Seven Steps to the Sun (21 page)

Mike gave a little sigh and turned to look back over the way they'd come during the afternoon. Suddenly he noticed a column of dust rising from the valley floor. He tapped the boots of the soldier in front of him. The soldier looked at the dust and then inched his way to the front. Soon they were all staring down intently. The older soldier glanced at his watch, swore, and then turned. Keeping out of sight of the houses and road they started their journey uphill. At a convenient point they stopped and took another look at the road. It was empty and quiet. The house was no longer in sight, and after another pause they crossed the road one by one. As the gradient steepened, their pace slowed considerably, which upset the older soldier.

Mike was all right for the first hour of the steady climb, but the fellow in front kept slowing and speeding up, which threw him out of rhythm, making it necessary to spend the next five minutes using up energy regaining a steady pace. This form of exercise showed how unfit he was. He was beginning to feel twinges of cramp. To take his mind off the agony at each step, he hummed popular songs to himself. This was fine for half an hour or so, after which it didn't help much and the pains in his legs became more intense. He'd long since given up watching the man in front of him, so it came as a surprise when he ran into him.

The joy of standing still couldn't be surpassed by any other emotional experience, he felt, as he stood there, looking down on the valley below. Up in front of him they were studying- the map. A few yards farther on a large wide track crossed their patch. He was relieved when the party turned on to" the track and started following it up hill. With its gentle gradient the aches and pains of the last few hours seemed to vanish. Striding along he spotted a mountain lily and reached down to pick it. A soldier stopped a little way up in front and waited. Mike showed him the lily and the man smiled wearily and smelt it. The expression on his face showed that it had been a while since the fellow had thought of flowers and peace, and the general pleasures of living.

Mike quickly tucked it into the front of his clothes as they hurried after the rest of the party. The sky was turning a burnished red. A number of rifle shots rang Out in quick succession. He stopped and peered into the dusk. The soldier in front of him paused and listened. There was no sign of the others. They waited a moment or two then continued along the track. A hundred yards farther on the soldier halted again. Mike drew up alongside him and looked down. The three bodies of their companions lay still and lifeless, splayed out at different angles on the path. The soldier whispered something in Italian and then moved forward, bent low. Several more shots rang out. The soldier straightened up suddenly, and fell backwards. Mike threw himself flat on the ground and waited. No more shots, and nobody appeared. He began to feel very nervous and jumpy. He crawled back to the three dead men for a pistol and ammunition then crept back to the side of the fourth soldier. He put his fingers gently on the man's throat. The soldier grabbed hold of the hand and opened his eyes, but didn't speak.

'Where are they?'

The soldier touched the flower in Mike's clothes and lay still. He was dead. Mike hurriedly pressed the flower into the still warm hand then, crawling sideways, made his way up into an outcrop of rocks. A sound below him on the track made him freeze. Several hundred feet down he could just make out the shapes of sheep. A dog barked and the sound of voices came clearly through the night air. He manoeuvred himself into a position in the outcrop where he couldn't be attacked from behind and, sitting there, in the chilly night air, listened quietly. He cursed the fact that he hadn't taken the rations or any water, as he couldn't eat the bloody pistol although the thought of shooting a sheep appealed to him.

He waited what seemed a reasonable time and then crawled from the rocks. Down on the track below him a fire burnt. With only a general picture of the area in his mind, he decided to go west until he hit Lake Garda, or fell into it. The mountainside was rough and rugged and in the dark it was a thousand times worse.

His ankles started to weaken under the strain of constant tripping and twisting of his legs as he missed his footing. There was no sense of time as he made his strenuous way down the hillside.

Suddenly his foot hit something hard and firm. He stopped and stood still, then bent down and felt it. At first he thought he'd walked onto a flat outcrop of rock but, after crossing and recrossing the hard surface, he decided it was a road. He took his compass out to check his direction and moved off to the west. His progress took him farther down hill, until he heard the lapping of water. He stumbled to the water's edge and flopped down. Plunging his hands into the cool, refreshing water, he splashed himself. The more he splashed the more human he began to feel. His eyes stopped burning, and, after drinking a little, even his mouth began to feel less like the morning after. He now had to find somewhere to hide, as the colour in the eastern sky told him dawn wasn't far away.

Mike unwound his aching body and stood up. The mental strain of always pushing on was beginning to tell. The desire to sleep became overpowering and he began to nod off as he walked. He staggered doggedly for some several kilometres, before he saw, through a haze of sleep, what he wanted. The sky was lightening quite rapidly, as he stumbled down to the water's edge. There in the shallows floated a log. He waded into the water and took hold of it. A quick look at the opposite bank revealed nothing, no people, no buildings. He knew he was too tired to walk round the lake, so the log was the only way. Once out of his depth he realized for the first time how far he had to go but the buoyancy of the log gave him confidence and he started to swim in a slow deliberate way to the other side.

The sun was rising above the mountains as his feet touched the bottom of the lake. He held onto the log until he was sure that he was within his depth, and then pushed it back into the water. He lay for a moment on the stony shore, exhausted. A bird started to sing. Memories of warm mornings in early summer flooded into Mike's mind and a wave of home sickness engulfed him. He climbed to the top of a short incline where he found himself on another old disused road. He stumbled along and, rounding a corner, saw something that lightened his heart. It stood about three hundred feet above the road. He climbed through the deep undergrowth, until he reached the large ungainly villa. His first thought had been one of resting here, but on looking back he realized how exposed it really was. Above him was a tangle of unkempt garden. He struggled through it until he saw what he needed. It wasn't much, a mere broken-down garden shed, but it had four walls and what remained of a roof. None of the nearby undergrowth appeared to have been disturbed recently but he wasn't going to take any chances. He pulled out the revolver and proceeded cautiously towards the hut. At a hole in a wall he stopped, looking back to see how much damage he'd done to the undergrowth, before climbing through. Inside smelt of decayed vegetation. He propped the rifle up in a corner, took a pile of leaves and branches, and sitting down on them dropped into a deep sleep.

Mike woke with a start. It was too dark to distinguish the hole in the wall. A twig cracked outside and Mike almost stopped breathing. Sweat broke out on his forehead when he couldn't feel the revolver. A sound from the hole made him stiffen and someone climbed through and started to grope his way round the hut. Mike waited until the figure was almost on him, then kicked his boot up into the person's stomach. There was a rush of air and a body sank to the ground.

'Bernie, what's happened?' asked an alert voice from outside. Mike grabbed hold of the person's head, covered his mouth, and waited.

'What the devil's going on, Bernie?' asked the English voice once more.

'You'd better come in,' growled Mike, back to the wall.

'Who are you?' asked a voice, as it climbed into the hut.

'All right, throw down any weapons you're carrying.'

'But we don't have any weapons,' came the startled reply.

'Not even a bread knife?'

'I've got a pocket knife.'

'Then throw the bloody thing on the floor.' Something fell to the floor with a dull thud. 'Got any form of light?'

*A torch.'

'Where is it?'

'Bernie had it.' Mike went through his victim's pockets until he found the light, then threw him to the floor.

'Did you kill him?'

'My God,' said Mike as he turned the light onto the Intruders. They were two young men in their twenties, who looked as though they'd been through a meat grinder.

'Who are you?' asked Mike.

'John Fitzgibbons, I'm British and am protected by diplomatic immunity.'

'Maybe you are. Who's your friend?'

'Bernard Coleman, American, and also protected by diplomatic immunity.' Mike flashed the light quickly round the room, saw his revolver and picked it up.

'What are you going to do?' said Fitzgibbons.

'Nothing. Now, tell me, if you are protected by diplomatic immunity, what are you doing here, and why in such a mess?'

'We were being escorted from Rome, by the military. The column was attacked and we were taken prisoners.'

'Who were you attacked by?'

'Local people near Modena. We were told, since we were foreigners, they wouldn't kill us if our governments would pay ransoms. We were allowed to contact our respective ambassadors but they couldn't help as the whole world seems to be in absolute chaos.'

'You mean it's like this back in England?'

'Yes, that's why Bernie and I made the effort to escape otherwise we would be dead by now; neither London nor Washington could offer us any form of help.' John sat wearily down by his friend.

Mike looked at the two men, and wondered what to do.

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm a journalist, and got caught out on the wrong side.'

'You mean you approve of this destruction?' said the young man.

'No, but there must be a right side to be on. I don't like being shot at.'

'But there isn't any right side,' said John passionately. 'It's everyone for himself until there's nothing left.'

'Fine, it makes things easier.' There was a groan from the American lying on the floor. 'Bernie, are you O.K.?'

'I think so, who's that?' Bernie said, looking up at Mike.

'I don't know.'

'Where were you heading when you came here?' asked Mike.

'Anywhere. We were trying to shake off the men who have been trailing us,' said John.

'You mean there are people out there looking for you?'

'Yes.'

'Bloody marvellous. Why didn't you say so before?'

'Because we thought you were one of them,' replied John.

'How many are after you?'

'No idea,' said Bernie.

Mike went over to the hole in the wall and peered out. He turned back into the hut, picked up his rifle, and started to leave.

'Where are you going?' asked John.

'Out,' he replied, tersely, looking at the torch and handing it back.

'Aren't you going to take us with you,' asked John, apprehensively.

'No, you are hot, fellow, really hot.'

'But they'll kill us,' said Bernie.

'Everyone for himself, you said,' Mike climbed out.

'Do you want this?' he asked, poking the revolver at them through the hole. 'No.'

He stuck the gun in his pocket and started off away from the lake wondering as he went how far behind him the enemy were. He felt he needed to put a good distance between himself and the hut by daybreak. The gradient in front of him began to steepen and soon the chilly feeling he'd had was replaced by sweat and heat. He stumbled once or twice and stopped to gain his composure, as he was hurrying far too quickly to last the night. It was when he stopped that he heard the scrabbling behind him. Turning, he took out the pistol and waited.

'Where the hell are you going?' he asked, as he saw the two figures of John and Bernie draw alongside him.

'If you can stay alive, we can,' came an out of breath reply from Bernie.

'You don't give up, do you?'

'No, and from what I gathered neither do you.'

'No,' said Mike, moving ahead of the two men and starting off again.

'Where are we heading?' asked John, from behind.

'Save your breath, we're going to be walking all night.'

'Sorry.'

He pushed on at a steady even pace hoping for their sake that they could keep it up. At length he came across a path leading up hill. He stopped and checked which direction it was going, taking advantage of the flat surface of the path to rest his feet. He looked at the two young men, who were suffering from the climb. Suddenly in the distance he saw small bobbing lights. Mike turned and set off again at his steady pace. It was really rough going now, as the ground varied from steep grassy slopes to large outcrops of rock.

'Could we have a breather?' asked John, pulling up to Mike.

'No, we've got to keep moving.'

'Maybe, but I'm no mountain goat.'

'Pity; you'd be laughing, wouldn't you. We'll take a break when we reach the top.'

'And after resting, where?'

'Down the other side. And up and down and on and on until the sun rises,' said Mike, feeling John's tiredness.

He had no idea where the top might be, but when .1! last the steep ground started to ease he didn't stop. The downhill journey was rest enough, and it would put more distance between them and the bobbing lights. The journey was fairly easy now, not only because it was downhill, but because a moon was coming up. A familiar smell hit his nostrils and, like a dog, he sniffed the air. He wasn't absolutely sure what the scent was, but he thought it could be lime trees. The slightly depressed feeling he'd had since the sudden death of the soldiers started to lift. He quickened his pace as he could see more of the ground, and was soon running happily downhill.