Last Light Part 31

Carrie soothed her.

"For sure, baby, soon."

The ground outside was littered with freshly broken terra cotta tiles from the roof. There was intermittent chat and the odd laugh coming from the veranda to my left.

I inspected the window, my mind still very much on Aaron. He wasn't as naive as I'd thought.

"Once a Viking, always a Viking." They slash, they burn, they pillage. They never change. He'd told me that. He'd come to the same conclusion as I had. No way was Charlie letting us out of here alive.

I was expecting some resistance from the windows, but they gave quite easily and opened towards me with just one pull. Immediately closing them again, I went over to the bed.

"Here's what we're going to do. We're going to get out through the window and get ourselves into the trees."

Luz had been looking at her mother but her head jerked towards me. Tears streaked her face. What about Dad?"

'I'll come back for him later. There's no time for this. We've got to go right now."

Luz looked up at her mother and silently implored her.

"We can't," Carrie said. We can't leave him. What will happen when they find us gone? If we stay put and don't antagonize anyone, we'll be all right. We don't know anything, why should they harm us?"

The whine of the turbos on the Jet Ranger started up and the rotors were soon turning. I waited until they reached full revs before putting my mouth to Carrie's ear.

"Aaron knows we're all dead whatever happens even if George does tell him the location. You understand? We all die."

The heli took off as her head fell on to Luz's. I followed to keep contact with her ear.

"He's buying me time to save you two. We must go now, for Luz's sake, and for Aaron's. It's what he wants."

Her shoulders heaved with sadness as she hugged her daughter.

"Mom?"

The tears were infectious. Both of them were sobbing now into each other's hair as the noise of the Jet Ranger disappeared over the canopy.

THIRTY-FIVE.

There was still more than an hour to go till last light but I had made my decision. We had to get out of here as soon as we physically could.

Mumbling and laughter still drifted from the front of the house, as if to remind me of the risk we'd be taking. If somebody was on stag at the edge of the veranda, we'd be in full view for the entire two hundred metres. It would take us at least ninety seconds to make that distance over muddy ground, and that's a very long time for an M-16 to have you in its sights.

But who knew what the next hour held? The three of us could be split up and moved to separate rooms, killed, or even put into the remaining Huey and flown out. We had no control over that, and by waiting could end up squandering the chance Aaron had given us.

As I looked through the gla.s.s and mesh, it was easy enough to confirm our route half right towards the dead ground, then into the treeline. We'd be moving at an angle away from the front of the house and the veranda, but there'd come a point where we cleared the corner at the back and were in the Huey's line of sight. Would there still be people aboard? Maybe the pilot carrying out his checks? There was no right or wrong about the decision to go now. These things are not a science: if we died, I'd have been wrong; if we lived, I'd have been right.

Once absorbed by the wall of green we'd be relatively safe; we'd just have to contend with a night out on the jungle floor, then spend the next day moving through the canopy towards the dead valley, navigating by paralleling the track.

We'd cross the tree graveyard at night, hiding under the dead wood in the day, until we made Chepo. From there, who knew? I'd worry about that then. As for Aaron, I doubted that he'd last much past eight thirty.

Carrie and Luz were still comforting each other on the bed. I went over to them and, with Britney on the wall overseeing events, whispered, "We're going to go for the trees."

Luz looked at her mother for rea.s.surance.

"The thing to remember is that we must spread out when we're running, OK? That way it's harder to be seen."

Carrie looked up from her child and frowned. She knew that wasn't the reason.

She knew a single burst from an M-16 could kill all three of us, and if we were spread out, we'd be that bit harder to hit.

Luz tugged at her mother's arm.

"What about Daddy?"

I could see Carrie fighting back the tears and put my hand on her shoulder.

"I'll come back for him, Luz, don't worry. He wanted me to get you two into the jungle first. He wants to know you're safe."

She nodded reluctantly, and we heard more mumblings from the veranda and boots the other side of the door. Going immediately was the right thing to do.

"If we get split up," I said quietly, "I want you two to carry on into the trees without me, then make your way towards the far right corner and wait for me there." To Luz I added, "Don't come out if anyone calls for you, even if it's your dad it'll just be a trick. Just my voice, OK? Once you're safe, I'll come back for him."

I'd cross that bridge when I came to it, but for now a lie was necessary to keep them quiet so I could get on with what he was sacrificing himself for.

"Ready?"

Both heads nodded. I looked at Luz.

"Me first, then you, all right?"

I moved back to the window and out of whisper range. Carrie followed, looking out to the treeline, listening to the laughter out front.

They're outside, on the deck, Nick, isn't it-' "No time, not interested."

"But how are we going to get to the trees without-' "Just get her ready."

She was right. How were we going to make it? I didn't know. All I did know was that there wasn't any time for fancy plans, even if I could think of one. We just had to get on with it. We were dead anyway, so anything else was a bonus.

Pulling open the windows let the sounds of crickets and the boys on the veranda trickle into the room. I thought of the Beirut hostage who could have escaped within the first few days of capture when a toilet window was left open. But he didn't take the chance, didn't seize the moment. He had to live with his regret for the next three years.

My mind went into auto-drive, just getting on with the job. f.u.c.k 'em, f.u.c.k the noise outside, f.u.c.k the Huey. I was almost wanting them to see us.

The wooden pegs squeaked as I swivelled them to release the mozzie screen. It rattled in its frame as I pushed it free. I froze, waiting for the murmuring on the veranda to change into shouts. It didn't happen. I pushed again and this time the screen came away. Slowly and carefully, I lowered it towards the ground. Boots banged about on the decking and the front door slammed as I felt the screen touch the mud and broken tiles.

I clambered out feet first. My Timberlands squelched into the mud and I moved the screen to one side before beckoning Luz, not even bothering to check the noises. I'd know if they saw me. Better to concentrate on what I was doing rather than flap about something I had no control over.

Her mother helped her, even though she didn't need it, and I guided her down beside me into the mud. Using one hand to hold her against the wall, I held out the other for Carrie as the boys on the veranda appreciated a punchline and one of the rocking chairs was sc.r.a.ped across the wood.

Carrie was soon beside me. I got her to stand next to Luz against the wall, and pointed to the treeline to our half right. I gave them the thumbs-up but got no reply so, taking a deep breath, I took off. They knew what to do.

Within just a few strides the mud had slowed our run into not much more than a fast walk. Instinct made all three of us hunch low in an attempt to make ourselves smaller. I pushed them ahead of me and kept motioning to them to spread out, but it wasn't working. Luz ran close to her mother, and it wasn't long before they were actually holding hands, breathing hard five or six metres ahead.

It was difficult going and I fell twice, sliding as if on ice, but we'd covered the first hundred metres.

The heli came into view to our right, parked just short of the dead ground.

There didn't seem to be anyone in or around it, or any sort of movement at the rear of the house. We pushed on.

There were maybe thirty metres to go when I heard the first reports. Not big, inaccurate bra.s.s, but single, aimed shots.

"Run!" I yelled.

"Keep going!"

An enormous flock of little multicoloured birds lifted from the canopy.

"Keep going, keep going!" I didn't look behind us; it wouldn't have helped.

Carrie, still gripping her daughter's hand, was focused on the treeline, half dragging Luz along as she shrieked with terror.

The rounds cracked behind us as they went supersonic. My mind was trying to beat them by going at a million miles an hour, but my feet were only taking me at ten.

With maybe twenty metres of open ground left, the rounds finally started to zero in on us. The cracks were accompanied by thuds as they slammed into the mud ahead and to the side of us, until all I could hear was an almost rhythmic crack thump, crack thump, crack thump as they opened up big-time.

"Keep going, keep going!"

They lunged into the jungle, still slightly ahead and to my right.

"Go right, go right!"

Almost at once, I heard a scream. It was a strangulated half gasp, half howl of pain, just metres into the foliage.

More rounds ripped into the jungle, some with a high-pitched ziiinnng as they ricocheted off the trees. I dropped to my hands and knees, gasping for breath.

"Luz! Call to me where are you? Where are you?"

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

Ziiinnng-ziiinnng... "Luz! Lie down! Keep down! Keep down!"

The single shots now become bursts as I started crawling. The M-16s were firing into the entry points in an effort to hose us down; we needed to move offline to the right, downhill into dead ground. Leaves give cover from view but not fire, dead ground does.

"I'm coming, keep down, lie down!"

Some of them were long bursts, the rounds going high as the weapon barrels kicked up, but some were short, the switched-on guys aiming three and five rounds at a time as I heard a wagon revving up to join in the frenzy.

I covered six or seven metres through the foliage until I found them. Carrie was on her back, panting, eyes wide open, tear-filled and big as saucers, her cargos bloodstained on the right thigh, with what looked like bone pushing at the material. Her injured leg appeared shorter than the other, and the foot was lying flat with the toes pointing outward. A round must have hit her in the femur. Luz was hovering over her, not knowing what to do, just staring openmouthed at her mother's bloodstains.

The rounds had died down for now as the shouts and engine noise got louder.

I grabbed Carrie by the arms and, shuffling on my a.r.s.e, started to drag her through the leaf litter in the direction of our emergency RV, the corner of the treeline, and into the dead ground. Luz followed on her hands and knees, sobbing loudly.

"Shut up! They'll hear you!"

We only managed five or six metres. Carrie cried out uncontrollably as her injured leg got jarred and twisted, covering her face with her hands in an effort to keep quiet. At least the noise meant she was breathing and could feel pain, both good signs, but the two of them were making such a racket that it was only a matter of time before we were heard.

I jumped up, grabbed Carrie's wrist, and heaved her over my shoulder in a fireman's lift. She screamed as her damaged leg swung free before I held it in place. I pushed through the vegetation with long, exaggerated strides, trying to keep the leg stable with one hand and keeping a tight grip of Luz with the other, sometimes by her hair, sometimes by her clothing, sometimes around her neck, whatever it took to keep us moving together.

The BUBs now sparked up as frenzied shouts and the high revs of the engine came from behind us. Short bursts from M-16s randomly st.i.tched the area. They were at the entry points.

We crashed our way through some more wait-a-while and Carrie's leg got snagged.

She screamed and I half turned, pulled it free, knowing there was a chance that the broken ends of her femur could act like scissors, cutting into muscle, nerves, tendons, ligaments or, worst of all, sever the femoral artery. She'd be history in minutes if that happened. But what else could I do?

We crashed on, and began a gentle decent. I guessed we were about level with the heli in the clearing to my right. I could still hear people hosing the place down behind us, but the jungle was soaking up a lot of it and we seemed to be out of the initial danger area.

The BUBs reminded me I'd have to stop soon and sort out Carrie. I needed that last precious light.

I pushed towards the treeline until I could see the beginning of the open ground, then dragged Luz back with me so we were just behind the wall of green.

At last I was able to lay Carrie down, making sure as I did so that her feet were pointing at the treeline.

The M-16s only fired sporadically now, up on the higher ground, though there was still a lot of vehicle noise and shouting up and down the treeline. I didn't care: if there were any dramas we'd just drag further back in. The priority now was sorting her out.

Carrie lay on her back taking short, sharp breaths, her face contorted. I joined in with her pattern of breathing as I tried to get my breath back. Luz was bent over her on her knees. I gently straightened her.

"You've got to help your mum and me. I need you to kneel there, behind me. If anyone comes you just turn round and give me a tap not a shout, just a tap, OK? Will you do that?"

Luz looked at her mother, then back at me.

"That's good this is really important." I positioned her behind me, facing the treeline, then turned to Carrie. No way were we going to be walking out of here, but that wasn't my major concern: sorting her out was.

She fought the pain through gritted teeth. There was blood. Her femoral artery wasn't cut or lit res of the stuff would have been pouring out over her leg, but if she kept leaking like this she would eventually go into shock and die. The bleeding had to be stopped and the fracture immobilized.

Not even bothering to explain what I was up to, I got down at her feet and started to work with my teeth at the frayed hem of her cargos. I made a tear, gripped both sides of it, and ripped the material upwards. As the injury was exposed I saw that she hadn't been shot. She must have fallen badly and overstressed the femur: the bone was sticking out of what looked like a rack of raw, blood-soaked beef. But at least there was muscle there to contract, it hadn't been shot away.

I tried to sound upbeat.

"It's not so bad."

There was no reply, just very rapid breathing.

With military casualties in the field I had always found it better to take the p.i.s.s, not feed their worries. But this felt different: I wanted to rea.s.sure her, to make her feel OK.