Page 3 of V-Day
On the other end of the gully a single campfire burned, which destroyed her vision, so she could not see beyond it. Had it been laid there deliberately, just for this reason? She wouldn’t put it beyond Cristián. He didn’t like camping and he had never been in the military, yet he had a mind like no other. He had likely read somewhere—perhaps years ago, too—about blinding newcomers temporarily with a bright fire. Now he had put it into practice.
She stumbled around the fire, following the two men. In the better light, she could see them now. They were both typical Vistarians with olive skin, black eyes and hair and rangy figures. The leader of the two was in his forties and his chin was dark with growth. The other was closer to Chloe’s age—late twenties, she guessed. Neither appeared to be armed but then, neither did she.
The older man took her arm. “This way.” He spoke at normal volume.
He led her between boxy, regular shadows that were likely supplies or packs. Darker shadows in the last of the moonlight hung overhead. Tarpaulins as shelter against rain.
All around them, Chloe could hear soft sounds of people sleeping, their breath slow and heavy. Some snoring. How many people were here with Cristián? The whole town? It had emptied out…
The sides of the gully opened into what she had presumed was a valley of some sort. A short one, for the sides swept in to meet each other, the rocky crest forming a dark line in the night sky.
The younger of the two escorts brushed past her and ducked under a flat, taut plane. A tarpaulin or cloth, suspended just above man-height. The Vistarian bent and murmured something.
Another shadow stirred.
Chloe’s heart slammed against her chest.
The shadow sat up, then stood, bending a little to avoid brushing the tarpaulin. He moved out from beneath it and straightened. “Chloe…”
She swallowed. “I can’t see a damn thing. Cristián?”
“Who else would it be?” the shadow said.
Cristián. He was here, although this was nothing like she had thought their first meeting would go. She trembled.
The sound of a muffled gunshot was softer than the pinging sound the bullet made as it ricocheted off the rocky ground.
Everyone flinched. The men holding her crouched, bringing her down to the ground in a low duck. Chloe turned, looking for Cristián’s silhouette. It was gone—back into the deeper shadow beneath the tarp, she presumed.
Another shot sounded, also muffled. The bullet tore through the tarpaulin.
“Up on top, there. Do you see it?” the younger Vistarian said.
“Yeah.”
Chloe looked in the direction the younger man pointed. A higher lump of shadow sat atop the rocky edge of the gully.
“Stay out of sight, Cristián,” the older man said in a louder voice. “They’re aiming for you.”
There was no response.
The sleepers in the little gully stirred. Soft mutters sounded, voices rising in question.
The older man twisted around on the ground and looked at the younger. “Up the other side and around…come up on them from behind. Fast, now.” His Spanish was almost too quick for Chloe to follow, although her understanding of Spanish had improved considerably in the last ten days.
“Wait. What the fuck is that?” the younger breathed.
Chloe jerked her chin up to look at the lump of shadow above. A second shadow came up behind it and merged with it. There was a soft grunt and heavy exhalation. Then the second shadow rose back to its feet, while the first dropped flat.
Another choked cry sounded from behind them. Chloe whirled. At the top of the cliff, another shadow straightened, a second lump on the ground at its feet.
“There!” the younger Vistarian breathed, pointing.
A third attacker stood up, halfway between the first two, near the entrance to the gully.
The camp stirred to life now, alarm filtering through sleep-hazed grogginess.
A piercing, two-note whistle drew Chloe’s attention back to the first shadow. The figure raised both hands above its head, a heavy combat gun held in one. With deliberate, slow movements, the figure bent and put the gun on the ground then straightened, their hands still in the air.
