Hung (35 page)

B
ut at the same time
, I can feel myself getting weaker. There's not enough blood coming out of my hand to significantly slow me down, but after six long months of hard work, a crap night's sleep interrupted by a
freaking kidnapping
, and three hours trekking behind this lunatic, fit as I might be – I know I can't keep it up forever.

I
begin
to trail behind him, losing half a yard for every ten of his paces – not quickly enough for him to get suspicious, at least I hope not. My mind's spinning in overdrive, working out all the different angles. By now, if he's coming, Mike must be close. If he's not, then I've got to take matters into my own hands either way. And either way, what I need to do ends up being the same.

I
need
to make a break for it.

W
e keep walking
at the same pace down the rocky valley floor for another two or three minutes, my kidnapper swinging his rifle from side to side jumpily, twitching at unseen and imagined threats all over the place.

I
s this a good idea
? He might shoot me before I can get away…

I
f he does
, then he does. It doesn't change what I need to do – and part of me hopes that his finger will hesitate on the trigger. After all, he went to a lot of trouble to take a hostage, and it's more than likely he won't want to damage his investment.

A
t least
, I hope it is.

I
look to my left
, and then my right, looking for any tiny, fractional advantage. It's almost dawn, and the first tendrils of light are beginning to creep over the horizon, a copper colored, burnished hue eating at the clouds. It's enough light for me to make out more than just dark outlines in the sides of the valley that reach up into the sky to either side of me.

A
nd then I
see them – cave openings speckled into the sides of the cliffs, about fifty yards away – fifty yards of hard, boulder-strewn terrain. Traversing it certainly won't be easy – or quick. It's still too dark for me to get any real sense of how deep they are, or if they really are caves, not just collapsed holes in the rock, but they might be my only chance.

T
he hairs
at the nape of my neck stand up of their own accord, my body preparing itself for flight. All the adrenaline my body has to spare is suddenly dumped into my bloodstream, and that makes my mind up for me – whether
normal
Katie would have approved or not, I'll never know.

I
stop
, check that my captor hasn't noticed my sudden change of pace and direction, and then begin to creep leftwards, to the nearest cave. I keep a wary eye out for any change in my kidnapper's movements – thinking to myself that if he himself was keeping up such a vigilant watch, then my escape attempt wouldn't have been possible. Thankfully, he isn't.

I
make it ten yards
, creeping along the ground so slowly and quietly that I'm barely making a sound, carefully scoping out every single footstep so that I don't dislodge a rock or send some gravel skittering down the slope. I'm well aware that any sound that I make is going to attract his attention – and once he realizes what I'm doing, then it's going to be a foot race between me and his bullets.

I
t's not
a race I'm likely to win.

E
leven yards
.

T
welve
.

T
here's
a boulder about twenty yards ahead of me, six-foot tall and three-foot wide. I make a note of it, knowing that it'll make a good hiding place if the shit hits the fan.

T
hirteen yards
.

F
ourteen
.

I
feel
a sense of hope growing in my chest, a sense that I haven't had – not this strong, anyway, since I was snatched from the base. If I can just make it thirty more yards without him noticing, then that should buy Mike – or whoever's coming after me – every minute they need to save me. If my kidnapper, whatever his name is, has to search the whole valley cave by cave to find me, then he doesn't have a chance – the valley's littered with them.

B
ut hope's a fickle thing
.

F
ifteen yards
.

S
ixteen
.

N
o sooner than it
starts to kindle, it can be snatched away. I set my foot down on a round, mound-like stone, and it seems so large and firmly indented into the floor of the valley that I don't feel the need to test it properly. Fatal error.

A
s I put
my foot down on top of it and it takes my full weight, it sinks into the ground and starts a chain reaction. For some reason, a dozen stones around it aren't properly sat into the earth, and each one settles with a quiet – and some not so quiet – click as they hit the ground. I freeze, turning my head and hoping beyond all reasonable hope that the sound hasn't attracted my lunatic kidnapper's attention.

N
o such luck
.

I
start sprinting
, hoping that he won't turn around, hoping that he's so caught up in his own paranoia as he swings his rifle back and forth that he won't notice, but I should have known that that was too much to hope for. He freezes, and then he turns. For a brief second we hold eye contact, both as surprised as each other.

"
S
top
!"

"
C
ome back
!"

I
don't listen
for any more of his shouts; my body just decides that flight's the best response. I trust in my reflexes, honed after months and months of running around the uneven terrain of Bagram Air Force Base, dodging loose chunks of concrete from abandoned building projects and soft, sandy soil in forgotten areas. Just like earlier, everything goes silent around me except the overbearing sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I
'm glad of it
; it takes my mind off what's going on behind me.

I
'm running
, jumping off boulders, eating up yards at a time, and I'm just beginning to think I'll make it when the first hot flakes of stone start bouncing off my bare arms.

S
hit
.

I
chance
a glance over my shoulder to confirm what I already know – he's shooting at me. Luckily for me, he doesn't appear to be a particularly good shot – he's doing that typical movie move of holding his rifle by his hip and spraying bullets around.

O
n the other hand
, unluckily for me, he doesn't seem to be holding back. Any of these bullets might end up hitting me – probably more by luck than design – and he doesn't seem to care.

S
hit
.

M
y eyes search
desperately around me for a hiding place, and then it hits me – the boulder I noticed earlier, it's perfect. I sprint for it, more flakes of stone bouncing off rocks all around me as bullets impact them unceasingly. Suddenly they stop, and I assume he must have paused to reload, and I take the opportunity to throw myself behind the huge outcropping of rock.

I
'm safe for now
, but for how much longer? If I leave the safety of the rock, then he'll shoot me, and if I stay here – he'll hunt me down.

D
ammit
, Mike, I need you.

C
hapter Twenty - Katie

I
don’t want
to die.

I
t's
in that exact moment, when I'm floundering on the very edge of total, utter, abject despair, I see something that surprises me so much that I can't help but blink.

A
nd then again
.

I
f I'm not very
much mistaken, I can see Jake's dark brown, mottled fur pressed low to the ground and moving quickly through the valley floor. The only reason I can see him at all is that I'm slightly higher, following my helter-skelter attempt at escape, than my pursuer – and by now I know this dog pretty well.

S
till
, the sight's so unexpected that, if there wasn't some deranged maniac shooting at me, I'd want to rub my eyes in astonishment. He's about fifty yards away and covering about a yard second – fast, but slow enough to remain stealthy. But at this rate, it won't be quick enough, or at least that's what my brain starts to convince me as the bullets keep impacting against the outcropping of rock that I'm sheltering behind.

M
y assailant's
gun goes quiet, and I weigh up the pros and cons of making a break for it in my head.

I
s this just a trick
? Is he pretending to reload just so he can shoot me when I start running?

I
have absolutely
no idea what to do. I've never been trained how to react in a scenario like this. Sure, I can spark a patient's heart back to life, or deal with any one of a hundred unbelievably stressful situations on my home turf – the hospital – but out here I'm effectively useless. Jake passes out of my line of sight, and even though it's completely irrational – after all, he can't help me if he's in the wrong place – my heart sinks as though my body is preparing for its eventual demise.

"
S
hit
, help me, Mike,” I squeal, head between my knees to protect myself from the unceasing assault of bullet-propelled stone chips flying off the craggy cliff wall.

"
D
id you say something
?" I hear a hissed whisper reply. Just like with Jake, I can't help but stupidly blink at the unexpected sound and whip my head out from between my legs, casting around desperately for the source of the sound.

"
W
ho's there
?" I whisper in reply, keeping my voice low – mindful of the fact that I don't want to ruin any advantage of surprise that I might now have over my kidnapper.

"
W
ho the hell
do you think?" comes Mike's baritone, humorous whisper in reply. "Ain't no one else hiking up into these hills to save your pretty little ass…"

T
ry as I might
, I have absolutely no idea where his voice is coming from. It sounds like it's close, but from my limited vantage point, it’s completely unclear.

"
W
here are you
?" I reply, elated. For the first time, I allow myself to begin to think that I might get out of this alive. "How did you follow me, how did you find me?"

"
L
ater
," Mike's professional voice replies, "but now I need you to do something for me…"

"
A
nything
," comes my confident response. It's true, I really would follow this man into the abyss. And Mike's a whole hell of a lot more experienced in this type of scenario than I could ever hope to be…

"
I
n about fifteen seconds
, the gunman is going to be completely distracted. As soon as he is, I'll shout, and I want you to run for the hills – got it?"

"
H
ow do you
–?"

"
N
o questions
," Mike says curtly. "Just as I say – do you understand?"

"
Y
es
," I agree, submitting to his superior judgement in this kind of situation.

S
till
, how the hell does he know that that Taliban piece of shit is going to be distracted?

W
hen Mike's shouted "Now
!" comes, everything slots into place, and I hear a short, sustained period of aggressive growling, followed by a loud thump, almost as though Jake has launched himself bodily into my attacker. But I don't have time to puzzle it through any further, because I know I need to do what Mike told me – so I start running.

I
reach
a cave and press myself into the floor, my clothes suddenly soaking wet from the puddle of rainwater I've somehow found myself in. The valley below has gone ominously silent. My stomach begins to knot.

W
hat the hell
is going on? Is Mike alive? Is Jake?

A
few more seconds of
utter silence prevails in the valley, but I don't dare lift my head off the ground now that I've found a place of safety. And then I hear it – couldn't miss it.

A
single
, solitary gunshot echoes around the valley, bouncing off the hard, rocky walls, and finally disappears into the ether. A dozen startled birds cast off from inside my cave, squawking loudly in their astonishment, but I still don't look up, too terrified to open my eyes for the fear of what unpleasant truth might be revealed.