Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(9)

Jesus. She clutched her head, the hut bouncing around in her vision. Her hair was hot but no wound. A third crack, another thump, and the hut’s front window shattered. The shooter couldn’t have her confused with wildlife—he’d have stopped by now. He was hunting her. She veered off course and plunged thigh-high into tussock beside the hut as a bullet punctured its front wall, a meter away. She rounded the back of the building and pushed her spine against the cold wall, chest heaving. A half-second gap between the sonic boom and the thump, so he was maybe four hundred meters away, elevated—any closer, she’d be dead. Holy shit. What now?

A burst of fire this time, spraying the other side of the hut, shattering glass, pinging into tin. Automatic fire. Not your standard hunting rifle. Hosing the place because he’d lost line of sight?

She couldn’t stay here. Too obvious. And a matter of time before a bullet went right through the hut.

Cody. Where was Cody?

Wait—a military loner with a death wish? Had she got him all wrong? Exactly what had he stashed in that kayak?

No. The tourist—the hole in his chest. That was no goring. What about his girlfriend and the other couple? The search had concentrated on the river but maybe the river wasn’t the culprit.

Whatever the situation, she had to retreat, one good, quick decision at a time. Get Cody; get out of here. Maybe lure the shooter away from the chopper and double back to it. Raise the alarm over the radio, alert the police Armed Offenders Squad. Alert the fucking army. Fly over the glacier, find the climbers.

The shooter had stopped. Gone stealth to stalk her? The forest had silenced, the birds flown off. She couldn’t even hear the river with her eardrums blown by the gunshots, just her own fast breath. She leaped across the tussock, to leave less of a trail than striding through, and ducked into the trees. Her jacket was black, at least—unlike Cody’s bright blue one.

She inched into the scrub, watching over her shoulder. Even tiptoeing, her sneakers crunched. When she could no longer see the hut, she exhaled. First task: find Cody.

Movement, to her right. Her breath caught. A weka charged from the undergrowth, its panicked little legs whirring like a squat brown Road Runner.

A noise, ahead. She swiveled and her nose smacked into a big navy-clad shoulder. She lifted a knee to the guy’s nuts but he spun her and caught her tight around the waist, pinning her arms. She stomped but missed his foot.

“Tia! Jesus!” he hissed.

He released her and she wheeled around. Oh God, it was Cody, his eyes wide, checking their surroundings. He’d taken off the blue jacket, leaving a skintight long-sleeved thermal. Damn, how much noise had they made?

“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered.

“Some nutter with a rifle—I didn’t get a look.”

He nodded sharply. “Let’s find cover.”

She followed him toward the river and down a rock bank, ignoring the hand he held out. Ahead, through the trees, the water rushed over stones, lit bright by the sun. A dog barked. The shooting started up again. More automatic fire. She pressed her back against the clammy stone. Next to her, Cody did the same. Ricocheting shots, smashing glass, clanging metal. Another dog joined in. “They must be in the clearing,” she whispered.

Cody’s eyes met hers, his jaw squared. “He ain’t conserving ammo.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“How do you know it’s not a woman?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m kinda more concerned about the firepower. Gotta be an assault rifle—pretty much the same weapon we use to hunt humans.”

“Did you just make a joke about hunting humans?”

“Wasn’t meant to be a joke. Sometimes when you’re looking through the scope, it feels like that... You okay? You’ve gone a little gray. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not that.” She told him about the body. His expression grew grimmer by the word. Jolted out of holiday mode and into work mode. Lucky for her he wasn’t a lawyer or a...pianist. “He really is hunting humans.”

“Okay,” Cody said, as if that wasn’t at all problematic. “I’ll lure him away while you get to the chopper.”

“Yes. Then you can double back and join me.”

“No. You go without me.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“It makes sense. I’ll have to lead him far enough away that he’s out of range as you’re lifting. Going by that firepower, I’m thinking maybe a mile. No point in me then giving him time to return.”

“You don’t know this bush. I’m guessing he does—and so do his dogs. You might get lucky for half an hour, but...”

“He?”

“For convenience’s sake.”

A flicker of a smile at his tiny victory. “You said it yourself—I’m a risk taker with a death wish.”

“Cody, I’m not leaving anyone else here.”

“You’re leaving me.” His hand went to his hip, then froze. Checking for a nonexistent weapon. He fisted his fingers, and released. “Look, I’m not some hippie backpacker. I’m good at getting shot at. I’ll lead them away, then swim the river so the dogs can’t get me—assuming they can’t swim.”

“If they’re hunting dogs—and they sound like it—they’re all muscle and mouth and no fat. No buoyancy, especially in fresh water. They’ll sink like rocks.”