Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [50]
He staggered on, one arm raised as a shield and suddenly lost his balance and fell, rolling over and over down a bank through sodden bracken and into a small stream.
It was no more than a couple of feet deep and he followed its course for thirty or forty yards, brown water foaming around him as he splashed forward, until the water deepened suddenly as the stream emptied into a round pool.
He struggled across to the other side and pulled himself up out of the water on to a steeply shelving bank, covered with boulders and rocks.
Somewhere near by, the Dobermann howled and he could hear it crashing through the undergrowth. He started to peel his sodden jacket from his body. He had just got it off, when the dog erupted from the undergrowth on the far side of the pool, plunged into the water and swam strongly towards him.
He waited until it was about three feet away and tossed his jacket over its head. The Dobermann reared up, snarling and trying to free itself and Brady picked up a stone as big as a man's head, staggered into the water and brought it down with all his force.
There was a dreadful cracking sound and bone splintered. The Dobermann screamed like a human being and bucked frantically. He brought the stone down again and all movement ceased.
He turned away, sobbing for breath and scrambled across the slippery boulders. Now all he had to do was stay ahead of Davos and get to the house. There was bound to be another gun there somewhere.
He could taste blood in his mouth as he clawed his way up through the fir trees and emerged on to level ground. At this point, the trees swept out in an arc, thinly scattered over the ground, until they almost touched the fence. As Brady started forward, there was a cry of anger and Davos appeared about forty yards to the left.
The Hungarian moved with astonishing rapidity, firing the first barrel as he ran. Brady was almost at the fence. He ducked as shot screamed through the rain over his head and then scrambled over and started to run, weaving desperately from side to side.
He had gone no more than twenty yards when the Hungarian reached the fence and fired the second barrel. Brady cried out in agony, tripped and rolled over and over, stopping a little way from the edge of the cliffs, his face to the sky, a stone digging painfully into his back.
The main blast had missed him, but several pellets had caught him in the left shoulder and arm and he sat up, his face grey with pain as blood soaked through his sleeve.
Davos moved down the slope towards him and halted five or six feet away. His face was white with rage and a muscle twitched convulsively in his jaw.
"I can forgive you many things, Brady," he said, "but not the dog. Not Kurt."
A helicopter swung in from the sea about a quarter of a mile away, its fuselage a vivid yellow smudge against the grey sky. The sound of its engine had no meaning for Davos. He broke open the shotgun and took two fresh cartridges from his breast pocket, his eyes never leaving Brady's face.
The stone upon which Brady had come to rest was about the size of a tennis ball. His right hand fastened over it and he dashed it into the Hungarian's face with all his force.
It caught him in the right eye. He screamed and dropped the gun and Brady scrambled to his feet and flung himself forward. Davos, maddened by the pain of his damaged eye, swung out wildly and caught Brady full in the mouth.
Pain had no meaning for Brady and he bored in, forgetting his damaged left arm, forgetting everything except the one fixed idea of smashing Davos into the ground.
Davos clubbed him in the side of the neck and then Brady was in close. He lifted his right knee into the Hungarian's crotch and then into the face. Davos twisted as he fell and rolled over the edge of the cliff, sliding on his back down the rock slope to the beach.
Brady had no more strength left. He sat there in the grass and fought for breath as the