out of the corner of his mouth, opened the passenger door and got out of the Range Rover. Slamming the door shut, he stretched then walked round to the front of the vehicle. Leaning against the bonnet, his back to them, he proceeded to finish his cigarette.

No sooner were they alone than Cædmon urgently nudged her with his elbow. Having got her attention, he nodded towards his anorak pocket before shooting her a meaningful glance.

The nail file.

When they’d been given the wellington boots earlier that morning, Cædmon had managed to remove the file from his shoe and put in his coat pocket. Since he’d already been subjected to a thorough body search, he had assumed they wouldn’t search him a second time. With his hands cuffed in front of him, he wasn’t be able to retrieve the file. But her hands, although similarly bound, were much smaller.

Quickly she flipped open the flap on his pocket, shoving her fingers into the opening. It took only an instant for her to remove the file from Cædmon’s pocket.

Now what? she asked with her eyes.

Cædmon indicated that he wanted the file.

A few seconds later, the metal file tightly grasped between his interlocked fingers, he motioned for her to saw her plastic cuffs back and forth across it.

It took several moments of frantic sawing before the plastic gave way.

Her hands freed, she immediately reached up to remove the strip of duct tape from her mouth. Beside her, Cædmon tersely shook his head. Uncertain why he wanted her to keep the tape in place, she grabbed the file out of his hands; they had a narrow window and she wasn’t about to waste any time second-guessing him.

Gripping the file between her clenched fists, she held steady while Cædmon sawed through his cuffs, freeing himself at the exact moment that Harliss flicked aside the end of his cigarette. Cædmon snatched the file from her. Then, his hands lying inert in his lap, he stared straight ahead. Now understanding his reason for not removing the tape, Edie struck a similar pose. With the tape in place, they created the illusion of still being bound.

Harliss, humming softly to himself, walked round the front of the Range Rover. With one hand he retrieved the gun shoved into the back of his waistband while with the other he reached for Cædmon’s door handle.

Edie tensed. Completely in the dark as to what Cædmon intended to do, her heart beat a painful tattoo.

An instant later, Cædmon’s door swung open.

‘Okay, boys and girls. Time to say hello to the hang —’

Edie saw Cædmon smash his shoulder against Harliss’s right hand, slamming the southerner’s wrist against the door frame, the unexpected motion causing Harliss to drop his gun.

‘Fucking shit! I’m gonna —’

Nail file in his hand, Cædmon raised his right arm. A split second later blood splattered onto the passenger window. A thick, red Rorschach blotch. Then a blood-curdling scream of agony.

Harliss fell to the ground, his legs twitching convulsively. Once. Twice. Before he went eerily still, his booted feet splayed awkwardly.

Cædmon ripped the piece of duct tape off his mouth. ‘Don’t look!’

The caution came an instant too late.

Horrified at the metal nail file protruding from the sprawled man’s eye socket, Edie yanked the tape from her mouth, spraying the back of the front seat with yellow stomach bile.

‘Quick! Get out of the car!’ Cædmon ordered. ‘Sanchez will be here any second.’

Operating on autopilot, Edie reached for the door knob, stumbling out of the SUV in an ungainly heap. Turning her head, she saw that Cædmon had got out on his side and was hunched on the ground, searching for Harliss’s weapon.

Just then, a salvo of bullets peppered the Range Rover.

Edie screamed, instinctively throwing herself to the ground. Peering under the vehicle, she saw Sanchez slam an ammunition clip into his weapon as he charged towards them. She also saw Cædmon grab Harliss by his shoulders, using the lifeless man as a shield.

Another rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire rang out.

Edie slammed a balled fist into her mouth, hoping, praying that Cædmon –

Reaching her side of the Range Rover, Cædmon immediately released his hold on the bullet-riddled corpse, the human shield having no doubt saved his life. Crouched beside the bonnet, he began firing Harliss’s retrieved weapon.

‘Search his pockets for an ammo clip!’

Edie crawled over to the dead southerner. Forcing herself not to look at the nail file protruding from his eye socket, she shoved her hand into Harliss’s jacket pocket.

‘All I’ve got is the GPS receiver and a cigarette lighter!’ she hissed at Cædmon, frantically wondering how long he could keep Sanchez at bay. A quick peek over the bonnet verified that the other man had taken up a firing position behind the tumbled remnants of a brick wall.

‘Damn! I’m out of ammunition,’ Cædmon muttered, tossing the gun aside.

Suddenly catching a whiff of a very familiar scent, Edie glanced down to see liquid pooling at her feet. ‘Oh God! He hit the gas tank! We’ve got to get out of here!’

Snatching the GPS receiver and cigarette lighter out of her hand, Cædmon shoved them into his anorak pocket.

‘Keep low!’ he whispered, grabbing her elbow. ‘We don’t want Sanchez to know that we’re on the move. Hopefully, he’ll maintain his position long enough for us to escape.’

But to where? Edie wondered, seeing nothing but overgrown fields in every direction.

They’d gone no more than twenty yards when Sanchez resumed firing. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Cædmon shoved her to the ground.

‘On your belly,’ he ordered, flinging himself beside her.

Side by side, they lay hidden in the tall grass.

Every limb in her body shaking as though palsied, Edie watched as Cædmon removed the piece of duct tape that had been stuck over his mouth from his coat pocket. Along with Harliss’s silver cigarette lighter.

‘What are you planning to —’

‘Shhh!’

Terrified, Edie watched as Cædmon flicked on the lighter, the blue flame jauntily waving to and fro. He then wrapped the salvaged strip of duct tape around the lighter trigger so the flame wouldn’t go out. Edie noticed USMC engraved on the side of the lighter.

Putting a finger to his mouth, Cædmon wordlessly warned her to be silent, the admonition totally unnecessary, fear rendering her speechless.

Narrowing her gaze, she watched as Sanchez crept away from the wall. Bent at the waist, his gun held between his hands, he slowly approached the Range Rover.

Edie held her breath, suddenly realizing what Cædmon intended to do.

In no apparent hurry, Cædmon waited until Sanchez was within a few feet of the SUV. His expression steadfast, he then rose to his knees, cocked his arm back and hurled the lighter towards the Range Rover.

An instant later, a ball of fire engulfed the car.

Jubilant, Edie clutched Cædmon’s knees. ‘Oh God! Do you think we’re actually gonna get away?’

Cædmon smiled crookedly. ‘To paraphrase that American chap, we’re not done for until the fat lady sings.’

‘I’ve never been able to sit through a Wagner opera.’

‘Nor I. But on the off chance that Sanchez survived, we need to find safe haven.’

More concerned with speed than stealth, they hurried off through the dry stalks of winter grass.