“Of course.” And we set off running, fast.
It feels good, so good, to be running and free. Just free. A fine, misty rain begins to fall. It’s sharply cold on my cheeks as I run. It’s beautiful. I call to Gabriel that I’m going ahead.
I pick up my pace and go as hard and fast as I can, over a hill and down into a glade. There’s a clearing near a stream. It’s getting light now and I stop. I sit on the ground cross-legged and wait, listen. It feels good sitting here, taking in the smell of earth and trees, and watching the stream run silently by. It’s so calm and peaceful that it seems absurd that soon we’ll be fighting and I’ll have to kill again. The forest reminds me of the place where I woke after I killed the fast Hunter. I was in shock, and the Hunter was dead, but the forest was the same as ever, as beautiful and peaceful as ever. And maybe that is all we can hope for, that the forest will go on being beautiful.
I hear Gabriel’s footsteps after a while, then they stop and I start to smile: I know he’s trying to sneak up on me. I remain still, my hearing straining for the slightest noise. He’s either stopped completely or he’s improved a lot. But then I hear a rustle of leaves close behind and I turn as he rushes to me and then shouts and leaps on me. We mock fight, then roll apart but remain lying on the ground.
“You’d be dead if I was a Hunter,” he says.
I laugh; he knows that isn’t true. I say, “You were good. I only really heard you right at the end.”
“Damned with faint praise,” he says.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means you’d have killed me.”
“Well, yes. But I think you’d have surprised most Hunters. There are some good ones and some less good ones.” I shrug. “You just have to hope you get lucky and only get the less good ones.”
“I have no intention of finding out what I get, as I intend to shoot them from a great distance anyway.”
“Good plan.”
He shuffles closer to me and we sit looking down the gentle slope through the trees to the stream.
I say, “There’ll be plenty of shooting. And soon.”
“Yes, there’ll be plenty of that and worse, much worse. ‘I see wars, horrid wars, and the Tiber foaming with much blood.’”
*
“We attack tonight,” Celia says.
“Our target is a new training camp with ten recruits and two Hunters,” Nesbitt explains. He arrived back early in the morning and now we’re being briefed. “I’ve watched the camp for the last two days. The trainees are mostly young; six are German and four French. They all understand English. They’re all female. They are all pretty good with guns but hand to hand they’re hopeless. One of the Germans can send out a noise similar to Celia’s but it’s weak and won’t disable you. One of the French girls can become invisible. Again it’s a weak Gift and she can only hold it for a few seconds but it’s enough to disorient opponents, or cause you to miss her, or give her a chance to sneak up on you. The two Hunters are old hands: English, female, early thirties, excellent shots, excellent hand-to-hand fighting.”
Celia says, “The recruits will be dangerous if they get to their guns. And they usually sleep with them. We attack at first light: some will still be in bed; some will not be fully alert.”
“Which brings me to the location,” adds Nesbitt. “They’re in an old airfield; it’s open ground with a fence round it. They sleep inside, in one of the small hangars. They have two on guard at the gate on three-hour shifts, but the new recruits don’t see the point of it and don’t patrol the fence.”
“How far is it?” Gabriel asks.
“It’s in France, over five hours’ drive from here, but Marcus set up a cut for us to go through. It comes out half a mile from the airfield.”
Celia says, “It gets light at six a.m. Nesbitt and Nathan leave here at four a.m. to scout. The rest of us leave at five.”
“I’m not a scout,” I say.
“No, you’re not. Nesbitt is our best scout and very valuable he is too. So your job is to protect him, with your life if necessary.”
Nesbitt grins at me. “I know you’ll dive in front to take the bullet for me, mate.”
“I’ll push you out of the way into a cowpat.”
Nesbitt shrugs. “Whatever works.”