Chapter Twelve
Edwardo's meaty hand grasped onto Raoul's forearm, his grip like a vice and his weight like an anchor as Raoul helped pull him onto the jetty from the moored patrol boat. The wooden boards of the jetty creaked as Edwardo thumped down, whilst he groaned as he put weight on his injured leg. Or Raoul hoped it was that, rather than the groan of a man surveying the scene of what had been a very recent and sudden gunfight and doubting his decision to go with his Captain. Raoul glanced at the others, hoping they were not doubting either.
It looked quite the opposite. They all looked determined and ready, and Diego was practically vibrating with enthusiasm to go bounding off into the forest ahead and chase down the poachers himself. A stark contrast to his reluctance an hour ago. Raoul wondered how long that adrenaline would last, and if it was as good a fuel as the fury that burned inside him. Probably not.
Edwardo limped alongside him as they walked through the smoky remains of the fight, wooden splinters from the crates crunching and splitting further under their boots. The wispy, hazy remnants of the gunfire hung in the air, slowly drifting away on the gentle breeze. The smell of gunpowder was thick and acrid. A smell that tingled at Raoul's senses and his memories, bringing back unpleasant thoughts.
"Anyone hurt, Two-Skins?" said Edwardo gruffly, a heavy frown settling on his face. Raoul shook his head, trying to ignore the fact that Edwardo rarely called him that name. Probably wasn't a good sign. "Just those guys though, eh?"
Raoul looked down at the two bodies of the men he'd shot. Men who'd been breathing a few minutes ago. Raoul just looked at them, rubbing a thumb against the strap of his weapon. Raoul just shrugged.
"Hurt implies you can feel something. These two can't feel anything now."
"Lucky for them then, I suppose,'' said Edwardo darkly, clearly looking at the big red holes in the bodies with a slightly pained expression. Flies were already gathering at the glistening edges of the bloody holes, the buzzing growing louder.
"You sure you're ready for this?" said Raoul. Edwardo sniffed, rubbing at his chin and blowing a breath out.
"Bit late now, no? We're here now. No going back."
"Let's hope not,'' said Raoul, looking at the patrol boat. "You sure you don't want to stay here, mind the boat? That limp looks painful."
"Legs fine. I'm coming along Two-Skins,'' said Edwardo, wiping his forehead and hefting his weapon on its strap. "Look how much mess you make without me." Wasn't much humour in his voice, but Raoul smiled and nodded.
"Everyone ready?" said Raoul, as they drew up alongside the others. They all nodded sharply, eyes hard and focused. The look of people who'd had a taste of action and wanted more. A part of Raoul hoped they weren't about to bite of more than they could chew. Another part of him didn't care though. He had that taste as well. "Elena, take point ahead."
Without a word she turned and made for the road that led towards the trees. The way the surviving poacher had gone on the ATV, the mud still fresh from its passing. Raoul knew there was little chance of catching the man now. The poacher would have ample time to find the rest of his party and warn them of the gun-toting and vengeful boat crew who'd just shot some of their number. Maria seemed to be thinking the same thing.
"He could be anywhere by now,'' she said, falling into step with him as they followed the road. "Probably warning the others. We'll be outnumbered."
"I'm both certain and counting on it,'' said Raoul. "That prick has given us a fresh trail to follow all the way to the rest of those fucks."
"And if they set a trap for us?" said Maria. Raoul scratched at his beard, his cheek twitching slightly.
"Then we'd best not walk into it." As if it was that easy. Again, Raoul found he wasn't much troubled at this point. He looked ahead at the approaching treeline and felt only the anger inside him. He was hunting now. Like the old days.
He turned and took one last look at the river's edge and his listing, damaged patrol boat. The boat was tilting at an angle and still vomiting a thin plume of dark smoke, as perfect a visual metaphor for Raoul's wounded life that you could wish for. A life that had been bleeding uncontrollably ever since Julian's death, probably soon to sink beneath the surface along with his boat and any semblance of control. It suited him well enough right now. Once the dead weight of that life was shoved aside he could make things right by taking from those that had taken from him.
The breeze stirred a wisp of the smoke by the jetty, and a distorted figure stepped through the haze. Face slack and half hidden by the smoke. Then it was gone. Raoul blinked, looking again and seeing only the ruins of the jetty and the splintered crates and cargo. His skin prickled uncomfortably for just a moment before he spat on the ground and turned away, ignoring the tricks his mind wanted to play on him. The ghosts could stay with their corpses.
Elena, some twenty metres ahead, had vanished into the trees. In an arc formation they followed her, stepping across the threshold of the forest and away from the light of the grassy riverside. The chirps of the insects in the grass began to fade, replaced by a thick stillness amongst the trees. The warm air, no stranger to Raoul, began to intrude through his collar. Seemed different than it had done when he'd leapt off the boat onto those mangroves. The wind was struggling to penetrate between the trunks, which were growing steadily thicker. Steadily taller. The canopy above was climbing, seemed like another world entirely that existed above their heads. A network of twisting branches and tree-limbs. A place for eyes to watch. Raoul frowned at it all, dragging his attention back to the tracks left by the ATV.
He glanced ahead at Elena, following the same tracks. She looked like a bloodhound, on the scent of the prey and keen to close in for the kill. To his right, Edwardo kept pace with him, but his limp was still evident. Raoul would have to keep an eye on him. If they had to run for any reason, Raoul did not like to consider the consequences. As if in answer to his worry, a faint sound carried through the trees. The sound of animals reminding any trespassers this was their home. Their rules.
Rules the poachers would break. And rules Raoul knew he must break as well.
The dirt road they followed took a meandering course through the trees, leading them on, until the ground began to rise. Raoul was soon breathing heavily, the skin beneath his collar becoming a bit more insistent to let him know it wasn't happy. He could feel the sweat beneath his shirt, under the straps he wore and tickling at wherever his body moved.
The rise became a ridge, and the ground mercifully evened out, giving them a view ahead and below of a woody ravine carving its way through the forest. Rocky edges poked from the earth and tree's leant at angles. At the bottom, a shallow stream trickled and flowed over a bed of shingle. The odd fallen tree lay across the stream, broken or intact branches sticking up into the air. On the other side of the stream the trees looked thicker, offering more cover. Raoul chewed at his lip, his mind assessing the terrain and deciding this looked like the perfect place to set a trap if you knew you were being followed.
The others had arrived at the same conclusion.
"Fucking kill spot down there, Two-Skins,'' said Diego.
"Aye,'' rumbled Ricardo, his lidded eyes slowly scanning the area. "Good place to get dead." Elena appeared from the side, slipping between some trees.
"The road leads down to a crossing in that stream, Captain,'' she said, leaning against a tree and adjusting her cap. "None too keen on following it down there though. The tracks climb up the other side and over the next ridge."
Raoul carried on chewing his lip, his eyes darting over everything. Every lump, rock or fallen tree. Every sway of the branches above. Every crow that was flying and landing on the trees on that opposite ridge, some even hopping from rock to rock. Crows that didn't seem troubled. It was enough for Raoul.
"Birds don't loiter so care-free when people are moving about or hiding. We go." He took a step forward, knowing they would follow.
"Birds also sense when there's good carrion on the way,'' said Ricardo, a note of warning in his voice.
"Then lets make sure we aren't on the menu, eh? Use the cover. Let's not march down there with our asses out for a poking."
Raoul ducked into the ferns beside the road and entered an awkward crouch as he edged his way down the slope towards the stream, his boots digging into the thick peat of the forest floor. The babbling of the water grew louder, a sound of untouched harmony that mingled with the gentle caw of the crows ahead. He glanced behind. The others had vanished. His heart skipped a beat for a moment at the sudden feeling of being alone, until he realised they were all around him, creeping from cover to cover. Even Edwardo was managing to hide his size.
Raoul took a breath, trying not to let the nerves of what they were doing catch up with him. It was easier when vengeance drove you.
They made it to the bottom of the ravine, hopping down into the shallow water and all aiming their weapons at the far bank. The shingle crunched under their boots, an intrusively loud sound and one that made Raoul's shoulders hunch. Sounded like the whole island must have heard them. Raoul felt a tickle of doubt for a second, expecting the whole forest to erupt in gunfire as they crossed the stream. Nothing happened. The forest went on being a forest.
Raoul was first across, scrambling up the edge of the stream and darting for a tree, his skin still prickling waiting for the hail of bullets. Maria hopped up beside him, resting against the tree. Her body was close to him. Close like it had been so many times before. He looked up at the crows ahead, still cawing or hopping at the top of the rise, and half remembered tales of warning from his mother about the Weeping Woman crept into his mind.
He glanced back at Maria, the sin of their infidelity scratching at his guts as he looked at her and heard the crows, their calls sounding like accusations. The pale, spectral figure he'd seen back at the jetty and the mangroves flashed in his mind. His skin prickled again before he spat into the ground with disdain. Myths and legends, meant to frighten children. He'd seen enough real things today to frighten adults. He gripped his rifle and moved up the slope, pushing onwards.
They flanked the climbing dirt road up the slope, darting from fern to fern and tree to tree. They quickly made it to the top and saw the forest going on and on ahead of them. A dark maze waiting, patient as a spider. The ground had evened out again, a welcome sight it seemed to Edwardo, he took a deep pull of air and wiped his shining face. Diego slapped his shoulder, grinning.
"You need a breather, big lad?"
"Wouldn't say no, being honest,'' said Edwardo. Raoul shook his head.
"We need to keep going. Come on."
Edwardo grimaced as Raoul led them on, moving through the trees and shrubs, and then they all stopped.
Beside a tree, the ATV was sat silently.
Almost in unison, they all sank to a crouch, weapons aimed and fingers on triggers. Raoul's palms were immediately itchy, his back noticeably damp and the pulse in his throat a sudden thump he could hear in his ears.
Any moment now the bullets would rip into them, finishing what was started on the ocean. He curled his lip in a silent snarl. They may have started the murders, but he'd started something different now, and he would be the one to finish it, not the poachers. Only once again all was quiet. No gunfire. No shouts of anger. No screams of pain.
He frowned, trying to puzzle out the game. He looked at the ATV and frowned harder. It was pointing towards them, with no sign of the rider anywhere. Diego crept over to him, patting him gently on the arm and pointing. Raoul followed his finger.
Beyond the vehicle, on the dirt road, the tracks of the ATV could be seen weaving and criss-crossing before leaving the road and ploughing onto the forest floor and snaking back to where the ATV sat. Looked like the poacher had decided to turn around very suddenly and come back the way he'd come. Raoul wanted to know why.
He rose slowly, gently pushing the fronds of ferns out of his way with one hand whilst he pointed his rifle at the ATV. The crew followed suit, gently fanning out around him, all of them tense. Above, crows had gathered. Their cawing was becoming distracting and more insistent now. Less an accusation and more of a warning.
Raoul moved towards the ATV, with Diego just beside him. He could hear the man breathing, hear him fighting to control it, to stay calm. It was a sound Raoul was making himself. The crows cawed louder.
The ATV continued to sit motionless. Raoul wondered why he thought it would suddenly jump to life. The tyres were caked with dirt and mud, while glistening drops of water clung to the body, most likely from where it went through the stream.
"Two-Skins,'' whispered Diego, his eyes on something ahead. Diego's mouth was slightly parted, his eyes continuing to widen with disbelief. Raoul looked ahead and felt his own mouth begin to drop open.
Two thin trees standing together, beside the road and not far from the weaving tracks in the road, were leaning at an angle away from each other. The ground between and around them was wounded with gouges, clumps of earth dragged into mounds. The splintered and severed branches of the trees were scattered around them and on the road. Leaves littered the area.
Raoul began to move beyond the ATV, towards the trees, staring at the gnarled edges and damaged trunks. The angle they leant at was becoming more and more noticeable, the evidence of something having moved between them more and more apparent. Then Raoul saw the arm.
The pale white skin of a human arm lay in the debris slightly further ahead. The crows above cawed again. The white fingers curled in a tortured, grasping claw at the end of the arm, mud and leaves stuck to the skin. The other end sported a hideous wound of torn and flapping skin, strings of gristle, muscle and stark red flesh. A single fly crawled at its edge.
Raoul's boot splashed into a puddle, flecks of water splattering his cheek. He looked down at his foot, muddy edges of the puddle sucking at the leather. The water was dirty, almost black. He wiped his cheek.
"Captain,'' breathed Diego, looking at him in alarm. Raoul frowned, then looked at his hand. A smear of red travelled across the back of his hand, the hairs on his hand all stuck down.
"My God,'' said Raoul. Above, the crows cawed again. He pulled his boot from the puddle, now noticing the stringy bit of innards next to it, purple and red and half laying in the pool of blood he'd stepped in.
His heart began to beat hard in his chest. His hunt had become the property of something elses, and he was feeling the gut churning realisation his trail had ended in a very bloody and very literal dead end. It felt like an insult. And then the fear began to creep in. The fear that brought with it the absurd truth of what island they were on. It had been easy to ignore before. Back when the animals were hidden and his only problem the bastards that had attacked them.
Now, he wondered if he'd made a serious error. He knew he had. But he was damned if would admit that any further, or to anyone. He pushed down the nagging doubt and gripped his weapon, flicking the barrel in the direction of the road.
"We carry on,'' he hissed. "This trail is cold, but this road leads somewhere. The rest of those fuckers are still here."
The faces of his crew did not convey much confidence. They looked very much like they'd all had a splash of cold water in the face instead of blood like him. Maria looked like she was struggling to swallow.
"Raoul," she said. "We should go back."
"We carry on," he said again. He moved back towards the road, panning his rifle in an arc and seeing the rest of the poacher.
A pair of legs, belt still buckled and boot laces still tied neatly, lay on the ground near some rocks and fallen trees. More evidence of damaged foliage around them. The jagged remains of a spine and two ribs sticking from it curled from the mass of red, yellow and purple guts that lay in a clump. A smear of dark blood coated a rock. The flies buzzed thicker here. And still the crows cawed above.
The stink was towering, and Raoul put a forearm across his mouth as he drew near. Then gasped as a low, deep growl thrummed from the ground. The crows went silent.
Breathing, through nostrils that sounded like bellows, followed the growl. Something dragged itself across the ground, somewhere out of sight. Sounded like a giant serpent slithering. Raoul found he couldn't move. Something was close. Horribly, paralyzingly close. Something he was not ready for.
The rock looked at him, and the breath in his lungs stuck there like an icy block.
A black pupil, the size of a coin, was glaring at him in an amber iris. The eye narrowed, and then the nostrils flared, and Raoul took a step back. The rock was moving, from side to side, and then lifting into the air. It's colour was changing. The mottled grey of stone was shimmering, rippling as it moved. A mouth opened, rows of teeth appearing. A dangling piece of flesh clung to some of the teeth.
The dinosaur stood, huge legs shifting from the position it had been laying in to stand in front of Raoul in a display of pure menace, its height towering above him. The flickering colours of its skin stopped changing, settling into a pale pinkish white colour, a sickly pink like that of a corpse. Above those eyes, a set of horns stuck out from its head. Only, they were uneven. Above one eye was a stubby short horn, whilst the other had a longer one sticking off at an angle, with a slimmer third horn at its base. An image of a monster, standing before him.
The mouth opened, and Raoul knew he was going to die. The creature took a step forward, big foot thudding into the ground, and the head came towards him. Raoul took a step back, his only urge to keep moving backward over-riding all senses. A hissing snarl enveloped him, and he stumbled back, landing on his ass and kicking at the dirt in his haste to retreat. He waited for the maw of the monster to come again.
Only it didn't.
It's foot hooked itself over the carcass of the poacher, almost protectively, and the dinosaur hissed again, baring its teeth. Raoul backed away further, feeling hands dragging at his shirt. He glanced to the side, seeing Maria, Edward, Elena and Ricardo all aiming at the dinosaur, eyes wide and hands trembling. Diego was trying to pull Raoul away.
"What are you fucking waiting for!?" hissed Diego.
"Wait!" choked Raoul. "Don't shoot!"
"Captain?" said Elena.
"Hold your damn fire! Look!"
The dinosaur was not attacking. It was even backing up itself now, that one foot still on the poachers remains. It snapped at the air, hissing at them again, but seemingly was becoming less agitated the further back they went. The growl was thrumming in its throat again, like the rumble from an angry cat, warning, but it was steady.
They clustered around Raoul as he gained his feet, damp earth plastered to his legs and sweat stinging at his eyes. The blood was pounding in his ears, but it seemed simple to steady his heart, to swallow that lump and thaw that ice in his lungs. A thicket of gun barrels pointed at the dinosaur, but still, it did not attack.
Instead, that big foot lifted off the bloody remains and it scooped the legs up in its jaws, turning slowly away from Raoul and his crew and receding away between the trees. Its massive body wove between the trunks and its tail swayed in its wake, and like a nightmare, it slipped away and was soon lost from view.
They stood there, watching, none of them moving, just the sound of their panting breath in the heavy silence. Then Diego chuckled. The kind of chuckle that bubbles up and out from sheer disbelief and utter relief. Then Ricardo made a similar wheezing sound of amusement. Then Elena was grinning, and Raoul couldn't stop the smile tugging at his mouth as if a pair of hooks had got hold of him. One by one they were squatting down, or leaning against trees as the tension flowed out of them.
Maria had slumped down onto her knees, looking wide eyed and incredulous and Edwardo was shaking his head and rubbing at his stomach, puffing out his cheeks.
"God borrow me," breathed Diego, that note of amusement in his voice again. "Anyone else think they may have shit themselves?"
"May have?" snorted Edwardo. "I'm hoping you got some spare underwear in that pack. Think I'm past may have." He puffed out his cheeks again. Diego's grin was becoming more and more infectious. Elena giggled. A strangely beautiful sound, coming from such a hard and wiry woman.
"That thing must have taken one sniff and knew you'd taste like shit big lad,'' she said, her own grin splitting her face. Edwardo rumbled with amusement. Raoul could feel the laughter in his stomach, desperate to get out. It felt good. It felt unbelievable. A minute ago he'd been face to face with death itself. Now he was holding back the laughter and the urge to grab all of his crew and hug them.
"Maybe it didn't fancy working its way through your chewy tits Elena,'' said Diego, passing round his canteen and wiping water from his lips. Elena narrowed her eyes at him, her lips twisting in a smirk as she took a drink.
"Maria's would be chewier than mine. You seen the size of them? Oh wait, of course you have. God won't be borrowing you much at all, you lecherous ass." She barked a laugh and shoved him playfully.
"I'll save you a seat in Hell, bitch,'' he said, draping an arm around her shoulder. "But we aren't going there today. Not with Two-Skins staring down these monsters." He saluted Raoul. "Don't know how you didn't turn and run Captain."
Raoul wasn't sure how he hadn't either. Every fibre of his body had been begging him to. Felt like he could have run a thousand miles. His heart beat was steady in his chest, but he could still feel the clutch of fear that had seized him, even if its fingers were slowly slipping away as the crew continued to slap backs and smile. Edwardo had produced a hip flask now, taking a pull and passing it to Raoul.
"Bit stronger than water Captain, and a bit more deserved I think."
Raoul took a sip and felt the burning smack of liquor hit the back of his throat. The heat travelled down his neck and into his stomach and felt like the most appropriate thing in the world to drink after facing down a dinosaur. He took another sip and passed it to Ricardo who still looked half asleep. God knows what would make the man look alert if a dinosaur didn't.
"Never seen anything so incredible,'' said Ricardo. Raoul's eyebrows climbed up into his hair.
"Don't see many T-Rex's on the sea, eh?" said Diego, accepting the flask. Ricardo nodded slowly
"That wasn't a T-Rex,'' said Edwardo, frowning with fatherly disapproval. "Didn't you see the horns?"
"I was a bit busy looking at the teeth, being honest,'' said Diego. "What was that thing then, Professor?"
"Carnosaurus? I think,'' said Edwardo, rubbing at his neck. "No, something like that though. My boy would put me straight. Wait till I tell him!" He carried on rubbing at his neck, slowing down and pursing his lips thoughtfully. A few of the smiles and chuckles died with Edwardo's sudden silence. Raoul could see them all thinking of home now, eyes seeing far-off places. Thinking of the people back there. Family. Raoul felt the sting too. His own children, and Sofía, smiling in his mind. He could hear the children's giggles. The sting became an ache. An ache of longing, and then his eyes were travelling to Maria, turning that ache to a stab of shame.
She was looking at him, hand twitching as if she wanted to reach out and touch him. Face soft and caring and smiling, revelling in the fact they were all still alive. Her eyes twinkled and the shame began to fade, a dangerous flutter in his stomach tickling at him. He wrenched his eyes off of her and stood up, brushing his pants down and shouldering his rifle.
"We need to press on,'' he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended. It felt wrong to abruptly stop this moment they were sharing, but the reality of where they were was now flooding back in. A bit of camaraderie will only last so long in a place like this. "We got lucky, just now. Let's not piss that luck into the mud, eh? Next time, the predators might not have a meal to guard."
There were few sober grunts and nods. Elena slapped Diego's arm.
"Captain's right. We still got a job to do."
"Aye,'' said Ricardo. "Still a score to settle, no?"
"A big score,'' rumbled Edwardo.
"Trail is cold though,'' said Diego. "The rest of them could be anywhere. Big island after all. We can't search all of it."
"We don't need to,'' said Raoul. "We follow this road and pick up the tracks of whatever other vehicles they've been using here. That landing by the river had signs that they've been doing this for weeks. Maybe longer. We'll find them. Elena." He nodded at the dirt road and she was off, slipping through the trees with her rifle back in her hands swift as you like.
They were soon back in their formation, moving through the forest and straining every ear and eye for signs of the poachers or anything bigger. Every snapped branch on a tree was now as big a warning sign as a rutted tyre track. Every rock or fallen tree or scattering of the birds a reason to crouch and grip their weapons.
And every step took them further into the island and away from those homes and families they'd all been thinking of.
Raoul pushed it all down. Pushed it away and brought back that writhing fury that lived in him. Brought back the image of Julian's sliced open head and that slick trail of blood on the deck where he'd died. Brought back the screams of all those who'd been killed in that fiery bloodbath on the sea. Thoughts of horror and murder. Old companions to Raoul, or old enemies. Depending on which memory he selected. All of it made every step forward happen.
And every step took him closer to vengeance. Or justice. Didn't really matter what you called it now. Raoul had given up finding the difference. Only difference was how many times you pulled the trigger, as far as he was concerned. And he was planning on pulling it a good few times.
The sun had climbed high by the time they emerged from the forest onto grassy fields. Raoul squinted as the light changed from dim murk of the forest to the garish white and blue of the sky above. Wispy clouds and tendrils of fog clung to the lofty summits of the green mountains that loomed beyond yet more forest and rolling hills. In other circumstances it would have been a sight of pure beauty. A slice of the world untouched by man. And then, as the ground sloped away on their far right, shapes appeared from the trees. Enormous, lumbering and swaying shapes.
Dinosaurs, in their dozens, were crossing the grassy fields. An array of life, in various shapes and sizes. Horned heads, or spiked tails, or necks of impossible length with the tails to match. The ground was rumbling beneath their feet now, tremors so strong Raoul was clenching his teeth together. They all watched, mouths hanging open as this slice of world revealed more of its inhabitants, and clearly the herbivorous kind this time round. Shades of green, brown and red drew Raoul's eye the most. The patterns and marking were unlike anything he'd ever seen. Which made complete sense really. Their striped or spotted skin was alien and intriguing, a showcase of seemingly unnatural nature. He'd have liked nothing more than to walk towards them in that moment and just follow them on their aimless march through the grass and forest.
He could hear them now. Mournful song or huffing snorts drifted on the breeze, like titanic farm animals. Sounds that he would never forget. Sounds that he would never hear for the first time again now. It felt like a privilege. A privilege that others in this world were intent on abusing.
"Ever seen anything like it?" breathed Diego, quite needlessly. Nobody answered.
Raoul watched the last of the tails vanish into the trees further away, and just like that they were gone, the fading rumbles of their movements dwindling and the odd crack of a tree. A single note of a sorrowful call sounded, and then it was silence again.
Raoul led them on, through the grass as the road meandered across the fields. They crossed the open space, plunging into the gloom of the trees on the opposite side.
"What do you reckon that is?" said Ricardo suddenly. He was pointing to something, hanging from a low branch not far from the road on the treeline. Raoul frowned at it. At first it looked like windchimes. Took a bit of breeze to turn it for him to see it was bones, tied together and dangling like some sort of grizzly ornament. Curled sharp bones and straight ones, knobbly pieces of vertebrae or the very clear curl of a claw. All finishing in a clicking and clacking series of teeth.
"Dinosaur garden décor?" ventured Ricardo.
"Probably just something left over from when InGen ran this place,'' said Maria. Didn't seem like the sort of thing a multimillion-dollar company would make. But then there was pre-historic life ambling about.
The bones knocked together in the breeze, creating a discordant music of hollow clonks. It was not a pleasant sound. Raoul looked around them, frowning at the trees and twisting shapes they made. Some of them so like the shape of a person. The feeling of being watched was never far away, but now it felt very insistent.
"Come on," said Raoul. "It's just bones."
He led them now, pushing the pace and covering the ground quicker and quicker. He allowed them only a few moments to eat what food they had in their packs and drink from their canteens. He could see the sweat on their brows, hear the breath panting from them. Edwardo's limp had gotten worse as well, at times he was falling behind. His bandage had shown a few fresh spots seeping through it, blooming patches of alarming red. He was pushing them too much.
But he kept going. Kept following the tracks in the road, taking junctions or new directions at cross roads with confidence. The evidence of thick tyres was becoming more evident as the shadows began to lengthen. In places, fresh mud had clearly been churned. Raoul sniffed. The faint tang of petrol hung in the air. He could feel his pulse quicken. The trail was growing warmer, and the hunt was closing in. His palms itched at the thought.
The afternoon had worn on when Raoul splashed down into another shallow stream from a narrow track in a steep bank covered in ferns, the gloom of the forest deepening and the shadows playing even greater tricks with their fickle shapes. Raoul was growing tired of seeing phantoms in the dark. The road passed on through the stream a few metres downstream, but Raoul wanted to remain hidden as much as possible now.
His crew hopped down around him as he began to cross through the shallow water. The current of the stream washed against his boots, carrying the mud and grime of nearly a day's trek with it. The stream was wide, with big patches of shingle and pebbles that made crossing a noisy endeavour. Edwardo was hissing as the uneven ground shifted beneath his bad leg. Diego was helping him across, a slightly dark look on his face. Might be their patience and thirst for vengeance was wearing thin.
"Shit,'' said Elena. "More bones. Look." She pointed to their left, where a fallen log had landed across the stream. It was difficult to see, but Raoul spotted the skull soon enough, laying just beside the fallen tree. Then the rest of the bones began to appear the more he looked. Only this wasn't like before. This was no macabre set of windchimes. Raoul moved closer, seeing more of the skeleton.
Some of the bones were missing and clearly been there a while, the grey shade of them turning yellow in places, but the shape of whoever this had been was still discernible despite having been picked clean save for some bits of hair clinging to a piece of dried flesh on the top of the skull. Raoul guessed at a man, given the size of the remains, and the tattered remnants of clothes lay in torn and ragged strips around the bones. There was even a pair of boots, laces still tied, laying somewhere where the feet should be.
A few items lay scattered by the mid-section, some tucked up under the bent and broken rip cage. Inconsequential objects. A rusted lighter, a small tin of what looked like tobacco maybe, and some batteries of some sort. Irregular batteries that looked more suited to powering a cattle prod maybe. Raoul brushed some dirt away from the lighter reading some letters that were inscribed on the edge. D. S. It meant something to someone once. It didn't matter now.
Raoul stood and left the corpse, heading for the opposite bank, straining his eyes as the murk of the forest waited for him.
Then light exploded around him.
He stumbled back, shielding his eyes from the sudden intensity of the light, blinking away the pulsing spots. He thought he'd cried out or cursed, but it was impossible to tell now. All around him, people were shouting. Mingled voices, and mainly in English, but he was getting the gist very quickly. Once voice rang out clear above the rest. A man's voice, steady and gravelly.
"Don't move a fucking muscle and every one of you drop those weapons! Now!"
Raoul managed to crack an eye open, making out the silhouettes of people on the back of heavy duty looking pick up trucks and four by fours, top mounted search lights on full beam and pointed at him and his crew from the opposite bank. Had they been there all along? Hidden in the gloom, just waiting for them?
He glanced down the stream, seeing another truck rolling into the ford off the road and turning into the water, approaching them menacingly. More lights from the truck illuminated them all, the cold feeling of complete exposure settling in. He could see his crew now, weapons still in hand and eyes wide. Elena was twitching her rifle up. Another glance at the people on the bank and in the vehicles told him they were outnumbered and outgunned by some margin. He didn't even have time to feel the awful burn of the failure of his hunt. It had all fallen apart and now it would end. In only one way.
"I said drop your damn guns!" Someone thumped down next to one of the trucks and was now approaching, a big handgun in his hands and a hat on his head. "Chop fucking chop!"
Raoul narrowed his eyes, his fist clenching around his rifle strap, but he could feel the inevitable coming, as sure as the setting sun. His shoulders slumped and he let his rifle clatter to the ground.
"Drop your rifles,'' he said to the crew. A few disbelieving eyes looked at him, but soon their weapons were on the ground next to their feet.
The man in the hat came and stood in front of Raoul, barrel of his gun carelessly pointing up under Raoul's chin. A thick-set man, with weathered skin and breath wreaking of oranges, with big hands with dozens of small scars, with thick meaty fingers. Wiry grey hair stuck out from under the edge of his hat. He smirked at Raoul, poking at the rifles with the toe of a big boot.
"Now then hombre, that's better aint it?" He patted Raoul's cheek, calloused hand rough and hard with the metal of at least three big rings. He nodded at a group of others who had circled around the crew. "Bind and gag these cunts. They are coming with us." He smiled a wild smile, the stink of orange coming with it.
He turned away, and then whipped his hand back at Raoul's head. Light exploded again and Raoul saw the ground rushing up at him before it went black.