Part 22 (1/2)

Lurking behind the screen of snow, the trees were her only guide, s.h.i.+ning in her headlights like streaks of silver frost on a charcoal window.

Beside her. the hostage mumbled, head rolling like a seasick pa.s.senger on rough waves.

Emilie could only afford a fraction of a glance, but it was enough to start her wondering why she was still keeping the woman with her. h.e.l.l, it wasn't for the company.

In fact, Jacks realised, she was a liability. Another direction to focus on, when she could barely concentrate on the one that counted. And just having her there, was a reminder of all her holier than thou speeches. All that righteous flame burned Emilie's gut.

Like the government were the good guys, and the Army were safe from whatever was out there. So they, they, like the Army, were out for the blood of Emilie Jacks. Jacks snorted. like the Army, were out for the blood of Emilie Jacks. Jacks snorted.

No reason why the hunted couldn't use a decoy as well as any hunter.

Slowing up some more, she reached over the slumbering hostage for the door-release.

Head down, Derm and some of the squad in his wake, Morgan Shaw was about to step up to the CPV and check on O'Neill, when the familiar bulk of Makenzie's police truck drew by.

Shots were singing out sporadically around the town, percussion to the wind's tuneless lament. A coy-dog cull was under way, as a direct by-product of Morgan's minor deceit.

Morgan didn't mind so long as the folks kept busy and there were no accidents.

He stepped out and waited as Kenzie rolled down his window. The impatience in his brother's eyes was so evident for a moment Morgan thought he was ill.

'You're not telling me you got a call-out? Somebody's cat stuck up a tree?'

Makenzie's eyes were narrowed tight against the windblown snow and he managed only a colourless smile. 'Nothing like.

Listen, I have to find the Doc.'

'You do?' Today was full of surprises.

The wind was blowing hard, streaming the flakes into vaporous plumes, like the frigid breath of some Norse G.o.d.

The town's perimeter vanished behind scudding clouds of chill smoke.

'Well, I wish you luck, big bro. He made for the Wentz cabin. There was a shooting.'

'Yeah, I heard.'

Morgan leaned close in to the quarterlight. 'Kenzie. it's a h.e.l.l of a drive '

'I'll make it. Just take care of my town while I'm gone.'

Morgan shook his head and grimaced, watching the vehicle recede into that gusting maelstrom, past which there was no suggestion of existence. And he felt the distance between himself and his brother more keenly than he had in years.

Leela's trust in Kristal did not extend to the machine she was driving. She rode high, as though they were not properly anch.o.r.ed to the ground, and but for the fact they somehow remained upright, it felt like they were riding a boulder in a landslide, the way they b.u.mped and crashed down the forested slope.

Kristal's grip on the wheel looked the equal of a Voc's, solid and unrelenting. Every so often she would compensate for a bad bounce with some minor nudge of the wheel.

Leela stared into the blizzard through which they appeared to be falling. Flakes died softly on the windscreen, despite the speed with which they were hurled out of the night.

Suddenly they broke from the trees and spun wildly onto a broader trail, freshly furrowed. A new tension seized Kristal, and Leela knew their prey was close.

There: up ahead and crawling around a bend, a man-made smudge on the specked canvas. It was the fugitive truck, one door flapping open like the broken wing of a lame bird.

Kristal jammed one foot down hard. Leela grasped around for a handhold.

Ray Landers was dead on his feet, but on balance he figured he'd rather be standing guard in the cold than intruding on that poor woman's grief. Pathos was Garvey's field of expertise, so maybe he'd see the woman okay. Meanwhile Landers could stay out of Garvey's way.

Ray's thoughts were still out there in the void, wondering about Marotta's last moments. Since they'd had their orders from the Kristal Witch to abandon the search and head straight here, it was somehow easier to think that way: if the big guy was dead, it felt a little less like desertion. With all they had found when they'd got here, death was getting to be a theme.

A shout went up.

Landers trotted around to the nearest sentry. Jen G.o.dzinski, with her blanched freckled cheeks, nodded over at the western flank.

Jeez! Talk about a ghost rider. Landers shouldered his M4.

Then lowered it again, even before Jen had raised her sights. The figure on the snowmobile was a strange shape, but not scary strange.

The scarf securing the floppy hat to the head like some hobo's Easter bonnet was the ultimate giveaway. Landers slung his rifle and hurried up to welcome the Doc. 'Yo, Scientist Guy, what the h.e.l.l brings you to these parts?'

The Doc brought the snowmobile pretty smartly to a halt.

He grinned, but not entirety happily. 'You haven't happened to see a young lady with limited social graces go by?'

'You're talking about your girlfriend, right?' Landers marvelled at the devotion this guy showed to his lady: driving up a mountain to find her in this crud-storm Maybe he should take notes. He gestured to where the path of the truck was being steadily erased. 'The fugitive went thataway. Doc, and I think your lady went after them with Kristal. n.o.body tells me nothing though, so you'll have to take your chances.'

Thank you. Private Landers. It's something I tend to do naturally.'

The Doc made as though to doff his hat, like a gent, but then appeared to remember the thing was lashed down like a tarp He opened the throttle and rode on into the storm.

It was the warm proximity of another human being, in consort with a blast of icy air, that woke Joanna up. But as hazy realisation dawned that the being was Emilie Jacks.

Joanna fought for consciousness the way a drowning man fights to reach the surface.

Jacks' palm was like a rock pus.h.i.+ng against her chest and the pa.s.senger door gaped open beside her. Groggy from a dozen hangovers. Joanna threw out her hands, one finding her opponent's face and pus.h.i.+ng back and the other latching onto Jacks' arm. Barred from her full senses, Joanna had only desperation in her favour.

That and the way Jacks wasted energy in raw screams.

Whereas Joanna shoved with everything she had, pressing Jacks against the driver's door.

Then it was as if that single s.h.i.+ft had overbalanced the entire vehicle. A sudden slide and a tug on her stomach told Joanna they had left the ground behind. The truck nosedived and their wrestling match was suspended abruptly, the crash sending them into a deafening roll; they were trapped in a crippled dryer, blowing cold as it tumbled.

As she felt consciousness slipping, Joanna dug in her mental claws, riding it out until a religious stillness descended on the truck's interior. She couldn't focus, but she registered that Jacks was preoccupied, wiping a b.l.o.o.d.y river clear of her eyes.

That, she surmised, was the good news.

A blurred picture of the winds.h.i.+eld told her it had been badly shattered. But when she looked a second time, the hairline cracks seemed a little too white. Gleaming like diamond twine.