Free The Border Reiver by Nick Christofides Page B

side; then I’m coming back.”  
    To shout to his colleague, the man had naturally turned to face him, shining the light that way too. As his back was turned, Nat had risen out of the shadows like an angel of death, hammer in hand and face like a limestone outcrop in the dark of night. He was hunched ogre-like, only a couple of feet from his pursuer’s face, when the man turned awkwardly back towards him.
    As the beam of the torch washed over the menacing apparition, both men reacted. Nat swung that ball-peen hammer once again and the mercenary staggered backwards in fright. As he fell, he had the presence of mind to lift his gun and release a shot in Nat’s general direction, but missed comfortably. Nat, on the other hand, caught the end of the man’s chin as he went down. The bone shattered under the weight of the steel, and as the mercenary fell into the water, Nat threw himself over the log. Grabbing the big man by the scruff of the neck, he looked into the whites of his eyes, illuminated in the shadows by the torch lying close by.
    He could see the fear in his eyes, but the rage had taken hold and Nat brought the hammer down once more with a devastating blow to the top of the mercenary’s head. He dropped the body into the shallow water and grabbed the torch. He quickly found the handgun nearby on the river bed, then he shone the light back down the tunnel. Holding it as a rest underneath the weapon, he searched for the other man.
    Nat couldn’t see anything clearly, but then heard a voice: “Billy, you ok? What’s happening?”
    Still with no shot, Nat pulled the trigger twice down the torch’s beam. He took one last look; then he turned and moved off down the tunnel putting the weapon in his pocket.
    Gerry stood at the mouth of the tunnel. He thought about going after him but quickly changed his mind; with no weapon and an increasing fear of the farmer, he turned on his heels and made his way back to his boss.
    Nat pushed on through the tunnel, hunched over with the torch out in front of him like some hideous jail keeper from a Gothic horror story. The torch made the going much easier than before and he moved along uncomfortably but at a good speed. When he climbed out into the open, it was in itself a small victory, as the pressure was released from his back and he could stand straight again.
    He dumped the torch as he passed a public bin, preferring to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the night. He moved through the shadows with ease, north through the town towards the river Tyne. He knew that the river was swollen, so he headed for the bridge across to the A69 and Acomb. As he came away from the houses past the out-of-town shops, he found himself in the open areas of Tyne Green and the eastern edge of the golf course. This was no problem, it was dark enough and he was a shadow moving through shadows. It allowed him a view of the bridge and he could see at least two cars parked on it. He cursed not knowing who they were; he was not willing to risk another confrontation without any element of surprise and with his arm burning and bleeding.
    He crossed the open land and reached the banks of the Tyne and shuddered as he looked into the darkness. He could sense the water in front of him, and he knew from where he was standing at the water’s edge that the river was higher and more menacing than normal.
    He took his jacket off and lay it on the grass, then he emptied his pockets- hammer, handgun, knife, everything - and laid them on the open coat. Then, he undressed down to his pants and piled his clothes and his boots roughly into the open coat also. The breeze of the cold night air sliced at his skin. He knew there was worse cold to come, so he put it out of his mind. He zipped the jacket up around his belongings, clothes and boots, then folded it collar to midriff and tail past collar. Using the sleeves, he then tied them together so that he had a tight bundle.
    Holding it in his left hand, the