Read Online Maps of Hell by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Johnston
Ads: Link
tutor in extreme outdoor activities. It was his idea to spend a weekend deer-hunting in the Scottish Highlands. And now I’ve wasted my shot.
“At least I got the practice rounds in,” I say, avoiding his eyes. The day before, Dave and I had taken a rifle up on the moors and blazed away at targets. “At least I know how to handle a rifle now.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Dave says, grabbing the weapon. He’s been up here numerous times over the years and can hunt as well as any expert. Then again, he does have a talent for anything to do with weaponry and sudden death. “That’s your problem, you know. A few hours and you reckon you’re a professional. Jesus, killing isn’t as easy as you think.” He breaks off and grins. “Then again, you just found that out, didn’t you, Matt?”
I came to with a start. Matt. That was my name. I had a vague memory of a blanket lying on a cell floor. I had remembered before, but I must have lost it. My name was Matt, short for…Matthew. That flashed back to me, too. But nothing more. I thought about the deer-hunting scene. Dave. My friend Dave. The recollection of him was strong, in the sense that I was convinced I’d known a Dave, that he had been close to me. But there was nothing else, apart from the facts that he’d been a soldier and had instructed me in rifle-shooting. I thought again. He’d been a rugby player, too. We’d been on the same team. I suddenly remembered the scarring on my knee. Fortunately, although I felt a dull ache, my leg had stood up to the pressure of all the running I’d done.
I was strangely glad to find that the scene had stayed in my memory. Dave had often talked about us going to the Scottish Highlands. Where from? I tried to bring back where I lived, where I’d been born and brought up, but there was no response from my damaged memory. Scottish. What did that mean? Scotland came to mind. A country. But it wasn’t my home, even though it was connected in some way I couldn’t put my finger on.
At least I knew my name. Matt. But I had the feeling I had other names. I wasn’t just patient L24 from the camp. But Matt what? Matthew what? Again, my memory failed. Whatever had been done to me in the camp was restricting me to only a few glimpses of my past. I could only hope there would be more. In the meantime, where was I? I thought back to the hillside in the rain. I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t in Scotland, even though I could remember pine trees alongside the fern-covered slopes where we’d tracked the deer. But they were much smaller than the ones I had so recently run through, and there was no way I could have spent the night halfway up one of those small Scottish pines. So where was I? And who was I? Matt, with no other names and no memories of other people except Dave, wasn’t enough for me.
Eventually I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and woke to the sound of birdsong. There was a stripe of gray over the ridge that must have been to the east. Dawn was breaking. I surveyed the country from my high position and took in vast slopes covered in trees and mountain ridges running between isolated summits. I felt lost, not just geographically but spiritually. This was not my home. How had I got here? How was I to get back to civilization without food to sustain me? It looked like no one lived anywhere nearby. Besides, I couldn’t trust anyone—perhaps the people who ran the camp owned the land and any towns on it.
I listened intently for a few minutes, but heard no indications of the armed men. Unstrapping myself and stretching stiff limbs, I clambered down to ground level. I drank most of the water in my bottle, leaving a few mouthfuls in case there were no more streams in the vicinity. Ahead, I saw a narrow gap between the slopes of two mountains and decided to head for it. Perhaps there would be a road there, a way out of the wilderness. I set off and was immediately aware of my stomach—the water had obviously
“At least I got the practice rounds in,” I say, avoiding his eyes. The day before, Dave and I had taken a rifle up on the moors and blazed away at targets. “At least I know how to handle a rifle now.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Dave says, grabbing the weapon. He’s been up here numerous times over the years and can hunt as well as any expert. Then again, he does have a talent for anything to do with weaponry and sudden death. “That’s your problem, you know. A few hours and you reckon you’re a professional. Jesus, killing isn’t as easy as you think.” He breaks off and grins. “Then again, you just found that out, didn’t you, Matt?”
I came to with a start. Matt. That was my name. I had a vague memory of a blanket lying on a cell floor. I had remembered before, but I must have lost it. My name was Matt, short for…Matthew. That flashed back to me, too. But nothing more. I thought about the deer-hunting scene. Dave. My friend Dave. The recollection of him was strong, in the sense that I was convinced I’d known a Dave, that he had been close to me. But there was nothing else, apart from the facts that he’d been a soldier and had instructed me in rifle-shooting. I thought again. He’d been a rugby player, too. We’d been on the same team. I suddenly remembered the scarring on my knee. Fortunately, although I felt a dull ache, my leg had stood up to the pressure of all the running I’d done.
I was strangely glad to find that the scene had stayed in my memory. Dave had often talked about us going to the Scottish Highlands. Where from? I tried to bring back where I lived, where I’d been born and brought up, but there was no response from my damaged memory. Scottish. What did that mean? Scotland came to mind. A country. But it wasn’t my home, even though it was connected in some way I couldn’t put my finger on.
At least I knew my name. Matt. But I had the feeling I had other names. I wasn’t just patient L24 from the camp. But Matt what? Matthew what? Again, my memory failed. Whatever had been done to me in the camp was restricting me to only a few glimpses of my past. I could only hope there would be more. In the meantime, where was I? I thought back to the hillside in the rain. I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t in Scotland, even though I could remember pine trees alongside the fern-covered slopes where we’d tracked the deer. But they were much smaller than the ones I had so recently run through, and there was no way I could have spent the night halfway up one of those small Scottish pines. So where was I? And who was I? Matt, with no other names and no memories of other people except Dave, wasn’t enough for me.
Eventually I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and woke to the sound of birdsong. There was a stripe of gray over the ridge that must have been to the east. Dawn was breaking. I surveyed the country from my high position and took in vast slopes covered in trees and mountain ridges running between isolated summits. I felt lost, not just geographically but spiritually. This was not my home. How had I got here? How was I to get back to civilization without food to sustain me? It looked like no one lived anywhere nearby. Besides, I couldn’t trust anyone—perhaps the people who ran the camp owned the land and any towns on it.
I listened intently for a few minutes, but heard no indications of the armed men. Unstrapping myself and stretching stiff limbs, I clambered down to ground level. I drank most of the water in my bottle, leaving a few mouthfuls in case there were no more streams in the vicinity. Ahead, I saw a narrow gap between the slopes of two mountains and decided to head for it. Perhaps there would be a road there, a way out of the wilderness. I set off and was immediately aware of my stomach—the water had obviously
Similar Books
