Maps of Hell by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page A

it over there.”
    I did what he said.
    “Ready?” he asked when both my hands were resting on the top of his head.
    “When you are. And thanks.”
    I felt my legs move down slightly, then I was arcing over the fence, my belly missing the vicious barbs by a whisker. I bent my knees and landed and rolled toward the rifle.
    “Run!” the inmate yelled.
    I did what I was told. The tree line must have been seventy yards away. My lungs were heaving and my legs burning as I made cover.
    I stopped and looked back. The guards had caught up with the black man before he got back inside. One of them hit him in the face. Then the other took out his pistol and without hesitation shot him through the throat.
    I gasped and saw red. I raised the rifle and loosed off several rounds. The guards both dropped, but I wasn’t sure if I’d hit them. The murdering pieces of shit. I almost ran back into the open to give myself a better shot. Then there was the roar of an engine and a gray pickup emerged with at least five men in the back, all of them carrying rifles. I had to go.
    There was very little light under the dense branches of the pines. Although the forest floor was relatively clear of undergrowth, I couldn’t make out any paths. Voices rang out behind me, so I pressed on as fast as I could. At first my throat became clogged with phlegm, but as I got into a rhythm with my running, it loosened up. The muscles in my legs weren’t fully stretched yet, but I felt they could cope. I must have been a fit bastard in my previous life.
    I didn’t stop to look round, not that the trees would have allowed much of a view, but I reckoned I was increasing the gap between me and my pursuers. That should have made me feel good, but it didn’t. The farther I went, the stronger became the feeling that I was leaving something important behind. No, more than that, something essential. I ran on autopilot as I racked my memory for what that could be. Nothing. I had no idea. I had very little memory. I could remember everything that had happened since I’d woken up in the comfortable bed, but things before that were locked securely away. All I was thinking about was the savagery I’d seen—the man tied to the post and slaughtered like an animal; the emaciated man summarily executed for helping me. What could have inspired such brutality?
    Then I considered what I’d done. I’d knocked out the nurse, clubbed the doctor, smashed two men’s heads together, beaten the hell out of the naked man’s killer and laid into the two guards at the exit. And I’d shot at the black man’s killers, perhaps killing them. I wasn’t much better than the gray-uniformed scumbags. And now I was abandoning something vital back in that prison. What was it? And how had I come to be at the heavily guarded location? What had happened to me there?
    All the time I was struggling to find answers to those questions, I was moving across ground that was gradually becoming steeper. The space between the tree trunks began to grow. Looking up, I saw that night was falling. That would make things much harder for the men who were after me. I’d run at several different angles, so I may already have lost them. But, as I came out of the forest and into tall grass, I realized I was the most lost of all. I didn’t even know which country I was in, never mind where the nearest town was. I stopped and listened for any encouraging sounds—no cars, no music, no people, hostile or not. I turned a full circle. There were no lights anywhere. I felt completely alone. For some reason, that didn’t frighten me, though I felt disoriented by the scale of the trees and the vast number of them all around. Either I had no imagination or I’d done this kind of thing before.
    After checking behind me, I moved off again. I’d only been going for a few minutes when the moon, three-quarters full, appeared ahead of me. A jagged line of rock was caught in the white light, slopes without tree cover