Crispin's Army

For much of the day, Crispin and Josie progressed as fast as they could. Even when they had passed below the snow line, the terrain made for slow progress, with steep defiles and treacherous screes to be negotiated or circumvented. It was a barren, unforgiving landscape, and the man and the woman crossing it were growing weaker from hunger. As they stumbled on - mostly with Crispin leading and Josie following, but where possible walking side by side, propping each other up - every false step threatened to be their last.

They slid down a broad, sloping rock on the seats of their pants and hopped across the jumble of debris at its foot. When they got down, soft turf greeted them, and as they walked on it, its springiness was like balm to their blistered and swollen feet.

In the afternoon they came to a small lake, where they could at last strip off their putrid garments and wash both them and their bodies. They did so with delight, in spite of the fact that the water was barely more than freezing temperature.

When they were clean to at least their own satisfaction, they lay in the warm sun for a short while to get dry. Looking round, it occurred to Josie that this would be a nice place to make love.

As if reading her thoughts, Crispin jumped up. “We should get moving,” he urged, jumping up and anxiously looking about. “Those Security men will be gaining on us.”

Wistfully, they reached for their wet clothes and dressed.

Their progress quickened. Small, dwarf trees were soon replaced by their more mature cousins, and they thickened into forest. At the edge of the forest proper, Crispin and Josie stopped to survey the mountainscape behind them. For a few moments they saw no sign of movement anywhere, and Crispin dreamed that they might have lost their pursuers. They could have all fallen somewhere, he imagined, or have simply lost track of the fleeing couple.

But the telltale flashes, still high on the snow, indicated that their trail was by no means cold.

In mid afternoon, tramping through deep undergrowth, they found themselves on a spur, with steep slopes dropping away on three sides. At the point, they stopped to rest.

“What are we going to do?” Josie sighed. “We can’t just keep going. I’m starting to feel very dizzy.”

Crispin surveyed their surroundings. “You’re right,” he said. “This is probably a good spot to stop for the night. Can you go back to that big rock up there and get up on it and keep watch? Give me a yell if they’re getting close.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Josie.

“I’m going to prepare a little something here,” said Crispin mysteriously. “And I’ll try and get us something to eat.”

Josie began tramping back through the trees.

“Josie?”

She turned.

“Use the zapper if you have to, but don’t take any risks.”

She smiled. “Relax. They won’t get past `Eagle Eye’ Keefe.”

*****

That night, they lay huddled together under the stars in a heavily camouflaged encampment. Their stomachs were full again, as Crispin had successfully shot a small deer with the blaster. He had skinned it, and the skin was spread out to dry. Not wishing to attract attention with a fire, he had cooked individual joints from the animal by playing the blaster over them, sticking his knife into them every so often to test whether they were done.

When it was dark, he had gone to fetch Josie from her vantage point, and had led her back to the camp by a circuitous route along the edge of the spur. He had appeared exhausted, and had been covered in mud, but would only say that he had arranged a surprise for those following them.

Josie lay in Crispin’s arms, listening to the sounds of the night, the breeze sighing through the upper branches of the trees, the hoot of an owl, the scufflings of unseen creatures close by. She wondered what lay ahead. Crispin had intimated that there was one more formidable barrier to cross. And then what? The city was the only life she had ever known: from what Crispin had told her of life in his village, she wondered if she could ever fit in there. Or, indeed, if she would want to.

Time passed. She could not tell if she had slept or for how long. But the forest seemed quiet, preternaturally quiet. The wind had dropped, the trees had silenced their whispering. There was no sound of silvan fauna going on their nocturnal rounds. All was still.

Then came the scream. A scream of excruciating mortal agony, coming from close at hand. It hung in the air for a long time, trailing away like a banshee wail, then dropped down the tonal scale into a moan, and died.

Josie and Crispin were on their feet and running, Crispin with the blaster, Josie with the zapper.

Crispin stopped in a clearing, holding out an arm to restrain Josie from rushing past him. At his feet, stark in the moonlight, was a gaping rectangular hole, from which emerged the fronds of bracken and brushwood which Crispin had used to conceal it.

“This won’t be a pleasant sight,” said Crispin, pulling the foliage away from the hole.

Suddenly he stopped. There was a hissing sound coming from within the pit. Crispin recognised it as the hiss of static. Then it resolved itself into a voice.

“Search squad three to base. Search squad three to base.” There was a pause, and the voice was heard to curse softly. Then it resumed. “Search squad three to base. Search squad three to base.”

At last a second voice was heard to reply, indistinctly, as if stifling a yawn. “Base to search squad three.” Crispin and Josie crouched lower on hands and knees, their necks craning over the hole as they eavesdropped on the radio conversation.

“Base, we attempted a strike against the enemy. Lovell fell into some sort of trap dug by the enemy. He’s dead, base. and myself have retreated, awaiting orders.”

“Search three, regret we can’t offer backup at the moment, we have our hands full cleaning up back here in the city. Maintain a watching brief, report the enemy’s movements.”

“Understood, base.”

“Search three?”

“Base?”

“Helicopter wreckage was found in a pass to the north of your position. Sole remaining occupant was Harvey Dashwood, Secretary to the Leader. Tracks leading from it indicate anything up to three survivors left the site, heading west. We believe the Leader may be wandering about up there.”

“Sons of the city, search three, use your imagination! A distinguished looking elderly man.”

“Understood, base.”

“Good luck, search three. Base out.”

The ether became filled once more with soft static. Crispin put his finger to his lips and gingerly continued removing brushwood from the pit. Little by little he laid bare the gruesome spectacle of the man Lovell, face down, speared on the forest of deadly sharpened stakes Crispin had planted in the pit.

Crispin switched off the man’s communicator and relieved him of it. The man had been carrying a light but powerful laser assault gun with a solar energy amplifier, as well as a regulation blaster. These too Crispin filched. All were sticky with blood.

Crispin kicked dirt and greenery into the pit on top of the man, turning the pit into his grave.

“Well,” he said when he had finished, “that’s interesting.”

“Yes,” said Josie. “Especially that the Leader is out here somewhere.”

“If he’s still alive,” said Crispin. “Which I doubt.”

“Mmmm.” Josie looked at Crispin. “Do you think they’ll be back tonight?”

“No,” answered Crispin with certainty. “Did you hear that fellow’s voice? It sounded like he’d had enough.”

They returned to their campsite, and, eventually, drifted back to sleep. Crispin switched the communicator on anew and laid it close to his head, but it made no sound for the rest of the night.

*****

Early the next morning, Crispin decided to risk lighting a fire to cook the remains of the deer. Their pursuers knew their location, and he gave Josie a leg-up into a tree to keep watch while he cooked.

They ate their fill, then set off again, slipping and sliding through the mulch on the side of the spur, each armed with a handgun and a longer range weapon. They had been on the move for an hour before they heard their man reporting to base on the communicator that he and his companion were going to check on them.

When the forest thinned out sufficiently for Crispin to get a good view of the country ahead and around them, he began casting about for any familiar landmarks. He looked back at the mountains, trying to recall any familiar shapes from his journey in the opposite direction well over a year before. There were one or two peaks that hinted at familiarity, but the perspective was different.

“Further south,” he muttered. “We need to be a bit further south.”

“What difference does it make?” queried Josie, following his footsteps as he veered to the left.

“That’s the way home,” Crispin replied softly.

And they walked on. Rolling forested hills swept ahead of them into a haze. And as they walked, the sound of the great river began to impinge on their consciousness, gently at first, but with growing insistence.

Then, there it was. The great gorge, running parallel to the mountains, a deep scar on the land.

As they continued to descend towards it, Crispin gazed gimlet-eyed to left and right.

“This way,” he urged, continuing to move to the left.

They wound along the sinuous course of the valley for about a kilometre. Then they topped a slight rise, and Crispin gave a shout of triumph. His rope was still there, stretched across the gulf.

Josie kept her own counsel as she stared dejectedly at what seemed a mere thread above a plummeting drop into foaming rapids, hundreds of metres below. The previous day’s experience on the glacier had done nothing to change her discomfort where heights were concerned. She had too good an imagination, she decided: she could see all too clearly her own body falling, and hear herself screaming.

Crispin was debating in his mind the best way to deal with the problem of getting across. The hemp rope appeared still to be in good condition, and now they had the second, nylon, line. He thought of tying the nylon line round Josie’s waist, crossing the first line, then having her follow. But if she then fell, her body would describe an arc through the gorge and slam into the cliff face. A better option, he decided, would be to affix the second line to the tree after passing it through Josie’s rappel harness, so she could walk across on the first line and lean on the second. If it was done carefully it should be okay.

He explained his plan of action to Josie as he attached her to the nylon cord, then tied one end of it to the tree, above where the crossbow bolt carrying the existing rope was still impaled immovably. He attached the other end to his belt. Josie stood stock still and impassive as he talked and worked.

He was about to get onto the rope when Josie grabbed him, encircling his body and his arms with hers in a ferocious grip, and kissed him with all the fervour she could muster, her tongue probing deep into his mouth, wrestling with his, while her pelvis ground against his in an expression of undying ardour.

Her eyes met his. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “Terrified.” She swallowed hard. “I’m going to die here. I know it.” Crispin opened his mouth to say something soothing, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips before resuming her bear-hug. “But I want you to know, darling Crispin, that I will die loving you.” She released her grip. “Now, off you go.”

She watched the knot of emotions tug his facial muscles one way and another as he busied himself with the rope. He shouldered both the zapper and the assault laser, and thrust the second blaster into his belt, so that Josie would have only herself to bring across.

One advantage Crispin had on this crossing which he had not had before was that he was equipped with a good pair of gloves. However, there was also the disadvantage that he was now required to travel upwards rather than downwards.

He worked his way slowly forward, the weight on his back seeming to pull him downwards. And his arms began to ache. No amount of mental preparation, telling himself it would be easier because he had done it before, could do anything to remove the ever present gnawing fear of what was below him. He looked past his feet along the ropes at the shrinking figure of Josie standing staring at him, looking lost and alone as she watched his progress. It was a way for him to ignore the agony of stretching sinews, tearing muscles, nerves telling him that relief would come, if he would just let go of the rope...

And then it was over. He was standing on the brink, panting. Safe. He caught his breath, then undid the nylon rope from his waist and tied it to the tree above the other line. He knotted and reknotted it until there was no spare line left. Then he double checked the lower rope. It had held his weight. It would hold Josie.

“Okay,” he called. “Take it easy. Just take your time.”

Tentatively, Josie took hold of the nylon upper line, and tested her weight on the lower. Sideways on, she began to shuffle slowly out into space.

Sliding her feet a few centimetres at a time, looking anywhere but down, and mostly at Crispin standing anxious and helpless on the far side of the divide, she made steady progress till about half way. And then the trouble started.

Crispin was alerted first by the snapping of branches among the trees opposite him. By the time the first shots were coming his way, he had instinctively plunged to the ground, and after the briefest of intervals he was returning the fire with the zapper, keeping the unseen assailants pinned down, and above all unable to pick off Josie, a sitting - or standing - target. She shuffled faster, although the rising rope hampered her. As he laid down a murderous fire, Crispin saw her out of the corner of his eye. It looked as if she was going to make it.

Some of the fire from among the trees continued in Crispin’s direction. The rest travelled out into the gorge at a glancing angle. Crispin could not understand what the shooter could be aiming at, as he was clearly in a position where he could not hit Josie without coming out into the open. And then it dawned on him: the man was aiming at the ropes!

“Josie!” he yelled, scrambling back towards the end of the ropes, laser bolts zinging over his head.

The nylon rope Josie had been leaning on parted. Josie screamed. Dropped. Hung.

Hung!

Josie was hanging from the hemp rope, no more than two metres from the cliff, having somehow caught the rope under her armpits. Her body and legs swung like a pendulum in the emptiness as she tried to propel herself the last distance to safety.

Still the laser fire flashed across the gorge. Crispin answered it with the zapper. There was an unearthly scream, and a man burst from the undergrowth, his clothing aflame where Crispin’s fire had brushed it, and pitched himself over the edge, a hideous plunging human torch.

The remaining man fired in a frenzy, alternating between Crispin and Josie. Then, as he became careless of concealing himself, Crispin found his mark. The man fell dead.

“Crispin!!!”

Crispin spun. So close to the edge now, Josie was staring back along the rope. The second man’s last shot had grazed the rope, and it was burning, wispy black smoke rising above tongues of orange flame.

Crispin sprawled on the lip of the gorge, extending his body out as far as he dared, stretching arms, hands, fingers, cooing soft words of encouragement as Josie crept closer.

The rope gave way.

In the same instant, Crispin’s fists sank into Josie’s tunic. She slammed against the cliff face, her hands clawing at his back, and for a sickening moment, Crispin felt her full weight pulling him over the precipice.

Josie’s feet scrabbled on the rock and found a miniscule ledge.

“Climb over the top of me,” Crispin instructed. “Take it easy, you’re safe now.” He felt her body shaking.

She released her grip on the back of his tunic and began pulling herself over the top of him, kicking him in the ear as she scrambled to safety.

He got to his feet, and went and knelt beside her where she lay with her face buried in the grass, sobbing her heart out.