Free Armageddon Heights (a thriller) by D. M. Mitchell Page A

That’s how weird and hard to understand the universe is, even when someone tries to explain it in a simple way.’
    Wade’s breathing was becoming shallower. His mouth drying out, and it wasn’t simply the effects of the heat bearing down on him. It was the memory of Travers’ eyes as he glanced back at him once before approaching the blanket-covered doorway. Completely trusting in Wade to cover him.
    Wade stepped smartly to the exit that led onto an alleyway outside.
    Completely trusting.
    Travers slowly put the tip of his gun’s barrel to the edge of the blanket, stood to one side and signalled to Wade and Peterson he was going through…
    ‘What’s this?’ said Amanda.
    Her urgent voice struck through Wade’s memories and brought him back to the present.
    He looked across at her. She was bending down to look at something on the ground in front of her. Both Wade and Bolan strode across.
    ‘Are they tracks?’ asked Bolan.
    Wade nodded. ‘Yes.’
    ‘But not the bus driver’s.’ Amanda said. ‘Because his tracks are over there, the ones you’re following.’
    On his haunches, Wade scanned the indentations in the sandy soil.
    ‘So someone else has been out here?’ Bolan asked. His breathing was becoming increasingly laboured.
    ‘They look like animal tracks,’ Wade observed.
    Amanda said, ‘What kind of animal?’
    ‘It looks like the prints of a very large dog or wolf.’
    She stepped back. ‘But wolves don’t live in this kind of landscape, so it has to be a feral dog, right?’ she said, her nerves nibbling away at the edge of her voice. She looked around her.
    Wade rose to his feet, followed the tracks in and amongst the harsh, low-lying shrubs. ‘That’s weird…’ he mumbled.
    ‘What’s weird?’ asked Bolan. ‘This is already too weird without more weird piled on top.’ He stroked his head. The sun had turned his thinly-thatched pate bright pink.
    ‘It doesn’t look like a four-legged animal. Whatever was following the bus driver moved largely on two legs, every now and again putting its front ones down.’
    ‘A kangaroo?’ said Amanda hopefully.
    Bolan picked up quickly on what Wade had said. ‘What do you mean following the bus driver?’
    ‘That’s what it looks like,’ said Wade. ‘And there’s another set of tracks here,’ he pointed. ‘There were at least two or more animals keeping close to his tracks.’
    ‘A kangaroo?’ Amanda repeated. ‘They live in the outback of Australia. Perhaps this is Australia…’
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Wade absently. He began to follow the bus driver’s tracks again. He quickly came to a spot where there was an area of disturbed ground, and then the man’s footprints heading off at a sharp angle. Only this time they were spaced out.
    The man had started to run, thought Wade.
    ‘So what does all that mean?’ asked Bolan. ‘Are there wild animals out here? Is that what you’re saying?’
    But Wade wasn’t listening. He was following the bus driver’s tracks at a pace, every now and again losing them. The bus driver had been weaving, suddenly changing direction, making the tracks difficult to trace. It was clear that the animals – whatever they were – had been either keeping close tabs on the bus driver, or were deliberately hunting him down. Wade reckoned it was the latter.
    ‘Does that mean it’s not safe out here?’ Bolan called, unable to keep up with Wade. Both he and Amanda stopped trying and let Wade take the lead. Bolan stopped and looked back at the bus. ‘Maybe we ought to head on back. We’re running out of water anyway…’ He turned to Amanda. ‘What do you reckon? Turn back, try again later?’
    ‘He’s found something,’ she said, pointing at Wade who had dropped to his haunches again. They ran to catch him up. ‘What is it? What have you found?’
    Poking his fingers into the red sandy soil he lifted it up for them to see.
    ‘What is that?’ Bolan asked, panting.
    ‘Blood,’ said Wade.
    ‘Was one of