Ten

Ten

Running, out of breath but with no choice but to keep going, he kept to the forest path having ditched the much quicker roadway figuring the trees would act as cover from the chase. Niall was a fit guy, I mean ex-marine is not to be sniffed at, but it had been awhile and the years were catching up.

How long had it been now since the glock had been pointed at him and he had ducked and dived out of the ambush like Daniel Craig in a Bond chase. The gun blast still rang in his ears as he ran, and ran and then ran some more. Every now and again he heard shouts behind him and he knew his life remained very much in the balance.

Through these woods, deeper now, he knew, if his mental coordinates were right, he would eventually fall into a beach and there, please god, George would be waiting and their boat would take them to safety. How long did he still have to run? Maybe four more miles?

Speedy running is a tricky occupation, the heart beating faster, blood streaming toward your muscles and away from other organs. The internal burning of glycogen and oxygen spikes your body temperature and you sweat like hell. Niall ploughed on regardless through uneven terrain, several times catching his feet on branches and rocks left inconveniently in his way. He reckoned he’d run more than halfway and congratulated himself that he’d chosen decent trainers that morning to wear. It was supposed to be a simple meet, a handover, and a comfortable jeep ride back to the beach. In fact it was a set up, a death trap, a nightmare. Dealing with criminals is such a dirty business.

Running from your death focusses the mind somewhat. He had settled into a form of trance in his running once the stitch and his crying muscles had accepted he was not going to stop. Now the glade was in super sharp focus, his brain on hyper alert and ultra sensitive to his surroundings which was just as well. He saw his predator first. There, off to to his right and coming down through the woods like the devil himself.

‘Shit,’ Niall muttered, having hoped his escape could be competed without more mayhem. He lurched to the left, instinctively really with his attacker to his starboard bow. He ploughed through seriously thick undergrowth, jumped through a deep glade then, just as he had trained for all those years previously, he threw himself to the ground and began, as one always must, to wait for death to arrive. The question was who’s?

It takes nerves of steel to turn a flight of escape into a silent wait of confrontation. Now the hunted must become the hunter. There was no other way. Niall’s attacker was near though his thunderous approach had been checked by the apparent sudden disappearance of his prey. You train for all these things and now as Niall lay in complete silence, he knew his aggressor was weighing up his next move which almost certainly came down to two choices. One, wait for the cavalry or two, go in solo for glory. The fact that Niall was now stationery and still far from his escape vehicle, the first option could proof disastrous.

Moments passed, sweat dripping of Niall’s brow, his body throwing off such heat as the heart rate slowed.

Then movement. The chase was on. This was good news because it told Niall that support was too far behind to wait for. It was now down to surprise and kill. He came for Niall quickly, knowing it seemed where he was but, at the last moment, just straying a few feet too far forward. It was enough. Two quick movements and Niall was alone again.

Now speed was of the essence. Sprinting with no thought of pace conservation, Niall just went for it. Probably three miles to go and his record time for a trail 5K was required.

The next 15 minutes passed without incident, other than the pounding of his feet and the heavy breathing that accompanied his gait. Then the North East coast came into view. The boat was ready and the sound of an engine humming mixed with seagulls singing and summer waves crashing filled the air.

Suddenly the sound of bullets whistling across the clearing undergrowth filled the air. He was almost back in range and darting was the order of the day.

George looked up from the speedboat, his cigar falling from his mouth as he jumped to the tiller, alert to escape the incoming danger. The scene from sea was like looking back at an action movie, our hero running towards his escape whilst at least four attackers unleashed firepower. Soon both Niall and the bullets would reach the boat.

‘Here we go again,’ muttered George as he threw the boat into reverse to give Niall the best chance of a quick getaway.

It took a few final minutes for Niall to descend on to the beach, the steep descent now protecting him from direct hits from heavily armed aggressors. There were seconds to escape, tiny critical moments.

Niall hit the water, too tired to yell at his old friend, his one thought to get into that boat. Two strides forward, a yank of his shoulders and a bullet ripping into the side of the craft.

‘Welcome on board,’ yelled George as the Mercury 7.6-litre V12 sprung into life. Waster bullets hit the spray behind them and they were off, free, released.

As they arrived in open water George turned to Niall and shouted back,

‘What kept you old bean?’

‘Just ten miles of heavy terrain,’ gasped Niall, ‘ten long miles.’

‘And did you get the prize?’

Niall smiled, nodded, and passed out.


To ten blip years. Thank you.

A X

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