After plummeting through the cold air, Knight landed with a thud on the solid bed of the pick-up truck, knocking the chassis against the wheels and throwing the vehicle into a kink. As Candy slammed on the brake, Knight felt the vehicle move beneath him, move without him, while his body continued its forward momentum, flying towards the cab. At this force, his head would be like a watermelon, and if he were to have any success in this mission, at all costs he had to avoid his head being pulverised. From the bed of the truck he kicked forward, thankful for the grip of his borrowed boots, and threw himself into a twist-somersault, allowing his back and shoulder to take the brunt of the impact. As the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, Knight once more slammed into the base of the truck, only this time without the control of his earlier jump. He tested his arms. Even as pain exploded across his back he was confident there were no breaks, though his earlier wounds felt like they’d torn open new mouths with which to scream out in pain.

  Over the grunt of the engine, Knight heard movement within the cab, could feel it shift as Candy’s actions became more urgent. She could only be doing one thing in there: preparing a weapon to unleash on him. In the back of the truck, Knight was a sitting duck; the only difference was that Knight knew to take flight before the blast from the weapon signalled it. So as Candy threw open the door to the truck, Knight forward-rolled to the back, as Candy pointed the pistol, Knight’s hands were on the back to vault over it, and as Candy fired, Knight was almost out of sight. Almost. His trailing arm remaining in sight, and whether from a remarkable shot from Candy or fortune, ill on Knight’s side, the shotgun blast tore through Knight’s flesh. Nausea rippled through Knight’s body as it reacted to a new level of pain. Hot blood gushed from the wound just below the elbow. It had ripped through the muscle and emerged the other side. Despite his wound he had to move quickly. He could hear Candy’s triumphant whooping and as the cab door slammed closed again, he knew he had to act fast before she could speed off. His left arm had lost all strength and manoeuvrability. He had to improvise. He saw the tow-bar connecting the pick-up to the bear transport, and with combination of his right hand and his right boot pinning the bar down, he yanked out the pin.

  The truck coughed as it pulled forward, and the grinding suggested Knight’s landing had done permanent damage. It pulled forward a dozen or so metres before coming to a stop again. Candy must have realised she’d lost her load.

  Knight scrambled into the undergrowth and fingered his wound. He was losing blood and would need medical attention. There was nothing he could use about his person… unless… The snug leather jacket… A hole had been blown through the left arm, but if he were to wear it backwards, apron-style, it would offer something to staunch the flow of blood.

  As Knight pulled off the jacket he had a quick chance to assess the wound. Entry and exit wounds were of a similar size. For a second, Knight considered himself fortunate. Candy’s lack of gun savvy meant her choice was poor. The low velocity shot had torn straight through the flesh, straight through the muscle. There was no greater exit wound, there was no danger of bullet deformation within the flesh, and she’d missed the bone, so that hadn’t fragmented and caused secondary injuries. He pulled the sleeve over the wounded arm, grimacing as the lining tightened around the injury, but with it came relief too.

  Candy had reversed back to the bear transport. She had opened the door a fraction, but had yet to step out. Knight had positioned himself between a rock and low bush roughly level with the front of the vehicle. A beam of light shone from the driver-side window as Candy scanned the area with a torch. Knight remained unconcerned about her ability to spot him. The danger was in being unable to deal with the situation before the blood loss and body trauma affected his ability in combat.

  Candy’s first mistake was in standing by the open door.

  With darkness one friend and the howling wind another, Knight scurried around the back of the vehicle, around the side, and towards the front. She must have seen his shadow in the lights, but it was too late as he launched himself at the door, throwing it into her. Her torch dropped to the ground, hit her boot, and spun wildly.

  “Give it up,” Knight cried. “I’m not letting you take this bear.”

  Candy ignored his words, reached back into the cab.

  Knight knew what she was reaching for. He threw himself into the door again. Candy groaned but it didn’t stop her. Knight scurried back around the front of the vehicle as a blast of the weapon sounded. She’d fired wildly, without aim. She had to know he was weapon-less, and it was only a matter of time before she had him in her sights again.

  A beam of light arced through the air again as Candy picked up the torch.

  Knight fumbled on the ground for a rock of decent size that he could use as a weapon. He crouched by the passenger side wheel, knowing he’d have an instant from the time the torchlight touched the front of the vehicle to stand and strike.

  The beam of light, however, never came to the front. She was already close to the bear transport by the time Knight realised he wasn’t the target at all.

  “You know your problem,” Candy called. “You think everything is about you all the time.”

  In response, a roar came from the bear transport. Candy was going to release him! If he emerged here, Knight would never get him back in. He’d have to hunt the bear, take it down. Cut out the bullet and document the evidence. But could he do that in his current condition?

  He hurled the rock. Candy must have heard it coming for she threw her arm up to protect her head, and it bounced onto the top of the transport. Again the bear roared.

  “He’s awake, Knight. In a second he’ll be free, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop it.”

  She was right. Even if he was at maximum strength, he’d not be able to cover the distance between himself and her in time to stop her. But he could stop the bear getting too far away. He opened the passenger door where a small arsenal of weapons lay. He grabbed the rifle and some ammo. It had to be something with sufficient heft to bring down the bear. It was not the outcome he wanted, but Knight had learned that being firm of purpose was only beneficial for so far. Only his ultimate goal remained unchanged: he needed that bullet to save Adams. Keeping the bear alive was only ever a desired outcome, not essential. As he threw the door to the cab closed again, glass shattered from the back of the cab. Knight ducked. Candy had once more fired upon him, no doubt to keep him at length while she released the beast. He loaded the weapon, all of the time knowing he wouldn’t have time to get a shot off at Candy. She was no longer priority. With a clank, the rear of the transport open, and the bear roared out. In darkness, Knight was dependent upon Candy’s torch to reveal more. He saw a flash of brown fur, and then heard a cry as the torch beam flew wildly in the air. He fired a shot, but as it sailed through the air it was clear he’d missed. As the sound of the shot stopped resonating through the air, Knight became aware of a cry for help.

  Candy!

  He dashed towards the back of the transport. The torch lay on its side, illuminating only the tire, and footprints that suggested the bear had already made great strides away. Knight picked up the torch and swept it around the area. Was there a flash of fur in the distant trees?

  “Help,” came a cry again. It was off to the left, off the side of the mountain. Knight hurried over and shone the torch down. Candy’s fingers clung to the thinnest ridge of rock a metre or so below.

  Quickly, Knight ran the scenario through his head. First of all, he dismissed any potential suspicion. To put oneself in such peril and at the mercy of one you’d tried to kill would be foolish at best. It was probable then, that upon release, the bear had edged towards her or taken a swing, and in panic, Candy had stepped back, lost her footing and fallen, saving herself by grabbing hold of a rock at the last instant.

  “Hold on!” Knight cried. He lay on his front and reached down. No, Candy was still a good hand-span away.

  “Have you got a foothold?” Knight called. “Can you push yourself up?”

  “No,” Candy cried. “There’s nothing.”

  Knight shone the torch to see the lack of any possibly salvation below. He scanned the area between himself and Candy. Vegetation sprouted from the edges. If he held onto that, he could lean down a little further. He took hold with his left hand, but with the wound to the arm, he simply didn’t have the grip. He’d have to hold with his right, and dangle his useless left arm down for her to grab.

  “I’m sorry,” Candy called. “It was nothing against you.”

  It didn’t matter. Candy’s betrayal had cost him. It would cost Adams more dearly, but he couldn’t let her plummet to her death, not without doing something to help–even if it meant he had to take her on all over again immediately after. He shuffled forward on his belly once more, and tugged at the roots to make sure they wouldn’t let him down. He dropped his left arm down towards Candy, could feel the tips of her fingers.

  “Now, you’re going to have to hold tight. I can’t hold you with that hand.” He reached a little further, felt Candy’s hand wrap around his thumb and the meat of the hand beneath it. His thumb alone couldn’t support her, but it was a start.

  “Okay, now can you get your other hand up higher?”

  Candy’s other arm wrapped around his wrist, and her full weight was on him. He could feel the cold, hard rock digging into that shoulder. If he had any strength in his forearm, he could do more. His bicep moved her a little, and he shuffled back. If he could shift her but a few more inches her feet would be able to gain purchase. The pull on his injured arm sent pain rushing through his body, tons of tiny fires being lit up and down the forearm. He pulled again, shuffled up further. He could feel his arm pulsing, could feel the blood rushing to the area and with the additional pressure, gush from the wound. An image of his entire lower half of his arm peeling back, de-gloving, hit him and nausea washed over him again.

  “I’ve got it,” called Candy. The pressure on his arm lifted a little. But the sound of rock-fall came immediately before the pressure came again. What little rock she’d been able to find beneath her feet had slipped away. She had managed to reaffirm her grip on his arm, a little higher up, close to his sleeve.

  As her hand twisted on the material of the jacket, it was as if a plug were pulled. The blood that had welled within the sleeve, suddenly flooded free, covering Knight’s arm.

  “I’m slipping,” Candy cried, but even before the words left her mouth, he could feel her fingers sliding away from him.

  Knight roared. He pulled with the strength of both arms, but the whole time his left arm lifted, hers slipped further away until he felt her fingers in his, couldn’t close his hand around them, and then she was gone.

  He lay there for a moment. He’d lost all. He’d lost Candy. He’d lost the bear. He’d return to Cheyenne and he’d lose Adams too. That was if he’d be able to return to Cheyenne at all. He adjusted the jacket. Whatever protection if had held against his wound was gone. As he shuffled towards the vehicle, he felt the familiar effect of blood-loss.

  He climbed into the vehicle and breathed a sigh of relief until he reached for the ignition and realised there was no key.

  He closed his eyes. He might be able to hotwire the vehicle, but he’d need just a minute to catch his breath. He was so tired. He’d be okay in a minute. He closed his eyes again, and as sleep took him, he was certain he could hear the sound of growling.

  Chapter 22

  As consciousness returned to Knight, he ran his usual waking routine. Everything was wrong. His body temperature was irregular, the cold wind that blew in through the shattered windows blasted him with shards of ice, but other parts of his body felt impossibly warm. He could feel pressure on his body, similar to that of a blanket, but he remembered that he wasn’t in a bed. He’d not gone to sleep, he’d passed out. Over the sound there was something else too, the sound that had woken him: a helicopter high above.

  He opened his eyes. The first of dawn’s light had crept over the mountains, shining a light through the windscreen and revealing what had substituted for a blanket. He came face to face with a badger, or at least its head and fur. Someone has placed it over him for warmth, to keep him alive… but who? Knight’s first thought was Candy. Could she have survived the fall? If so, surely she wouldn’t have created something quite so crude. It looked as if it had been torn apart by claws…

  He tried to move, but his head pulsed. He was still suffering from his injuries, weak from blood loss and suffering dehydration. Instead of exiting the vehicle he leant forward until the helicopter was in sight. That it was of the type typically used for air-rescue and in the colours of Yellowstone National Park rather than an attack helicopter brought Knight some level of comfort, not that it guaranteed that those on board didn’t have malicious intent. He had to hope they were rangers, that they’d been alerted to the fact that he and Candy had not returned and this was the search party sent to find them. He eyed the arsenal of weapons beside him. If not, he’d at least have a fighting chance of survival.

  The helicopter landed somewhere to the north, somewhere out of sight. In daylight, they’d no doubt found a more suitable landing spot that he had. It would only be a matter of time before they reached him. The enemy he’d faced so far had been far from subtle, so he thought he had a good idea about what was going on. If this was the same sinister agency that had tried to intercept his bear, that had set up Adams in the first place, surely they would have shot at him from the helicopter, or finished him once and for all with some kind of explosive. No, it was much more likely this was salvation. His arm needed urgent attention. Other wounds would heal over time, but what hurt most was the overwhelming sense of failure. He’d misread Candy. She’d been playing him all along, had sold him out and would have had him killed, and still he tried to save her at the last. What kind of a man did this make him? Once more his weakness was found out: he couldn’t help but care about people, even if they were the wrong people.

  As he pondered, he caught sight of a khaki jacket moving through the pass. Seconds later there was another. Knight reached for the gun, confident it wouldn’t be required, but not quite trusting enough to allow an unknown to approach without any protection. The closer they got, the more he could make out. They looked like the kind of men he’d seen at the rangers’ station previously. There was something about their manner in nature’s domain. They held themselves with dignity and a quiet respect. One capped a hand to his mouth and called out, first of all Candy’s name, and then, “Hello!”

  Knight found he couldn’t reciprocate the call. He’d have to wait for them to reach him, and then he’d have to give them the bad news. The only way the mission could have gone any worse was if he died. Or perhaps if he lost a limb, but as his left arm hung dead by his side he wasn’t entirely certain that wasn’t a possibility.

  Knight may have passed out again for a second as there was a rap on his door, and as he turned to make eye contact, the ranger pulled it open. “Knight?” he asked. “Candy with you?”

  Knight managed a weak shake of his head. “She was,” he said. “She’s gone.”

  “Where?”

  “She went off the edge. I tried to save her.”

  The ranger indicated to his colleague who began to survey the surrounding area.

  “What were you doing all this way out anyway?”

  Knight didn’t even know where to begin. He closed his eyes, and however much he tried, he couldn’t get them to open again. He only heard snippets of conversation. “He’s hurt.” “Urgent.” “Recovery team required.” And while he felt movement, people grabbing at him, moving him, he couldn’t make sense of it. Even the noisy whirr of helicopter blades seemed like nonsense, and when the helicopter took flight, it was like his whole body was lifting to another plain altogether.

  Chapter 23

  One week later, Knight sat in the courtroom, in the guise of Kenneth Connor: Court Reporter. His arm and shoulder were bandaged up, and he was going to make a full recovery. Those wounds were hidden beneath his shirt and suit, all the more snug as result of the layers of bandage. Other wounds that could not be seen were to his pride, to his honour. He’d been called upon to save his former mentor, his friend, Chet Adams, and now he sat in court ready to see him put on trial and hung out to dry.

  They’d spoken. Knight felt every bit like the small boy who had been rescued from his old house when he had to face Adams as a failure.

  “But you saw the bear?” Adams had said while Knight recounted the events.

  “I saw him.”

  “And you saw the wound?”

  Knight remembered the bare patch of bear skin, the distinctive scar left by a bullet. “I saw the wound.”

  “Then you know. You know I didn’t kill Qiang Hu.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20