A Whisper of Southern Lights by Tim Lebbon Read Free Book Online Page B

his shoulder and walked along a low ridge of rock. He was muttering to himself, laughing, sniggering and then muttering again.
Telling himself a joke,
Gabriel thought.
I hope
it’s
funny enough to keep him occupied until—
    The soldier paused and raised his head. He looked directly at Gabriel, and for a few seconds, his expression did not change. Whether it was surprise, shock or the joke still clearing itself from his senses, Gabriel had time to reach into his sock and pull out the throwing knife he had acquired during his first day in Changi.
    “Jesus,” Sykes said, and his voice galvanised the surprised soldier.
    The soldier had time to shout before Gabriel’s knife struck him in the throat. He fell back, rifle slipping from his shoulder, and there was a dull splash as he disappeared from sight.
    Two other soldiers stood, already training their rifles in Gabriel’s and Sykes’s direction.
    “Get his rifle!” Gabriel shouted, and then he was moving. He ran straight at the men, growling, hands raised like claws, blood streaking his face from the mutilated eye socket, clothes covered in stinking water and shit, and he was something they had never seen before. One tried to fire, but his safety must have been on. The other was stepping backward, shaking his head as though to clear this gruesome vision. Gabriel reached them, snatched the rifle from the closest soldier’s hands, reversed it and slashed him across the face with his own bayonet.
    As the first soldier went down, hissing through slashed cheeks and lips, the second found his confidence and raised his rifle.
    Gabriel knew that any shooting would draw instant attention, and their escape would be thwarted. Not only that, but Temple would be drawn to the violence. Their showdown would come much sooner than Gabriel had hoped for, and any chance of finding the grave would be long gone.
    He threw the rifle like a spear. It had no chance of working, but he hoped it would give him enough time to make it across the muddy ground to the last man standing.
    The guard shouted something and knocked the rifle aside with his own. He took aim again, and Gabriel could see that he had gathered his senses.
    One second; that was all he had.
    He fell to the ground and rolled, passing over the thrashing soldier, whose hands clutched at his slashed face, lifting him as he went to stand again, hoping to use him as a shield.
    The second soldier came at Gabriel, rifle still raised and looking for a shot.
    Sykes stood. He swung the liberated rifle, and though this one did not have its bayonet attached, the stock made a satisfying thump as it struck the soldier’s head. He dropped his rifle and went down, reaching out just in time to prevent himself taking in a mouthful of rancid water. Sykes was on him quickly, swinging the rifle again. Then he stood on the semi-conscious soldier’s head and pressed his face down into the mud. He looked away as the final bubbles rose.
    Gabriel wrapped his arm around the head of the man with the slashed face and broke his neck.
    Sykes came to his side, panting, shaking, sweating. “Do you think they heard?”
    Gabriel looked across at the prison. There was no sign of activity, no running men or revving motors. “No,” he said. “But they’ll soon be missed. We have to move.”
    The man with Gabriel’s knife in his throat was still moving feebly as blood gushed from the wound. One clawed hand reached for the knife but seemed unable to find it.
    “Us or them,” Gabriel said.
    Sykes nodded, moving away.
    They slipped between the trees, still crouched low in case anyone was watching from the prison. They moved quickly, eager to put distance between themselves and the jail before nightfall.
    Long way to go,
Gabriel thought,
but moving away from Temple feels good.
Feels as though I’m going in the right direction for the first time in a long while.

Heading for something meaningful.
Whatever the hell is in that grave better
be
worth this.
    Night