‘Come on, Tim. Stay with me. Stay with me, now.’
He said, between clenched teeth, ‘Oh, Jesus, Max. It hurts.’
‘I know, love. I know. Can you walk?’
‘Yes.’ He squinted up at me, his face unrecognisable with pain. ‘Love?’
I tried to grin at him. ‘You’ll never remember this tomorrow. I can say whatever I like. Can you lend me a lot of money?’
He grunted as I tightened the bandage. ‘Not a problem. As much as you like. We’ve both … got the life expectancy … of a mayfly, anyway.’
I finished bandaging and looked at him properly. He was white, cold, and shaking with shock. Any minute now, he’d lose consciousness.
‘I need to get you back to the pod. It’s not safe here.’
Indeed, it wasn’t. I could hear people crashing through the undergrowth all around us. Shrieks and screams echoed through the trees, although who was killing whom was anyone’s guess. In the heat of battle, it would very much be a case of stab first and ask questions later.
I got him to his feet somehow. His arm dangled uselessly. I suspected he’d never have full use of it again. At least I’d slowed the bleeding. I tucked his cold hand inside his tunic to try to ease the weight.
He was so good. So brave. He never made a sound as we limped along the path. Behind us, the noise of battle grew more muted. On the other hand, the sounds of pursuit and sudden death were all around us.
Two big advantages, though. Our clothing blended well – thank you Wardrobe – and our move to investigate events at the baggage train had actually brought us nearer to Number Eight. If I craned my neck, I could see it. I began to entertain a hope we might get away, after all.
Wrong.
We were never going to get out of this.
I heard a shout behind us and looked around. A group of four or five men were heading towards us, swords drawn, but still some distance away. If Tim had not been wounded, we could have strolled to the pod, waved them a casual goodbye, and easily made our escape.
But Tim could barely move.
‘Go,’ he said. ‘Leave me.’
I was barely conscious of making the decision. In fact, the word decision implies choice. There was no choice to make. No difficult decision to wrestle with.
I pushed him off the path into a small hollow. Bushes overhung the far side. He fell, fortunately cushioned by drifts of still dry leaves. I jumped down after him.
There was so much I wanted to say to him. Well, it would never be said now. Even as he rolled over and said, ‘What …?’ I was fishing around for what I wanted. A nice smooth rock. Definitely no sharp edges.
I found one and said, ‘Listen to me, Dr Peterson. Wait here for the rescue party. They will come. Make it back safely. Have a good life. That’s a command,’ and tightened my grip on the rock.
Still not quite sure what was happening, he said, ‘What …?’
I slugged him with the rock.
Not too hard – oh God, not too hard.
He fell back soundlessly on to the soft ground. I rolled him under the bushes with his sword and covered him with leaves as best I could.
No time for goodbyes.
No time for … anything.
There was a time in my life when I never thought I would have any friends. Actually there was a time when I never thought I’d have a life, either.
I’d had both, against all the odds. But everything has to be paid for and my time to pay had arrived.
I scrambled out of the hollow, lifting my head cautiously over a fallen log. There were three of them that I could see, working their way slowly towards us. We had a minute, maybe less.
I pulled myself over the top, took one last look at where Tim lay hidden, and drew a deep breath. And ran. Away from Tim. Away from the pod. As fast as I could.
You can’t cry and run. One or the other. So I ran.
It seemed to me I’d been running all my life. The Somme, Whitechapel, Nineveh, Troy, Cambridge, the Cretaceous – you name it, I’ve raced through it.
This was my last run. Make it count, Maxwell.
I flew through that wood. I pounded along the path, jumping over logs, half-blinded by branches whipping across my face. I felt no fear. No fatigue. I flew. I could hear shouts and pounding footsteps behind me. They’d catch me eventually – and it wouldn’t be pleasant – but it wouldn’t last long. It would soon be over, and my friend Tim would be safe.
In the meantime …
I tucked in my chin, pumped my elbows, and went for it. Major Guthrie would have been so proud.
I ran and ran, twisting and turning, never once looking behind me, all my attention on drawing them away from Tim and the pod.
I was going so fast that I never saw the one who stepped out from behind the tree. I cannoned into him. He staggered but remained on his feet.
I kicked him hard, poked his eyes, and tried to pull his ear off. He roared in anger, but I had only one aim now – to get this over with as soon as possible. I heard his friends behind me.