Chapter Twenty Eight
The bullet wasn’t meant to kill. The low-aimed shot forced it into the steel frame over the truck’s cab and ricocheted directly below the man’s ear, piercing the skull as it continued its violent tunnelling route.
Rusty had been looking down the darkened road where he earlier had heard an engine being screamed in low gear followed by gunshots. Afterwards there was only a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased broadcasting their nightly verse, subdued by the sudden outburst. An eerie calm descended where everyone waited to see what might happen, knowing that the violent noises just out-of-sight were sure to involve them. As the seconds ticked by they could see a shape taking form beneath the gloom of the trees. John looked over at Rusty. Despite the darkness it was clear there was fear in his eyes. Neither man held a gun; they were still to be trusted. Instead their security rested on the shoulders of strangers, the Hmong either side, plus a driver up front in the antiquated cab. Their lives depended on how the next few seconds panned out.
Waiting anxiously, they had watched as the shape gained definition. The Hmong lowered their rifles in anticipation, centring their targets for a probable fire-fight. Wary fingers pushed safety catches carefully forward. Out here on the dark jungle road any unexpected confrontation was going to be bad news. The atmosphere remained sharply intense, the wait becoming insufferable as they watched the figure take shape. The person was clearly running, moving closer towards them. Until they could be certain, the Hmong would not shoot. Others might have fired by now, loosing off rounds into the darkness, to take down the silhouette they could see before finding out what it was about. Eliminate the danger. But Hmong were taught to hold their nerve. Many learnt their trade in the thickest and dirtiest fighting seen in Laos during the revolutionary years, much of it hand to hand. Under pressure they could be trusted to react quickly and calmly, to focus on what was needed above the panic and clutter of battle. It was a nature so ingrained it became innate.
They heard the voice before they could recognise the running shadow. Rusty had known immediately. The accented ‘s’ bespoke of her South Island drawl, a soft-sounding Scottish twist to her voice. It was only a couple of days but could have been weeks since he heard that excitable Kiwi twang. How good it sounded. He quickly cried out to stop any possible bloodshed, pleading for them to lower their guns.
“Stop, stop! It’s Jean, she’s coming - don’t shoot, boys.”
If the Hmong were offended by his reference to them as “boys” they showed little sign. Their grasp of English was strictly limited to Dan’s short-wave radio, though they got the gist of Rusty’s shouting very quickly. Undoubtedly Pin would have made them aware of the missing backpacker called Jean. They lowered their aim, though only marginally. Seconds ago they were listening to gunshots and panicked driving. The situation was far from explained and needed neutralising.
Surprisingly John was the more vocal one. He shouted out towards the New Zealander emerging from the night shadows.
“Hey Jean, you’ve done well to find us all the way out here. Keep going and we’ll haul you aboard. Heard much about you. The introductions will have to wait until later. Seems like we’re a little stuck here.”
Without any hesitation Jean was at the truck and jumped straight up. Rusty was quick to haul her aboard, gripping her tightly. With his help she vaulted the side easily, her legs still pumped up from her terrifying run.
“What in the hell? We thought you were well away. Figured you would be tucked up in the city long ago.” The sudden appearance of Jean had left Rusty incredulous.
Jean took a few seconds to take a few large gulps of air. Her lungs ached from the extremities of exercise and sheer terror.
“I thought I was! On the coach I don’t know what happened. The glass was coming in and shots were tearing the seats up. It was hell. Even now I remember very little. I recall being lowered through the window. I was standing there and there was all this smoke. All I could hear were explosions and then I saw the bus was on fire. The smoke then became quite black. I have no idea what was going on, I couldn’t even see. A hand took mine and guided me away. I don’t know who I figured it to be, it was just re-assuring to be led away from that nightmare.”
“Who was it, Jean?” Rusty prompted. “We saw you with some Chinese guy. It looked like he was helping you, which was why we didn’t panic. By that stage we were away from the bus but had lost you in the mayhem.”
“Well, that’s where much of the story starts. We don’t have long at all. Wait a minute....”
Rusty followed her gaze. Out of the darkness he could see two figures, one slim and the other shorter and stocky with a determined walk. Without a good view he could already swear that the Chinese man was out there. If he was right, the heavy-set image he could make out looked a formidable foe. The body language alone spoke out boldly, as if it were taunting them, his measured walk displaying no sign of intimidation as they walked before the Hmong’s aim. Rusty’s gut tightened involuntarily. The two men appeared to be waving their hands, presumably in a bid to stop the Hmong opening up with automatic weapons.
“That’s them, that’s...”
This time Jean pointed, her heart sinking with despair. Once again she was stopped mid-sentence, this time with an intake of breath as the slimmer man spoke.
“Hello there. Don’t shoot; we’re here to help you. Do you understand me?”
The instruction came in English, a hint of public school brushed in. Had they yelled over a Laotian greeting they might well have been shot down. Bandits scouting the night roads were commonplace close to the plains. But the polished middleclass accent confused the Hmong; it was out of place on the isolated jungle track, in a language they barely understood. Their immediate thinking was that it was Jean’s travelling companions. They knew that she must have come with others; it was dangerous and unpredictable taking the road by night. But was she not just running from them? Just earlier the unexplained shots must have come from the twilight travellers, but where were the guns? The momentary hesitation bought Kae time.
“Don’t trust them. I’m not sure who they are yet.” It was Jean with the warning. She played with her hair nervously as she looked on, her hand unwittingly pulling clumps of straw blonde strands free from their roots.
Kae and Vig continued to walk forward cautiously, hands still clearly visible in the air. It was hard to tell, but they might even have been smiling.
“No, no, what am I thinking? Where are the others? There were more of them.” Jean’s voice rose slightly, reflecting a rising panic. Rusty thought how she looked and sounded so much younger when confronted, much the same as the last time he saw her aboard the ill-fated Vang Vieng bus. He was unable to follow these thoughts for much longer. Movement in the bushes disrupted his attention.
With the Hmong’s firepower centred on the apparently passive figures of Kae and Vig, shots rang in from the thick undergrowth to the side of the truck. It caught them all by surprise. No one saw anything; all they heard were the sharp booms as several bullets landed around the truck. Rusty was aware of a sudden spark marking the path of a deflecting bullet. A short whistling sound followed. He felt sudden movement. A heavy weight fell against him, warm and very still.
“He’s down, I think he’s hit!” Rusty wasn’t sure who he called out to. He wasn’t even aware that the shooting had stopped.
There was blood between his hands as he cradled John’s head. The matt lifeless eyes told their own story.
An extended barrel from the shadows came with one of the hired mercenaries. By now the previously passive Kae and Vig had produced pistols and were closing the gap with the truck. Their arrogant confidence grew in stature as the balance fully turned their way. With little alternative the Hmong slowly raised their hands, anxious to avoid a close quarters fire-fight. The simple trap had worked.
“You were supposed to shoot to miss, you fucking clown!” Kae was quick to pour his wrath on the nearest mercenary. “We’re not here to start a blood-bath, this is simply about insurance, the collateral.” Although he addressed the mercenary, the way he threw his voice ensured the words were meant for all. “We need walking, talking hostages. They’re valuable. I’ve invested so much time in this and have lost so much already. Would you have me walk away now? I need something; I need to make up for all of this and you’re all going to help me get it.”
“What now, boss?” Vig asked.
“We’ve just taken on some new guides. Our new-found friends are now going to lead us to Nirvana.”