The Devil's bounty

Fifty-eight

With the desert landscape still cloaked in darkness, Lock continued his search. A four-armed saguaro cactus loomed over him, spines ready to spear him. He skirted it as the land dipped, then levelled out. For the most part the terrain had been flat and even: ground he could cover at a rapid clip. It was cold but not freezing, and dry.

He could see the outline of a man ahead on a ridge. He was standing perfectly still. Lock held his position. There was no way of knowing whether Mendez knew he was there and was watching him or whether he was simply catching his breath.

The outline moved over the ridge and out of sight. Lock took a bearing from the point he had last seen him and broke into a jog, splitting his attention between the ground beneath his boots and the far horizon. His chest felt tight as his heart protested at the continued exertion. The sweat on his back had cooled and now ran uncomfortably into the crack of his butt. In contrast, his feet were hot and swollen. His boots chafed at the back of his heels and he could almost feel the blisters as they formed. He switched his mind to Melissa, staggering into the hotel lobby, bleeding and so close to death that he had felt its presence as he had rushed her, cradled in his arms, to his car. The image pushed away his fatigue. He doubled his pace, taking measured breaths, every stride drawing him closer to Mendez.

At first he took the distant wash of noise he could hear to be the pounding of the blood in his ears but then it grew louder and more persistent. He stopped for a moment, and turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, searching out the sound. It was coming from behind him — the distinctive thwump of rotor blades slicing through the air. A helicopter was buzzing low overhead, searching them out. A near-celestial arc of light from a front-mounted searchlight swept the landscape.

Lock was closing in on Mendez, but someone up there was closing in on both of them. He’d thought he had hours to hunt down his quarry, but now he realized he had minutes. He broke into a run. The ridge where Mendez had stood moments before was empty. Behind him, he watched the helicopter sweep sharply to his left, then double back.

He scoured the terrain for movement. Nothing. Not that it was barren. Far from it. They had come further than he had imagined. The edge of the city was within striking distance, and with it the urban camouflage that would shield him from the aircraft. But it was also a place for Mendez to find refuge if Lock didn’t reach him first.