Headlong

By Lucien Romano

What readers said about HEADLONG on amazon.com, .co.uk and Goodreads:
***** "A terrifying and breathtaking thriller-cum-sci-fi which dares to reveal the truth about the dark forces world in which we live. Complete with a breath-taking denouement that makes Headlong impossible to put down. A master storyteller. Can’t wait for Book 4!"
***** "A thoroughly enjoyable read, starts with a bang and never lets up."
***** "I thoroughly enjoyed it."
**** "A gripping story, great characters and left me wanting more!"
**** "A good read that starts with a tense opening chapter and only gets better from there on."
**** "The first chapter of this interesting book keeps you on the edge of your seat as you feel that you yourself are being pursued."
**** "A great read that presents a number of entirely new ideas"
**** "Great set of characters and very well written."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucien Romano
• Release date: Apr 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311217745

Lucien Romano

LUCIEN ROMANO is a Brisbane-based author who usually writes science fiction, but he could not resist the invitation from a former colleague to collaborate on her new book.SEX AS IT SHOULD BE is the result, covering in detail things no one else ever seems to mention, and answering questions you never knew you needed to ask.

Book preview

Headlong

Volume Two in the Starbound series

Copyright 2013 Lucien Romano

Published by Lucien Romano at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Acknowledgements

Steven Garrard – editorial advice

Tom Deas – cover design & advertising copy

Stephanie Seeley – cover art

Author's Note

All characters and events in this novel, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Contents

Why are they still trying to kill us?

Chapter One: Flight

Chapter Two: Pursuit

Chapter Three: Encounter

Chapter Four: Charge

Chapter Five: Expansion

Chapter Six: Revelation

Chapter Seven: Deceleration

About the author

Why are they still trying to kill us?

Exiled from the world her parents had struggled in vain to change for the better, Annaliese and her family are no longer fighting for their ideals, but their lives. When dark forces re-emerge, the family's past finally confronts them, but their determination to survive thrusts them into a conflict whose outcome will decide the future of humanity.

Chapter One: Flight

You never know when it will be the last time you do something. All I wanted that morning was to climb a mountain.

It had started well. After skiing for two days, late the previous afternoon I had reached the bottom of the prominent gully leading to the summit of The Fang, the mountain at the head of our valley. Camping under an overhanging rock buttress had given me an undisturbed and reasonably comfortable night. Now, having set off before dawn, there were only a few metres left before I would reach the gully exit. I was revelling in the exertion of climbing, gasping for breath in the thinner air and exhilarated by the frozen beauty of my surroundings. Gritty black rock and crisp white snow framed a slice of deep blue sky above. With a final lung-bursting rush, I flailed up through the overhanging snow cornice and out onto the summit snowfield. Midday sunshine flooded down and a cool breeze blew in my face, refreshingly welcome after the confines of the gully.

As I stood panting from the effort, I surveyed my surroundings. The summit was a mere hundred metres away. In my rucksack were a packed lunch and flask of coffee, a pleasant picnic to enjoy as I admired the splendour of my world, counting off the mountains ranged around the horizon. Some were peaks familiar from previous expeditions, while others remained unclimbed. Among them Valhalla, its summit permanently wreathed in cloud.

Having got my breath back, I holstered the ice axe and started for the top. Halfway there, I became aware of something strange. There appeared to be a summit cairn where none should be. Puzzled, I continued my ascent, but stopped dead when I realized the object was a rucksack sticking out of the snow. Crouching down, I looked around quickly. There was no one in sight, but the pack could not have been there for more than a few hours without being covered by the overnight snowfall.

A dark suspicion was forming in my mind. Until that moment, the possibility had always seemed remote, even illusory, but could now have become awful reality. The moist warmth generated by the climb seemed to condense instantly into icy droplets of cold sweat. My first impulse was to retreat back down the gully. But I could not simply leave. I had to know for certain. And stubbornly, I would not be cheated of completing the ascent. Trying to calm my breathing, I continued my advance. At the summit, my worst fears were doubly confirmed. The rucksack bore a familiar blue and white insignia and its owner was a mere hundred metres away. At the top of the cliff on the far side of the summit, facing away from me and scanning the horizon with powerful binoculars was a man. A living nemesis who could turn and destroy me at any moment.

Without knowing how I got there, I found myself prostrate in the snow, hoping this was not happening. I wanted to rewind time and not come here. Not today, not ever. What should have been a long-anticipated moment of satisfaction had been cruelly twisted from my grasp by fate. When I looked up, I wanted the rucksack and the man to be gone. A ghastly delusion, brought on by over-exertion. But the pack was there. I could see it. With a trembling hand, I reached out and touched it. It was real.

My mouth was dry. I'm going to die, I thought, and there's nothing I can do to prevent it. How can I possibly escape? All I could do was cheat him of his prey by leaping over the cliff myself. But I knew I would never do that. The very idea made my hands clench into fists and I glared at the man. How dare he come here and spoil my day! For an instant I wanted to stand up and confront him, but that was silly, I had to run. I knew our time here was now over, but I also knew it was up to me to decide how it would end. Top priority was to warn my family and then find somewhere to hide until they came to rescue me. We did not communicate routinely, but I had my emergency transceiver. When I hit the panic button though, the display showed no returning acknowledgement. The signal must be being jammed. I almost threw it down in frustration, but with trembling hands, stuffed it back in its pouch. My situation was getting worse by the minute.

Now I had only one course of action. I would have to do this the hard way: ski all the way home without being caught. Well, if I had to, I had to. There was no other choice. If I could not be rescued, the only person I could rely on was myself.

So get a grip, you pathetic specimen, I scolded myself. This wasn't how you were brought up, was it? You should know what to do. And if you don't, you can work it out. You've been trained your whole life to solve problems.

I needed to think clearly, make a plan, keep it simple and not miss anything. First I had to prevent him from alerting his comrades, then I had to find a way to stop him from catching me. The solution to both was obvious. I grabbed his rucksack and looking over my shoulder the whole way, retreated to the top of the gully. After kicking it over the cliff, I realized that I should have searched it, but told myself there was not enough time.

After setting up a snow anchor, I started abseiling as fast as I dared back down to my camp, craning my neck to look up for fear of discovery. It was a relief to reach the end of the rope and pull it down after me, but there he was above. A shot rang out. Chips of rock clattered against my climbing helmet. Frantically, I dived behind a boulder in the middle of the gully. That was close! Heart pounding, I tried to control my breathing. What now? I had to make another belay and continue abseiling, but it needed a secure anchor point. My hiding place would have been fine, except that as I descended, I would be in plain view only fifty metres below the gully exit. He could not follow me down here, though. If he had any climbing hardware, it was gone with his rucksack. With only skis he would have to descend the far side of the mountain and traverse around. Meaning I had a couple of hours' head start. After that, it would be a race. He could follow my tracks, but if I could keep far enough ahead, he would not have any food or water. I should be able to get away and reach home. Could I ski for eighteen solid hours, having just climbed a mountain? Shut up, stupid, you'll have to, I told myself. Don't even think about it yet.

By now I had finished coiling the rope and was looking for somewhere to hide against the gully wall. I could not go down the middle, but I could keep out of sight by hugging the left side. It curved away when seen from above. It was now or never. Shouldering the rope, I leaped out to cross the open snow between myself and sanctuary.

Crack! Another shot. I felt it tug at my neck as I scrambled into cover, surrounded by dancing snowflakes. No, insulation from the hood of my thermal suit. As I feared, he was a professional. No blasting away, wasting ammunition, just two aimed shots that had very nearly been on target. In my brightly coloured outfit, I was easy to see. For more than a minute the gully was quiet again, even if my heartbeat was not. I had finished fixing the belay when I heard a dull thud above. It must have been loud for me to hear it over my own breathing. I looked up, and wished I had not.

Avalanche!

Another second and it engulfed me in a roaring torrent of white. I was sliding down the rope from the sheer volume of snow battering into me. There was nothing I could do except hope I did not break any bones. I was completely disoriented, blinded by flying snow, unable to tell which way up I was. Abruptly the roaring ceased. The gully was not wide enough to hold sufficient snow to keep the avalanche going. Only a small one then, I thought stupidly. Tons of snow or not, any avalanche can be fatal. The rope had gone. I must have shot right off the end of it. But my vision was clearing. I was on my back, head downwards. If I hit something hard, it would all be over.

Amazingly, I still had my ice axe. I had not secured the leash around my wrist, but the tool was in its holster. Urgently I drew it and drove it into the snow at my side. It swung me around until I was travelling feet first. I managed to roll onto my front and by applying as much pressure as I could, eventually slowed myself to a trembling halt.

I looked up quickly. Can he see me? There was no sign of him. The narrow walls of rock twisted to the left as they rose above me. Now I had to find my campsite and get away before he came looking for me. He would not believe I was dead. He would want to see a body. That gave me an idea, but first I had to get down to my tent. I reckoned it could not be more than a couple of hundred metres below. Removing my crampons and crouching down, I began to glissade, sliding on the soles of my boots and slowing myself with the ice axe whenever I picked up too much speed. By the time I spotted the tent I had overshot by a couple of metres. Hastily, I scrambled back up. There was no time to lose.

After the warm sunshine on the summit, the air was chilly in the shadowy confines of the gully, but I hardly noticed. I was pouring with sweat. Slipping off my one-piece thermal suit, I pulled out the tent's contents as fast as I could, making a pile of things I needed. The unwanted gear went into a nearby crevasse, except for my sleeping bag, which I slashed with my pocketknife. If my pursuer gave up and came here while waiting for pick up, he would get no help from me. However, the ruined sleeping bag would be great for the idea I had earlier. Stuffing its remains into the thermal suit, I added my climbing harness, helmet, ice tools and slashed the whole thing to make it look like it had fallen down a mountain, which most of it just had. I positioned the decoy in plain view at the bottom of the gully. If I could gain some distance, he might spot it and waste valuable time climbing back up here to investigate.

That left the tent. It was of no further use to me, but I did not want to discard it. It had belonged to my Father. I wanted to take it with me, but simple logic told me that was absurd. It was unnecessary weight and time was pressing. With moist eyes I slashed it, bent the poles across my knee and cast the whole thing into the glittering blue depths of the crevasse. My only comfort was the thought that Father would have done the same.

After packing the remaining gear into my rucksack and bars of chocolate into the pockets of my windproof jacket, I clipped on my skis and was ready to leave. But I needed something to drink first. My mouth was dry, making my tongue feel uncomfortably bloated. My water bottle was nearly empty. I had drunk most of its contents on the ascent. There was coffee in my flask and for a few seconds I dithered about taking off my rucksack again and fishing it out, but decided I could not spare the time. Instead, I simply slurped the last of the water to cool my mouth, stuffed the bottle full of snow and trusted it would melt in the afternoon sun. Then I left.

It was good to be skiing again, especially as this section would be downhill. Despite the narrow escape, I felt calmer. From here on, getting home was down to my skill as a skier and powers of endurance. On the open slope there were no more details to worry about. For better or worse, I had made my choices. I could not think of anything I had forgotten. All I needed to do was ski for my life. The descent would require concentration, but for the first time since leaving the summit, I was able to think about more than my own survival.

Although I was his immediate target, the scout was not looking for me personally. His objective was my home and the rest of my family. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to lead him right to them. In the same way that I had not dared confront him, it never occurred to me to sacrifice myself by leading him in the opposite direction. That idea was certain suicide. He was a trained assassin and I had no military skills. I preferred to believe I could gain enough distance and reach home ahead of him. Then we could leave. Then we would have to.

It was my parents who were responsible for my predicament, of course. They had once been very important people, but after an assassination attempt on my Mother, they had fled into exile, hoping that if they were out of reach for long enough, the initiatives they had launched might succeed and we would be safe. It had not happened. Our only peace had come from isolation, and if that were not hard enough, we then had to deal with the loss of my Father. He had died in a mountaineering accident when I was only seven years old.

It was not supposed to be that way. My parents had intended to create a better world, but instead they had ended up hiding in exile. All my life I had yearned to meet new people, but at that moment, if someone had offered endless solitude as the price of safety, I would have taken it without hesitation. As I had just discovered, the only new people I could expect to meet would be hunting me.

The next couple of hours passed quickly. Not having any major decisions to worry about, I could concentrate on my skiing and navigation. As I descended, I even managed some reasonably proficient Telemark turns. In other circumstances, it would have been glorious. My skis hissed beneath me as they carved through the firmly packed snow, the afternoon sun shone warmly down, and the cold clear air blowing through my hair felt wonderful. It was a beautiful day and I had just climbed The Fang. That personal triumph now seemed irrelevant. I only wanted to get home. When setting out, I had been looking forward to being on my own for a few days, but now I realized how utterly alone I was. I yearned to be back with my family. Most of all, I missed my Father.

My next objective was to get out of the narrow side valley that led down from the gully. When I rounded the final spur into the main valley leading home, it would also put me out of sight of my pursuer. Of course my tracks were there in the snow, but the sun was behind me and high in the northern sky, making them difficult to see. Even so, I was careful to stay on firm snow and leave as little imprint as possible. It would have been ideal if conditions had deteriorated, but I had planned the original expedition carefully and waited for a period of settled fine weather. Apart from an occasional moderate snowfall, there would be no convenient blizzard into which I could disappear. There was no point in stopping to look back. The faster I went the better.

When I reached the junction with the main valley, I looked for somewhere to take a break. A fold in the ground was ideal and after slipping off my skis, poles and pack, I slumped down in the snow. While rummaging in my rucksack, I found the miniature binoculars I used for route finding and scrambling up to look back the way I had come, almost used them to search for my pursuer. Just in time I remembered the direction of the sun and put them away. A reflection from their lenses would have given away my position. With only my eyes, I could not see any trace of him. Which was good. It meant he could not be that close.

It was time for my packed lunch and flask of coffee, but despite being thirsty, I was not hungry, although it was well into the afternoon. Thick slices of cheese on wholemeal rolls would normally have been welcome after a hard morning's climb. But I had to supply myself with energy for the long trek home and forced myself to finish every scrap. I knew that to keep going in this environment, I had to eat before I became hungry and drink before thirst and then dehydration could affect me.

Feeling fresher from the food, drink and rest, I set off again. My rate of progress would depend on how well I could route-find back along the valley. The ultimate outcome would depend on luck, too. Without communications, the scout could not alert his comrades, but he could not report in, either. I could only hope their procedures were sloppy. Once he was overdue, they might put it down to equipment failure and not be in any hurry to come and find him. If they did before sunset, I would be in real trouble. After dark, I hoped I would hear an approaching craft in enough time to climb inside my foil survival bag and cover myself with snow, so as not to show up on a thermal imaging system.

The afternoon wore on into early evening and I made steady progress, although by the time the sun was touching the horizon behind me, I was very tired and in need of more food and rest. Even though I had not caught sight of my pursuer during the brief intervals I had paused to unwrap a chocolate bar, I dared not stop before dark. I had run out of water too. The snow in my water bottle had melted down to a few mouthfuls, so I would have to melt more on my stove. I pushed on, using the basic Nordic skier's diagonal stride as the undulating terrain allowed, but now even short uphill sections had me waddling up them using a slow herringbone technique, where earlier I would have kicked hard and strode up over them.

Ahead, in the clear brightness of early dusk, I could make out the edge of the sparse forest that would provide me with cover for most of the way home. It also meant I had covered half the distance in my headlong flight from the mountain, which was good. Until then, I did not even want to think about what lay beyond. The long lonely kilometres I would have to traverse before reaching home. Up on the mountain, I was not sure I could do it in one go, but having covered half already, I began to believe I would make it.

With renewed vigour I headed towards the trees, only to have my plan frustrated when I realized that I still had the river to cross. It had steep banks and being fast flowing, did not freeze evenly enough to justify the risk of crossing it, even in a hard winter. On my way out here, I had avoided this section by fording the shallows lower down and making a detour up one flank of the valley, above forest and river. Having to pick my way over a boulder-strewn hillside in the dark meant I could not retrace that route.

Annoyed with myself, I skied along the top of the riverbank, hoping to find a place to get over before the river plunged into a narrow, steep-sided defile. In the fading light, I saw it: a fallen giant fern tree a hundred metres before the waterfall. It lay covered with snow and frozen into the icy surface, but it almost bridged the gap. In any but my present situation, I would not have risked it.

At the base of the tree, I took off my skis and poles and strapped them to my pack. Cautiously, I shuffled along the snow-covered trunk. At the far end I had to pick my way through the upper branches, before putting my skis back on to cover the final few metres of uneven ice to the far bank. I did not know whether I should move slowly for fear of disturbing the ice or just go for it. I tried slowly, until there was a loud crack beneath me. Then I went for it, flinging myself across, to end up in a trembling heap on the far bank, whereupon I started to slide backwards and had to scramble desperately to the top with fright-induced strength.

However, I had made it. The nearest trees were only a hundred metres away. But once I was safe, my energy seemed to drain away and it took ages to get there and find a suitable place to stop. I needed a hollow where I could set up the stove without fear of its glow showing and from where I could keep an eye on the surrounding valley. Eventually I found one and flopped down into it without even removing my skis.

Just two minutes, I promised myself. Two minutes to get my breath and I'll get on with it: take off my skis, put on all my spare clothing to keep warm, set up and light the stove, gather some snow in a pan and melt it for a hot drink, melt some more snow and make up a packet of dehydrated food, check my skis and apply more wax as I'm sure they need it, sort my kit into order and repack it, melt yet more snow to refill my flask with coffee… The list seemed endless, but I lay there not doing any of it, simply running through what I would do, visualizing these tasks in my mind, until sheer fatigue had induced me to believe that I could actually be doing these things by thinking about them…

With a sharp jolt of fear I sat up. Above me the hard glitter of stars shone down from an inky black sky through the branches overhead. I was cold, very cold indeed. How long had I lain here? There was no way to tell, as I had not checked the time when I stopped. Thankfully, it could not have been too long. The red hues of sunset's afterglow were still visible and the evening star had not yet set. I shook my head to clear it.

With shivering urgency I set about my tasks. For fear