The shot sent the forest birds screeching. Olivia’s heart rose so far in her chest she thought it was about to burst out of her throat. But it wasn’t her heart that came out, it was a scream.
Raimund was on his knees, one hand across his stomach, the other propped stiffly, stopping him from falling face first onto the dry grass and dirt. His head was down. His back was hunched. The sinews of his arm looked like wires.
She lunged for him, falling to her knees and cupping his face, calling his name, desperate to hear his voice, to see life and hope in his eyes.
He raised his head to look at her, pain dug into the lines around his eyes and mouth.
‘Olivia.’ His head dropped again, as though the effort of saying her name had used too much energy.
She kissed his hair, touched his cheeks, held her mouth close to his ear. ‘It’ll be okay. You’re strong. Too strong to die.’ The metallic scent of blood, the harrowing sound of his breaths, choked her throat. ‘Raimund, please. You have to hang on. I love you.’ She clung to him. ‘Please!’
Tears she couldn’t control washed her skin. Panic and fear took over her senses. She fought for control. He’d been shot. She had to do something. Still clinging to him, she dared a look towards his stomach. His palm was pressed hard against the wound and he seemed incapable of moving so she could help. Only his back heaved with either agony or the sheer effort of inhaling and exhaling. His breathing was hoarse and tortured and his skin felt clammy.
Then he raised one leg, planted it on the ground and heaved up his body until he stood, unsteadily, his left arm still wrapped across his stomach. Olivia clutched at his right arm, vainly trying to stop him moving. Blood stained his t-shirt. A blossom of black against the khaki. His focus changed to Gaston.
‘Please, Raimund.’ She plucked at his loose arm, horrified by that ever-expanding tide of black. ‘You have to lie down. You’re making it worse.’
He took a step forward.
Hysteria took over. She screamed at him, yanking on his arm, holding him back.
‘Stop it! Don’t you do this. Not again. I won’t let you. I won’t!’
‘You are either brave or stupid,’ said Gaston, aiming the gun at Raimund’s head.
Despite Olivia’s iron grip on his arm, Raimund managed to drag himself another step forward. A burst of blood soaked his t-shirt and the next step sent him stumbling. He turned his head towards her. His espresso eyes were dark. No reproach existed in their depths but she knew where the blame lay. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Then his eyelids drooped and he fell.
Her howl ripped the summer quiet. She dropped to his side, her eyes flicking between his face and that terrifying red bloom. He was still conscious, but barely.
‘It’s okay,’ she told him, forcing steel into her voice. ‘You’ll be okay. Today isn’t your day, Raimund. You hear me? Today is not your day.’ She took two deep breaths. ‘I need you to stay still. I’m going to try to stop the blood.’
She glanced at the wound. His arm had dropped to his side, exposing a small hole in his t-shirt. She didn’t know very much about bullets, but she told herself it couldn’t be that bad if the entry hole was that small. Flesh wounds appeared worse than they were. Lots of blood, not much damage. At least, she hoped that was the case.
Gritting her teeth, she leaned over him and gently tugged at the saturated shirt, lifting it up over where she thought the entry point existed. There was too much blood to see clearly, but then Raimund groaned and a bubble of red burst from a hole in his stomach close to his waist. Determined not to frighten him, she suppressed the moan that rumbled in her throat when she saw that awful round of blood.
‘It’s only a small wound.’
‘No.’ The denial came out in croak. ‘Back.’
Turning her head so he wouldn’t see her anguish, she closed her eyes. She understood now. The bullet was one of those deadly ones they talked about on TV cop shows. The sort that left an innocuous wound on entry but exploded on exit. She didn’t want to look at the damage, but knew she had to if she had any chance at all of saving him.
She glanced at Gaston. The gun was loose at his side. He was smiling euphorically, as if Raimund’s injury had somehow left him blessed. But he seemed content to let her work, and that was what mattered.
She scrambled on hands and knees to Raimund’s opposite side, to where the soil and grass was slick and sticky with coagulating blood. She knelt near his waist, knowing that to move him would cause him unbearable pain, but if an exit wound existed, she had to plug it.
‘I’m going to turn you, just a little bit. I need to check. Okay?’
He made a noise she took for assent. Taking infinite care, she slid one hand under his backside and the other under his ribs, and then lifted gently. She didn’t need to raise his shirt to understand the mess the bullet had left. The pulpy outline of mangled flesh and burst of blood made it all too clear. Quickly, she lowered him back down and slid to his head, cupping his chin, and drawing his gaze to hers.
‘You’re going to be okay, I swear. I’m not going to let you die. Do you understand that? I won’t let that happen. I promise.’ She drew a shaky breath, drawing on a core of strength that came from her love for him. ‘But you have to help. You have to promise not to give up. I need you, Raimund. More than you could ever know. Don’t let me down.’
Then she kissed him hard on the lips and went back to work. She had never believed a knife would give her such relief, but Raimund’s combat knife seemed like a godsend. However, her relief was short-lived. As soon as she reached for it, she felt the hard steel of a gun barrel dig into the back of her skull.
‘Please, Doctor Walker. It would not be wise to play heroine.’
She didn’t stop what she was doing. Gaston didn’t frighten her. If he wanted to kill them both he could go right ahead, but while she still had breath, she would use it to try to save Raimund.
The knife slipped easily from the sheath. The blade was incredibly sharp, slicing through the straps of Raimund’s webbing and then his t-shirt as if it were tissue paper. She cut away as much as she could, leaving cloth covering both wounds, and Raimund’s hand pressed against his stomach.
From his webbing she pulled a canteen of water, then laid down the knife and ripped off her own shirt. Besides Raimund’s fatigue pants, there was nothing else she could use as padding. Working as fast as she could, she fashioned a tie from strips of cotton then balled the rest into two bundles.
‘I’m going to roll you a little,’ she said to Raimund. ‘I need to wash the wound and apply a compress which I’m going to tie in place.’
His eyelids dropped slightly and she saw his jaw clench as he prepared himself for another onslaught of pain.
It took too long for Olivia’s liking to remove the soiled shirt and strap the clean dressing in place, but when she’d finally finished, Raimund’s eyes seemed wider and more alert. Almost immediately, her makeshift compresses turned scarlet, but she hoped that in time, if he kept still, the worst of the bleeding would be staunched.
Once more she crawled to his head, dragging the water canteen with her. She unscrewed the lid and held it close to his lips. He rolled his head away. Water spilled over his cheek.
‘Is water bad?’
‘Oui.’ It sounded like a sigh.
She stroked his forehead. There was so much she didn’t know and she fretted that her amateur half-panicked ministrations would only make things worse for him.
‘Is there anything else I can do? Anything that will help?’
His eyes closed. ‘Run.’
She smiled and leaned down to kiss his wet cheek. ‘Not a chance in hell and you know it.’
‘Portable. Birao,’ he whispered.
She glanced at Gaston. He had picked up the discarded knife and retreated to a rock, where he sat, gun dangling between his knees, watching her closely. The phone was in her backpack. She needed to figure out a way to distract Gaston so she could make the call.
‘Have you finished?’ Gaston asked loudly in English.
She glared at him, refusing to dignify his question with a response. She would only be finished when Raimund was in a hospital and the doctors attending him were swearing to her that he would live.
‘Perhaps then it’s time to return to the matter of Durendal. After all, that’s why we’re all here.’ He eyed her, and she could almost see the calculations he was making. ‘You will take me to Durendal now, I think.’
‘Go find it yourself.’
He walked towards her, until he stood at Raimund’s feet, looking down at them both as though they were a pair of difficult children come to spoil his day.
‘Ah, but I’m not so stupid, Doctor Walker. You only recited part of La Chanson. Perhaps there’s a danger of which I’m unaware. It would be foolish of me to proceed without that information, don’t you think?’
‘Shoot me. Kill us both. I don’t care. But you’ll have to find the sword without my help.’
His expression turned to one of contempt. ‘You try my patience, Doctor Walker.’
Raimund made a noise. Fear curdled in her stomach. She leaned in close. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hand reached for hers and gripped it with surprising strength.
‘Show him.’
‘I can’t leave you.’
He began to pant with the effort of speaking. ‘Save yourself.’
‘Yes, Doctor Walker. Why don’t you try to save yourself?’
‘Because I’m not interested in saving myself, only Raimund. But that’s something you couldn’t possibly begin to understand.’
‘In that case I can find only two solutions to our little problem.’ He raised the gun and pointed it at Raimund’s head. ‘I can either kill your lover right now or I can make a deal with you.’ He smiled, as if this was just a casual conversation between friends. ‘I’m not as unreasonable as you assume. Take me to Durendal and I will let you go. Perhaps you’ll return in time to rescue Raimund. There’s a chance he will die, of course. But there’s also a chance you’ll be able to save him.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘A reasonable compromise, don’t you think?’
The grip on Olivia’s hand tightened. Raimund was trying to speak but she couldn’t make out the words. She held her ear against his mouth.
‘La Tasse. Pit. Run.’
It was only four words but Raimund would not have wasted breath on useless ones. It was a plan of sorts, an instruction to her. She closed her eyes, thinking. Gaston didn’t know she had the cup. The odds were poor, but perhaps, in the dark, if she led him close to the pit she could use it to lure him into it. She turned and held her mouth against his ear, speaking quietly, not wanting Gaston to hear what she was saying.
‘I don’t think he’ll follow me into the dark.’
He released her hand and pressed a finger against one of the pouches attached to his webbing.
‘A decision, Doctor Walker.’
Following Raimund’s direction, she unclipped the pouch fastening and reached inside. The Cyalume sticks. She pulled out a handful.
‘Cyalume sticks,’ said Gaston, exultation widening his eyes. ‘So there is a cave.’
She glanced at Raimund. He beckoned her back with a look. His breath was laboured, frightening her with its rattle.
‘La Tasse. Pit. Run. Fast.’
He didn’t need to tell her any more. She understood now. They had a chance and she would take it. There wasn’t much time and Raimund knew it.
‘I love you,’ she whispered. Then she stood, stuffed the Cyalume sticks into her front pocket and walked towards her backpack. Without looking up, or removing the aluminium case, she dug her hands into the pack and unclipped the latches securing the lid. The confines of the bag didn’t allow for a wide parting, but she had more to worry about than breaking a piece off the cup.
‘Hands out,’ ordered Gaston, pointing the gun at her chest.
Although her heart was thundering, she kept her voice calm. Surprise was her ally. All she needed was a few seconds more.
‘There’s something I need,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry. Unlike you, I don’t carry around weapons.’
Her hands closed around the bowl. She cast Raimund a last glance. He nodded and she saw a faint smile tug at his mouth, encouraging her. She smiled and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. Then she stripped La Tasse from the case and held it up to Gaston.
‘You want Durendal? Then you’d better follow me.’
And just as Raimund had ordered, she ran.
She flew up the boulders, scraping knees and banging her shins. A chunk flew off the rim of the cup and fell between a gap in the rocks. The largest boulder, the one that had taken Raimund’s help to negotiate, posed no difficulty. She was driven by a power more formidable than anything Gaston could understand.
He was still clambering up the first boulder when she reached the entrance to the cavity and glanced behind. He hadn’t missed where she was, though, which was important. She needed him close on her heels, but not so close she was in danger of being caught. She slipped through the hole, crouched on the ledge and then jumped to the floor, her joints jarring as she landed.
Suddenly, the cavity turned dark. Gaston’s form blocked the tiny scrap of light. He was already sliding feet first through the hole. Backing into the cave entrance, she drew a Cyalume stick from her pocket.
With the stubby base of La Tasse looped between her thumb and forefinger, she dug one end of the stick into her palm and pressed her other thumb against the centre, forcing it to bend. The capsules crunched. She had her beacon.
She sprinted into the cave. From behind, Gaston let out a bellow, his feet slapping against the stone as he ran to keep up.
At the fork, Olivia veered right, dropping the Cyalume stick a few metres into the passage to indicate which path Gaston needed to take. Still running, she pulled another from her pocket and broke it, grateful for the light as she turned a sharp corner into darkness.
All the while, her brain was sifting through her memory, trying to recall how many twists and turns before the pit. Her descent was fast. The memory, though, remained elusive. Every corner forced her to slow.
And then she was on it.
She skidded to a halt, her arm outstretched for the wall. Echoing behind, she could hear Gaston’s footfalls and knew there was little time. She pressed her back against the rock and edged her way along, eyes wide as she came to the narrowest point of the pit edge. The ground felt soft, unstable, but she had to keep going. For Raimund’s sake. If she failed, he would die and she had promised she wouldn’t let that happen.
She refused to look down but her eye caught the faint green glow of the Cyalume stick Raimund had dropped earlier. Her stomach contracted with worry that this plan wouldn’t work, that Gaston would notice the glow. He must not be given the chance to see. His focus had to be elsewhere.
A piece of the pit side broke off and disappeared into that green-tinged blackness, but she kept moving. Step by determined step she eased her way along the perimeter until the rim turned away from the wall and she was on the other side.
She held up the Cyalume stick, frowning. The light was too bright. It would expose the broken lid of the pit and ruin her plan.
The pounding came closer. Gaston was almost at the turn. In a second he would be on her and her chance would be lost. She couldn’t even stuff it down her front. The light was so brilliant it would shine through the thin fabric of her bra. With no other choice, she turned and threw it as hard as she could down the passage behind her, hoping it would land far enough away to plunge the chamber into semi-darkness.
She held the cup loose in her hand and waited.
Gaston tore around the corner and halted. She raised La Tasse, holding it out like an offering.
His eyes shone in the darkness but they were locked on the cup. The corner of his mouth lifted in a snarl.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. She lobbed the cup in his direction, sending it sailing across the rotting lid of the pit.
Two steps and Gaston’s weight was enough to cause the edge of the pit to break away. Bellowing, he leapt for the side but lacked Raimund’s agility or strength to secure a hold. His fingers touched the dirt and then he was gone.
‘Enjoy your prize, you bastard.’
There was no triumph in her words, only relief, and once they were said her mind was filled only with Raimund. She pulled another Cyalume stick from her pocket, broke it, and for what she hoped would be the last time, crept her way past the pit then bolted for the outside.
And all the time she prayed and prayed that Raimund would still be alive when she arrived.