But King knew there would be zero chance of survival.
Despite being confident in the P-750’s landing area, he needed to see the impact for himself. He reached up to the toggles on either side of the harness and steered the chute to the right. His legs swung with the momentum as he corrected course. Now he faced the valley.
It took just over a minute to happen. The plane continued to descend with no-one in the pilot’s seat. It bucked and swayed in the wind as it fell. Then it dove into the valley and crashed into the other side, taking down a couple of trees in the process. The violent sound of tearing metal echoed up from the forest, reaching his ears a couple of seconds after the crash. No flames. No fireball. Just a crumpled wreck with a destroyed chassis. The wings were torn off by the impact.
He knew that the anthrax spores would not pose a problem. He’d seen the crates Lars had kept them in. Military-grade, reinforced, designed to withstand the most brutal conditions imaginable. Necessary for such a volatile substance. They wouldn’t have torn apart in the crash. Especially with the chassis of the plane protecting them from a direct hit. On the off-chance they had, they would pose no significant risk. They had yet to be weaponised into aerosol form.
He made sure to memorise the location of the crash zone for future reference. The authorities would need to secure the location as soon as they were made aware of the situation. He used the toggles to spin the parachute one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, keeping the movement slow. Staring at the ground in all directions. Getting his bearings.
The runway they’d taken off from lay to the west. He wouldn’t make it there. Ahead he spotted the mountain roads ascending up to Jameson, nothing but thin lines from such an elevated position. He estimated he would come down somewhere close to the metal work factory where he’d hid the bodies of eight men. Six of them guilty, two innocent.
It didn’t take long for the canopy of branches to rush up at his feet. He guided the parachute into a patch of forest where the trees were widely interspersed. It gave him more than enough room to land. He dipped between a pair of tall pine trees and tugged both toggles down. Flaring the chute. Slowing his descent. It put him at just the right speed to touch down smoothly on the wet grass. Two bounding steps to get his momentum under control and then he was on flat ground.
Perfectly safe.
He stayed upright. Listened to the sudden quiet of the forest, compared to the screaming wind and constant gunfire of the last ten minutes. Then he fell back onto the forest floor, staring up at the clear blue sky above. He sucked in breaths of fresh air. Happy to be alive. Happy that the madness had finally come to an end.
He’d lost count of the number of people he’d seen die over the last three days. Whether it was by his hand, or simply witnessing murder. To anyone else, the sheer volume of horror would be too much to bear. To King, it felt like just another day.
Which was perhaps the worst part.
He had grown so accustomed to violence and death and destruction that the events that had transpired didn’t even seem out of the ordinary. It felt like he was back in Black Force, at the tail end of another mission, ready to go for the next one.
This was not a healthy way to live.
He promised himself there would be no next time. He would travel somewhere away from all this shit, somewhere where he could finally stop and take in an ordinary civilian life. He wasn’t sure where.
But first there were other matters to attend to.
After what felt like a century of rest he clambered to his feet and got out of the parachute harness. He left it there in the forest, its canopy wrapped around a cluster of branches, flapping gently in the breeze. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to cart it back to town.
He moved on. Starting the slow trek through the woods, searching for a main road which would lead him back to the town of Jameson.
Hopefully for the very last time.
CHAPTER 44
It took a little over two hours to reach the town’s outskirts. By then, the sun had melted into the horizon. An amber glow permeated through the forest. It created something close to serenity.
King had powered through dense woodland for close to an hour before happening upon a twisting mountain road. He recognised it as part of the connection between Queensbridge and Jameson, and quickly figured out which direction to head. Then it came down to putting one foot in front of the other. Focusing on trying not to faint. If a car passed by he wouldn’t bother attempting to wave it down. No-one in their right mind would pick up a bloodied, battered, two-hundred-and-twenty pound stranger, especially in these parts where witnesses were thin.
He knew he looked bad. His swollen cheek had puffed one side of his face beyond all recognition. The other was caked in dried blood that he didn’t have the energy to bother removing. His foot had turned numb from the massive dose of adrenalin but as he settled into the trek and the rush subsided he began to feel the mind-numbing pain in every step. His ribs hurt with each breath. He hoped nothing was broken.
And the nearest hospital had to be dozens of miles away.
He passed Yvonne’s motel first. At this hour the repair crew were packing up for the day. He noticed they had almost completed their task. Dozens of brand new window panes sat in the sills. The shattered glass had been almost entirely swept up.
He hobbled into the main road and began a short journey past the main shops. Most of the townspeople had returned to their homes. They would be preparing dinner for their families. Without a hint of knowledge as to what had occurred in their town.
Perhaps it would all come out later down the line, after a federal investigation. He doubted it. But it might.
He hoped he would find who he was looking for. With nothing left to accomplish at the airfield, it seemed obvious that Kate and Dirk would return to the town where it had all begun. As he closed in on Jameson Post, he saw two people up ahead. Standing on the footpath in front of a high-powered Ducati motorcycle. Deep in conversation.
They saw him.
Kate closed the distance between them at a lightning pace and they embraced. He held her waist and buried his face into her shoulder. He hoped she didn’t mind the blood. It seemed she was too preoccupied to notice.
‘You look awful,’ she whispered, her voice shaky.
‘I’ve been better. But I’ll live.’
They parted. For a long moment they stood there, looking at each other, in mutual disbelief at what they had gone through.
‘ASIO’s on their way,’ Dirk said, approaching them. ‘I called a guy as soon as I saw the plane go down. He’s bringing a whole team of federal investigators. Word of this has already reached the very top. I imagine they’re going to want to interview you for weeks.’
King looked out at the deserted main strip. ’I won’t be around to humour them.’
Dirk cocked his head. ‘You won’t?’
‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘Lars is dead. All his men are dead. The threat’s eliminated. I could spend months detailing everything I saw, but it’s all corporate bullshit. Besides…’
Dirk knew where he was going. ‘I’m guessing you overstepped the boundaries of the law just a couple of times.’
‘Let’s leave it at that.’
‘So what do I tell them?’
King shrugged. ‘You don’t know. You simply happened upon all this shit. The dropzone. The metal work factory out east. The police station. You don’t know what to make of it.’
‘Where will you go?’