Read Online Fellowship of Fear by Aaron Elkins - Free Book Online Page A

bullets into him before he got three steps. But he didn’t have any other ideas.
    Near his right hand he saw a plastic sack of garbage that was tied at the neck; that, at least, would sound more like a body if he threw it. He reached for it and twisted his head around to assess the run he would have to make. The land was rough and ran slightly uphill, but there were no large bushes or rocks in the way. With all the litter, though, and puddles of ooze, he’d have to watch carefully where he was going. He’d have to get into a runner’s starting crouch—there wasn’t room under the bridge to stand up— facing the bank a few feet downstream. Then he’d throw the garbage behind him and a little upstream. The moment it hit, he’d run. If they went for the bait, they’d be on the upstream side of the bridge, and the bridge itself would shield him. He’d have to crouch as he ran four, maybe five steps, Groucho-Marx-style. Another two strides would take him over the bank. Then, if they hadn’t yet seen him, he’d drop flat on his belly and inch away toward the stand of trees. If they had seen him, however, he’d just run like hell.
    Some plan: Option A, crawl like a snake; Option B, run like a rabbit. Still, the rabbit had made it.
    There seemed to be some purposeful activity on the bridge now. Gideon could see from the flashlight beams that the men were separating. Chances were, they were splitting up to search for him. Now was the time.
    He pushed himself into a kneeling position and grabbed the bag of garbage. It was good to move, to contract his muscles. He could almost feel his autonomic nervous system go smoothly to work, pumping out the adrenalin. More exhilarated than frightened, he was optimistic now about making it, and anxious to give it a try. He longed in fact for a physical encounter, a showdown, but he knew he’d be crazy to try it.
    As he shifted his hand to a throwing grasp around the neck of the bag, someone lowered a flashlight an arm’s length over the side at the far end of the bridge, where he had jumped off, and swept the beam in a circle. Gideon had to drop flat again, his eye to the space between bridge support and brace. Just before the beam reached him, he realized with a start of horror that he hadn’t let go of the bag, that his right arm was out in the open, not behind the support. He had no time to move it, however, before the beam was on him, lighting up his wet and glistening forearm, it seemed to him, like a multi-faceted diamond, throwing reflections and rays in every direction. As the beam hovered for a moment, an icy sweat jumped to the surface of his skin below the warmer layer of muck. He lay, breathless and tight-chested, waiting for the bullets, exerting all his control not to pull his arm out of the light and get up and make his run right then.
    And the beam moved on; somehow they had failed to see him. He lay trembling in the slime. His autonomic nervous system seemed to have changed its mind; a physical encounter was the last thing in the world he wanted.
    When he raised his head to look toward the far end of the bridge, he saw a pair of legs dangling from where the flashlight had been shining. The man sat on the edge of the bridge for a second and then dropped to the muddy stream bed with a soft plop. Gideon was surprised to see that the drop was a good six feet. He had been lucky not to break a leg when he had plunged blindly over the side. The first man then helped a second down—the tall, slender one— and they both moved toward the support at the far end, pistols and flashlights in hand. Gideon felt an absurd flash of relief that he had made for this support instead of that one; it gave him perhaps another minute before he was discovered.
    He remembered seeing a broom handle nearby when he had reached for the garbage bag. Now, without taking his eyes from the two men, he moved his hands through the filth until he found it. It was only a two-foot length, cracked and