The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

best not to kill, but he also knew the dangers wounded and scared men presented. They often felt they had nothing to lose, or they became charged-up with endorphins and adrenalin, often taking on superhuman strength and a will not easily broken. But King was wounded too. He felt a numbness inside, an emptiness that he knew would not go away until he held the woman he loved in his arms again. And yet, he was driven within by a force he had never experienced before. He would never give up on this. He would get Caroline back. Or he would die trying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

15

 

There were many tracks leading off the mountain roads. Some led to villas or farmhouses, others led to meadow pastures hemmed in by forest. Others simply seemed to lead nowhere. Enough room to turn a car, or to park a couple of vehicles. King assumed these were the starting points for hunters, climbers or hikers.

King had driven down several of these tracks until he was confident he had found the most suitable. He looked at his watch again, decided he could spare an hour, although he was confident it would take only half that time.

King opened the boot of the car and took out the crossbow. He had assembled it back at the villa but kept hold of the multitool and spare bowstring to be safe. He had rolled up a thick woollen blanket he had found with the extra bedding in the wardrobe. He had fastened it tightly with a length of washing line that he had cut down from two trees in the garden. He walked out across the opening and placed it against a tree trunk and paced out ten metres. He pointed the crossbow to the ground and slipped his foot into the loop and pulled back the string until it locked firmly in place. The bolt needed to slide back as far as the mechanism would allow and was held in place by a spring clip. King was aware that it felt less safe, less substantial than a gun. He made sure his finger was nowhere near the trigger as he shouldered the weapon and took careful aim at the roll of blanket. He flicked off the safety and squeezed the trigger. The string lurched off its hook and the bolt was shot forward at tremendous speed, but not much accuracy, missing the roll and disappearing out into the forest. King was pleased he’d bought two packs. He reloaded, but this time he was ready for the crude trigger release and the second bolt fared better but hit low of where he was aiming. He kept his aim-point and the next arrow tucked neatly alongside the other. He fired another and was relieved to see it near the other two. This was called grouping, and now King had to adjust the sights, confident that he was firing the weapon skilfully enough. He looked at the two adjusters and twisted the one on the side of the sight four clicks counter-clockwise to adjust elevation. The next bolt struck dead centre and three inches above the other three bolts. King fired two more bolts, and again, he had a grouping. He wound the elevation adjustment twice as much, and after another three bolts, he was bang-on target. He walked forwards and collected the bolts, surprised at the degree of penetration. The blanket was thick and had been folded in three before it was rolled, and King counted off seven layers. At twenty-one single layers, he likened the penetration of the bolts up there with a 9mm pistol. Or at least in the same ballpark.

Next, King walked to a firing point of around fifty-metres. He fired the first shot at the top of the blanket and was surprised to see it hit just a few inches lower. He followed up with three more, getting a good feel for loading and handling the weapon. It was cumbersome to handle, yet light and easy to fire. King was stunned at how quiet it was to fire. A slight twang as the bowstring relaxed. King was confident nobody would hear a thing if they were twenty-feet or so away from him. Hopefully, they would be a lot further away than that.

16

 

Georgia

She would never have believed how good a bath could be. To her disgust, the water had turned dark and after she had soaped and rinsed and washed her hair twice, she had drained the water and run a second bath, where she washed again, rewashed and conditioned her tangled hair, and languished in the warmth of the water, with the aroma of citrus shampoo and coconut soap attacking her senses.

She had checked the windows of the tiny bathroom, only to find they were barred. She had checked these too, heaving them, but feeling no give. She could see she was in a rural location, and thanks to the time she had been given alone, and the travel of the sun, she had ascertained which way was east, and from that, she had all four points of the compass in her mind, with the large hillock in the distance acting as a marker. She figured that by sunset, she would know the time to within an hour.

She had been given curt instructions when the man had handed her the clear, plastic bag of toiletries, which had included a single-blade disposable safety razor. All the bottles, even the toothbrush and hand soap were to be returned. The towel provided had been little bigger than a hand-towel, and that too, was to be returned.

When she had towelled herself dry, she opened the door into the bedroom and looked for something to wear. Her dirty clothes had been taken away. The towel was barely large enough to cover herself, let alone wrap