Before she could say anything another shot rang out. A larger, deeper sound, possibly a shotgun. Definitely not Girard’s weapon. That made at least two - possibly three - shots aimed at Girard. He might be fast. He might dodge a badly aimed bullet, but three of them? Hallie did not like those odds one bit.
“Leave me,” Rhodda said, voice a harsh whisper. “I’m slowing you down. Save yourself.”
“I’m not going to abandon you.” Hallie kept her voice low, coming to a stop. She was breathing hard, too, not fully recovered from all the magic she’d used the night before. She might not have any strong connection to the other woman, but she couldn’t imagine leaving anyone behind to just be caught. But neither she nor Rhodda were in any shape to keep going for much longer. And Hallie was worried about Girard. Thinking fast, she looked around, searching for somewhere that Rhodda might be able to hide. And for the first time regretted the lack of undergrowth. But there were a few trees nearby that had low-hanging branches and thick leaf cover almost to the ground. “Here, can you get up on this branch? A little bit higher, up among the leaves if possible?”
“I think so,” Rhodda said. She managed, somehow, to pull herself up into the tree and then higher, so that she was completely concealed by the large, dark green leaves.
“Stay there,” Hallie said. She reached up, put a hand on Rhodda’s arm. “I’m not going to leave you. Stay there, quiet and out of sight, until Girard or I come and get you. I need to go and help him.”
“You’ll get yourself killed,” Rhodda said bitterly. “You can’t win against the gunners or the governor’s men.”
“We’ll see,” Hallie said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. It was just her and Girard, after all, with one weapon each.
But she had to try. She couldn’t keep running. She wouldn’t keep running. It sounded like Girard was in trouble and she needed to find out what had happened to him. After that, she and Girard had been sent to find out what was going on and that was what she was going to do.
The determination gave her a much-needed spurt of energy and she turned on her heel, heading back the way she and Rhodda had come. At least, she hoped it was the right way.
Chapter twelve
Itdidn’ttakeherlong to get back to the edge of the undergrowth and from there it was easy to see the path she and Rhodda had made, heading away from the road. Hallie followed it, moving as quickly as she could until she could see a thinning out of the trees and brighter light ahead, which she thought was the gap for the road. There had been no more gunshots, but, wanting to stay out of sight, she moved to the nearest mature tree which had a thick trunk and a tangle of tall, broad-leafed, copper-coloured grass at its base. She pressed herself against the rough bark of the tree trunk and paused, listening as hard as she could.
The first thing she heard was what sounded like a badly maintained motorbike engine. It was operating at a low level, as if it was idling, and sputtering at odd intervals. Peering around the tree she saw that there were at least three vehicles on the road. Two ATV-type vehicles with driver and passenger seats and space at the back for cargo, or other people to travel, and oneheavy-looking motorcycle that would easily carry two people, its tail pipe puffing out discoloured exhaust in time with the engine sputters. Hallie couldn’t help but think that leaving the engine running was a waste of fuel, but perhaps whoever had been driving it didn’t want to risk not being able to start the vehicle up again. All the vehicles looked hard-used, with dull, flaking paint and more than a few dents that Hallie could see underneath the coating of dried mud and dirt.
Three vehicles, all of which could carry two people, and Hallie couldn’t see a single person, apart from the curled up body on the ground next to the crashed ATV. That meant that the new arrivals - at least three, perhaps as many as six - were somewhere in the woods. Perhaps very close by. And moving quietly enough that she couldn’t hear them. Or, rather, hadn’t heard them. She slid silently down the tree until she was crouching at its base, amid the copper fronds of the grass.
Between her own heartbeat and breathing, and the sputter of the engine, she caught other sounds. The sigh of wind through the leaves overhead. A rustle nearby that she thought was most likely a forest creature, perhaps annoyed at having its day disturbed. There were scents, too. The exhaust from the motorbike and the lingering stench of burning rubber from the crashed ATV were overlaid with the faint trace of old sweat and wet socks and a sharper scent she associated with weapons. Gun oil. Yes, there were definitely other people in the forest around her. From what Rhodda had said, the people could either be gunners working for the principal of New Hope or men working for the unnamed governor. Neither seemed to be a good option to Hallie, although she supposed the gunners might be marginally better. After all, it seemed that the principal had wanted to make contact with the Conclave. He might not want her and Girard to just disappear, as it seemed the governor would.
She put a hand on the gun at her hip but hesitated to draw it. The shots she’d heard had been shockingly loud and if she fired, she would attract far too much attention. And she wasn’t skilled enough in its use to be sure of hitting her target. No. She needed a more basic weapon. A length of wood, or metal pipe. She looked around the ground at her feet but couldn’t see anything useful.
Movement nearby drew her attention and she tried to hold herself as still and quiet as possible.
Not far from her - far too close for comfort - a pair of men stood up from the undergrowth, exchanging frowning glances. They were dressed in clothing very similar to Girard’s normal working outfits - tough, hard-wearing trousers, leather jackets or jackets made out of similar material to their trousers, with heavy boots. The men’s clothing was old, worn out, showing patches from repair, and bore stains of some kind. Oil, dirt from the forest, and darker patches that Hallie thought might be blood. They were also armed. One carried a handgun, the other held a blunt-ended gun that she thought might be a shotgun. It didn’t really matter what the weapons were, only that they were dangerous, and the men holding them looked ready and willing to use them.
“See him?” the one with the handgun asked. He was the shorter of the two, a stocky fellow, probably into his fifties, and had lived a hard life, judging by the lines on his sallow, pock-marked face and his grey hair.
“No. He must have run,” the other one answered, anger burning in his low, growling voice. He had broad shoulders and was about twenty years younger than the stocky man. He looked like he’d had an equally hard life, though. His bald head bore several silvered scars, and one side of his mouth was pulled down by what looked like an old knife wound. He held the shotgun with casual ease, muzzle pointed towards the ground.
They must be talking about Girard, Hallie realised, relief coursing through her that he hadn’t been caught, so far at least. But these men - or whoever they were with - had shot at Girard. They might have injured him. At least the men seemed to have no idea that they had an audience, glaring around the forest with almost identical expressions of anger.
“This is so stupid,” the taller one said. “What’s one man going to do?”
What, indeed, Hallie wondered, a grim smile crossing her face. They thought Girard was alone. That was good. She should be able to use that.
“Doesn’t matter what we think. Orders,” the stocky man answered, voice tight. He didn’t like the younger man, Hallie thought. But he wasn’t in charge, either, she noticed.
“Let’s go,” the tall man said, turning back towards the road.
“We’re not finished yet,” Stocky told him.
With a sigh of long-suffering, the younger man turned again and fell into step beside Stocky.
With a start, Hallie realised that they were heading right for her. Despite the long grass, they would see her. She only had a moment to take advantage of the fact they didn’t know she was there.
Hallie moved. She pushed herself up and forward, as fast as she possibly could, moving low so she was below the muzzle of Stocky’s gun when she crashed into him, shoving her shoulder into his mid-section, tumbling them both to the forest floor. The gun went off next to her ear, deafening her and starting a high-pitched ringing inside her skull. She didn’t have time to think about her hearing as Stocky twisted under her, bringing the gun up to try and hit her on the head.
But Hallie had spent ten years taking down fugitives and was used to fighting skips - human andveondken- who were more experienced fighters and often stronger than she was. She easilyavoided the strike to her head, grabbing Stocky’s wrist and squeezing it, turning it, so that he cried out in pain and dropped the weapon. She kept hold of his wrist and moved, coming up onto her knees, using her momentum to turn him with her so that when the taller man fired at her, his bullet hit the back of Stocky instead.
Hallie’s opponent went limp almost at once. No time to think about that. She drove up to her feet and barrelled forward, crashing into the taller man. She didn’t have quite the same momentum hitting him, and he was ready for her, so they didn’t crash to the ground. He staggered back a pace then braced himself, planting his feet. Hallie turned her shoulder into his chest, kicked back with one foot. She hit him squarely on the inside of his knee. There was a deeply satisfying and sickening cracking sound and he howled in pain, wobbling, leg giving out so that he stumbled to the ground. Hallie grabbed hold of the weapon in one hand and his wrist in the other, twisting until he let go of the shotgun. She used the shotgun as a club, hitting him as hard as she could across his head. His eyes rolled back, closed, and he slumped to his side.
