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

the kangaroos hurt?’ Amanda put forward tentatively.
    ‘We’re not talking kangaroos here,’ Wade said, wiping his finger down his trousers. ‘And I reckon this isn’t an animal’s blood.’
    Bolan grew visibly agitated. ‘You mean the bus driver’s wounded? You think he’s been attacked by whatever was following him?’
    ‘That’s about the size of it,’ Wade said, rising. ‘There’s a small trail of blood going off in that direction.’ He pointed out a piece of ground that appeared to be a dried-up river gully. ‘That’s where the tracks are headed. The man looks to have been running for his life.’
    ‘I don’t like the sound of that…’ said Bolan. ‘I think it’s time we headed back to the bus…’
    But Wade was off again, striding towards the edge of the gully from where the land shelved steeply down. He came to an abrupt halt and held up his hand. Bolan and Amanda stopped short.
    ‘What is it?’ Bolan asked tentatively.
    ‘I think we’ve found our bus driver. What’s left of him.’
    Amanda came forward, slowly peered around Wade’s arm. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh my God!’ She put a hand to her mouth and turned her head away.
    ‘What is it?’ Bolan called, not really wanting to come any closer.
    ‘He’s dead,’ Amanda called.
    Bolan replied. ‘The bus driver?’
    ‘Of course, the bus driver!’ She rolled her eyes.
    ‘Are you sure he’s dead? I mean, he could be sleeping.’
    ‘Then he’s sleeping in three different parts of the gully,’ said Wade.
    It was Bolan’s turn. ‘Oh my God!’ he said.
    ‘Stay here, I’ll take a look,’ Wade ordered. They didn’t need much persuading, he thought as he scrambled down the rocky slope, his shoes kicking up a flurry of pebbles and dust. He heard a drone, like a distant helicopter; it was a cloud of flies swarming around the bloodied remains of the bus driver.
    His torso had been ripped apart, his stomach torn open and the intestines strewn out across the rocky ground. In place of a face there was a gaping red hole, parts of the skull that formed the forehead, nose and cheeks completely vanished. One arm was intact, but the other lay among a thicket of scrubby shrubs as if tossed there. A leg had been bitten off at the thigh, the other leg missing.
    Wade put a hand to his mouth. He’d witnessed death many times before, seen corpses mangled by IEDs and shells, hardly recognisable as human, but this was different. This was the results of an animal savagery he could only imagine. He stood over the dead body, wafted away the cloud of irritating flies that peppered the decomposing flesh, and gingerly reached into the man’s coat pocket – or what remained of it. He took out a bloodstained wallet. Inside was a photo of a woman and two children, both girls. The ID said he was one Paul Jubb.
    Well he was a dead Paul Jubb now, thought Wade. He scanned the area. Nothing to be seen. No sign of the creatures that did this, but he was getting nervous by the minute. He put the wallet back into the coat pocket and searched the driver’s other pockets, finally taking out a set of ignition keys to the bus. He scrabbled back up the side of the gully.
    ‘Was it the animals that did it to him? The wild dogs?’ Bolan asked shakily.
    Wade nodded. ‘It was animals alright, and something I don’t want to meet, so we’d best be getting out of here.’
    ‘But the bus driver…’ Amanda said.
    ‘What about him?’ Wade returned.
    ‘We can’t leave him out here.’
    ‘We can’t take him with us,’ he said shortly.
    ‘Then we’ll have to bury him at least,’ said Bolan. ‘It’s the only decent thing to do.’
    ‘We’re not hanging around,’ Wade insisted. ‘Something incredibly huge, powerful and vicious did that to him and I don’t want to be out here in the open when it gets hungry again.’
    ‘But that’s not Christian!’ he said.
    ‘Tough. He’s not in a position to know the Christian thing. You can either come