Next came more of the same winding mountain road. King was glad he didn’t get carsick. These parts would be hell for anyone who suffered from that kind of nausea. Never-ending bends, twisting their way through uninhabited woods.
He rounded a corner, travelling close to seventy miles an hour, and was instantly blinded by a bright flash. The light lasted for only a split second, crossing his vision from somewhere ahead. Any normal civilian would have no knowledge of what was to come, simply passing the flash off as an anomaly.
They would die.
King knew exactly what the flash meant. A few rifles he’d used in the past had come equipped with the same red laser mount that had just passed across his face. The device emitted a single powerful dot which let the triggerman know exactly where their aim lay. Someone had a powerful weapon locked onto the sedan. He had no idea who, and no idea where they were. But the brief flash was all too clear.
For the second time that day, instinctual, rapid reaction speed saved his life.
As soon as he felt his vision go a small section of his brain screamed danger and his limbs fired on all cylinders. He switched instantaneously to survival mode. Ducked to one side of the driver’s seat, at the same time wrenching the wheel in a vicious arc, throwing the car off-course. The stomach drop as the wheels screeched on the asphalt almost overrode his senses, but he was still able to feel a volley of rounds dot the inside of the car, blasting in through the open windscreen. They were powerful shots. High caliber. He felt his seat vibrate as a couple thudded into the fabric of his seat. Inches above his head.
Being fired upon was always terrifying, no matter how many times King experienced it. His heart hammered in his chest as gunfire destroyed the interior of the sedan. If a shot hit him, it would be all over. His organs would rupture and the car would career into a tree at seventy miles an hour. But his evasive move at the last second had thrown the marksman’s aim off just enough for him to escape a direct impact.
Now, though, he had created another lethal problem.
The sedan careered wildly, out of control.
It swerved and bucked across the road. King tried to turn in the opposite direction but he overcompensated. The car slid sideways, tyres screaming, heading straight for the forest on the far side. Time seemed to slow down as he turned his head and saw the trunk of the nearest pine coming straight at him, about to crumple the chassis. His stomach fell further. Not from the rush of vertigo. From fear. He could outsmart a man trying to kill him. An uncontrollable vehicle was a different ball game.
He managed to twist the wheel one last time, straightening the car ever so slightly. It began to correct course. But by then it was too late. It came off the road and ploughed through a stretch of ground covered by leaves, built up from the end of autumn the month before. Then the right-hand side of the bonnet directly in front of King crumpled against a pine tree, metal on wood, shaking the whole car. A violent, savage impact. His brain rattled inside his skull and an explosion of sound surrounded everything. He felt his ass lift off the seat and before he knew it the directed force of the crash sent him flying out of the shattered windscreen.
He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt.
Which, in hindsight, probably saved his life.
If a strap of leather had kept him in place the sheer force of the car slowing so rapidly would have unquestionably knocked him unconscious. Which would have be fine, had someone not been trying to kill him. Instead, his vision devolved into madness as he spun like a rag doll out of the wreckage. Nothing but twisting, blurring colours. The sky. The ground. The forest.
He hit the leaves along the side of the road like a freight train. The collision shook him to his core. He attempted to roll with the landing but only managed a half-hearted attempt. He twisted once and smacked chest-first into the ground, finally coming to a halt. Nerve endings fired across his skin. Pain exploded in too many areas to count.
He lay amongst the leaves for what felt like an hour but in reality was nothing more than a couple of seconds. Quickly, he assessed the damage. There would be injuries. That was inevitable. But he wasn’t paralysed. He could move. The adrenaline and the urgency of staying alive would allow him to push through until he was safe enough to tend to his aches and pains. The blanket of vegetation and eucalyptus leaves had created a slight crumple zone. It had removed most of the impact from the landing. If he’d landed onto the asphalt road instead, they would have had to scrape him off the pavement.
There was no time to recover. Not yet. He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the icy stabs of agony along his back and down his arms. He was up so quickly that shock barely had time to set in. His blood still flowed hot from the sudden altercation. Perhaps all the evasive action had been for nothing, and he was about to take a bullet to the skull.
He saw Billy’s sedan in front of him, resting idly, nose buried in the trees, one side of the bonnet completely destroyed. Smoke sizzled from its bonnet. He spun and searched for the source of the gunfire. Right now, he stood in open territory. There was no cover nearby. If they wanted to kill him, he was helpless.
But he stayed alive.
He guessed the assailant had used up an entire magazine firing at his sedan. As he scanned the tree line on the opposite side of the road, he saw movement between two trees. A shadowed figure, disappearing into the forest. Retreating. Probably out of ammunition. Needing to reload.
He had no time to think. No time to retrieve one of the M4 carbines from the back seat of the wreckage. If he took the time to arm himself, his enemy would be long gone. He had to give chase now. The Beretta M9 had a few rounds left. That would have to do.
King broke into a sprint. He crossed the mountain road at a lightning pace and dove into the scrub on the other side.
Pursuing the man who had twice come close to ending his life.
CHAPTER 21
As King followed the man into the woods, he couldn’t shake a feeling of deja vu. It brought back memories of Buzzcut’s demise. That’s how it all started. Chasing killers through the forest. A small part of him considered giving up. He’d just survived a devastating car crash. Statistically, the odds were already against him. He wasn’t sure if he would survive what came next.
But by now he had committed to the chase, fuelled by some kind of animalistic motivation. He was determined to get answers. Determined to rid the planet of whoever wanted him dead.
The forest on this side of the road was perched on uneven ground, slowly descending into a valley below. The terrain was treacherous. Turning an ankle or breaking a leg would spell disaster. He would be helpless, wounded, incapacitated. He gritted his teeth and urged himself not to let such a precarious situation unfold.
Below, the fleeing man ducked underneath a low-hanging branch and disappeared from sight. King swore, knowing he needed to make up ground or risk losing the target. He drew the Beretta from his waistband and slipped a finger inside the trigger guard as he ran.
Then he heard rustling, close by. It startled him. He hadn’t anticipated such a noise, especially from such close proximity. It came from the side, behind a cluster of trees, all shrouded by undergrowth. The sound of frantic movement.
King spun and raised the Beretta and squeezed off a single shot just as a pair of men came charging out of cover. Both were dressed in tactical gear, different to any others that he’d encountered so far. One look at them and King knew they were also amateurs. Their gear was cheap shit, probably purchased from a civilian store selling wannabe tactical clothing. They weren’t real soldiers. It gave him a small surge of reassurance. They’d taken him by surprise, but he had the upper hand in skill, size, athleticism and experience.