THE FARM!

Chapter 19

Yet again, and within a very short period of time, Gus found himself prostrate on the ground; in full combat mode and fixed to the spot, attempting to work out what had just happened, and more importantly, what was likely to happen next.
In the given circumstances, Gus had opted for the 'shoot first, ask questions later' mode of operation. This had been a textbook manoeuvre in every respect despite the pain of his injuries. But what troubled him was that the outcome was not exactly as he had expected – and unexpected outcomes troubled him deeply.
It was clear that he had fired his weapon and that a dead or unconscious body lay crumpled just ahead of him. That certainly was the result he had intended. However, he was somewhat disconcerted to observe the soiled linen of a white handkerchief in the man's right hand; exactly where he would have expected to find a weapon of some description.
Gus looked around furtively without moving a muscle. It slowly dawned on him that it was unlikely to have been his shot that had felled his target. It took him a while to work out but he was now sure that the man was already down at the point of firing and that in all likelihood his shot had passed through the void where the man had been standing just a moment before.
Naturally his instinct was to go and take a look at the prostrate figure. But he knew that he could not rule out the possibility of a third person being in the vicinity. He tried desperately to decide whether the second shot he'd heard was a reverberation of his own discharge echoing from the rocky terrain, or whether it could have been a shot from a third person nearby. If so, this could be a serious threat, the more so in the exposed position in which he now found himself.
Gus remained exactly where he was – rigid – but with eyes and ears straining to detect any unexplained sound or movement amidst the surrounding environment. Other than the increased stirring of the wind now eddying the dust of the plateau into small scurrying spirals and the screeching of the carrion birds waiting to resume their interrupted meal, there appeared to be no sight or sound of human presence.
As he looked around with minimum head movement but with a fixed concentration, he detected the smallest flick in the periphery of his vision. This caused a body shock of adrenalin to surge through every muscle and fibre of his being bringing him to a heightened state of awareness as his brain assessed the fight or flight decisions he would surely have to make and on which his life would very likely depend.
However, the movement that had so much disconcerted him was clearly not from the surrounding rocks as he had at first thought, but from the supposed corpse lying just a few yards away. Just when Gus was beginning to think that the movement was an illusion actuated by his over-stimulated consciousness, the corpse decided to raise itself to its elbows and speak with a groggy, cracked voice.
"Don't shoot old chap, you've scared the crap out of me already."
Gus stood speechless as the voice and intonation wormed its way into his brain. He managed to unravel from his mind a small thread of familiarity before it crystallized into that of recognition. "For fuck's sake Fitz, what in the name of Beelzebub are you doing here?"
"Well, I could ask you the same question, although I kind of guessed I might bump into you somewhere up this neck of the woods." Fitz rejoined. "When I saw you attack, I took a dive, just like a premiership football player – or did I pass out – I'm not too certain. Anyway, I thought my lot was up." He lay on the ground stock-still, waving his grubby white handkerchief in way of indicating his complete surrender.
"Look here Gus, do you mind if I try to stand up? It's mighty uncomfortable down here."
Gus nodding his assent; took a few threatening steps forward; glaring at Fitz whilst menacing the gun at point-blank range. Then in a measured tone continued, "I think I'll ask the questions. After all, I have the gun and I haven't yet decided whether I'm going to shoot you or not. Particularly after you locked me in that store room at The Imperial – or had you forgotten that?"
"Steady on old man, you nearly broke my arm after that fiasco so I think that makes us quits – don't you? Anyway, I wanted to get to the bottom of all this after my utter humiliation in front of the British Police – not to mention my editor back in London. I need this scoop in order to redeem my credibility. You know how it is in the newspaper game, only as good as your last headline; and let's face it, my last headline left a gaping hole on the front page news that had to be filled with some regurgitated drivel from the back-up team. So you can imagine just how bankable I am at present."
"Well, my guess is that you were always something of a two-bit hack." Gus replied with venom.
Unfazed, Fitz continued his rant. "As it happens I've been responsible for breaking some pretty big investigative stories in the past. But more to the point, I have a vehicle containing food and water; just behind that rock. Judging by your be-draggled, bloodstained appearance, I'm guessing you must have parted company with your transport some miles back. Perhaps you're getting careless in your old age Gus. And just in case you're thinking you can take the wheels but without me, I have a pretty accurate idea of how to get into the place where they've taken your grandson and the others. I'm guessing you haven't a clue even how to find it."
"How can you be certain in this moonscape," Gus replied looking at his mobile phone, now completely dead, and then around at the dust bowl that served as a landscape.
"Simple, I waited for hours until a small supply truck exited from an outcrop of rock on the rim across the other side of the plateau. Not more than a mile away. I reckon that's the location we need to aim for. But if this storm gets up to full strength we won't be able to see for more than a few feet and around here these things can blow for days."
Gus now realised as he floored the gas pedal, that despite his gung-ho attitude and formidable training, his last hope of ever seeing his grandson alive now rested on the observations of this rather slippery and faded journalist who himself was poised at the threshold of life's last chance saloon.
As the sun battled for radiance through the dust-chocked air and the morning light faded to a darkening gloom, the lone, covered Land Rover moved ant-like across the plateau; churning up a comet trail of dirty grey in its wake.