Point Blanc by Anthony Horowitz Page B

teenagers
weren't good shots. The animals they managed to hit were only wounded,
and Alex felt a growing sickness, following this trail of blood.
    They reached
a clearing and paused to reload. Alex turned to Fiona. "I'm going
back to the house," he said.
    "Why?
Can't stand the sight of a little blood?"
    Alex glanced
at a hare about fifty feet away. It was lying on its side with its back legs kicking
helplessly. "I'm surprised they let you carry guns," he said.
"I thought you had to be seventeen."
    Rufus
overheard him. He stepped forward, an ugly look in his eyes. "We
don't bother with rules in the countryside," he muttered.
    "Maybe
Alex wants to call a policeman!" Fiona said.
    "The
nearest police station is forty miles from here," Rufus said with a cold
smile.
    "Do you
want to borrow my cell phone?" one of the other boys asked.
    They all
laughed again. Alex had had enough. Without saying another word, he turned
around and walked off.

    It had taken
him thirty minutes to reach the clearing, but thirty minutes later he was still
stuck in the woods, completely surrounded by trees and wild shrubs. Alex
realized he was lost. He was annoyed with himself. He should have watched where
he was going when he was following Fiona and the others. The forest was
enormous. Walk in the wrong direction and he might blunder onto the North
Yorkshire moors ... and it could be days before he was found. At the same
time, the spring foliage was so thick that he could barely see ten yards in any
direction. How could he possibly find his way? Should he try to retrace his
steps or continue forward in the hope of stumbling on the right path?
    Alex sensed danger
before the first shot was fired. Perhaps it was the snapping of a twig or the
click of a metal bolt being slipped into place. He froze--and that was
what saved him. There was an explosion--loud, close--and a tree one
step ahead of him shattered, splinters of wood dancing in the air.
    Alex turned
around, searching for whoever had fired the shot. "What are you
doing?" he shouted. "You nearly hit me!"
    Almost
immediately there was a second shot and, just behind it, a whoop of excited
laughter. And then Alex realized what was happening: They hadn't mistaken
him for an animal. They were aiming at him for fun.
    He dived
forward and began to run. The trunks of the trees seemed to press in on him
from all sides, threatening to bar his way. The ground underneath was soft from
recent rain and dragged at his feet, trying to glue them into place. There was
a third explosion. He ducked, feeling the gunshot spray above his head,
shredding the foliage.
    Anywhere else
in the world, this would have been madness. But this was the middle of the
English countryside and these were rich, bored teenagers who were used to
having things their own way. Somehow, Alex had insulted them. Perhaps it had
been the jibe about the wrapping paper. Perhaps it was his refusal to tell
Fiona who he really was. But they had decided to teach him a lesson, and they
would worry about the consequences later. Did they mean to kill him? "We
don't bother with rules in the countryside," Rufus had said. If
Alex was badly wounded--or even killed--they would somehow get away
with it.
A dreadful accident.
He wasn't looking where he was going and stepped into the line of fire
.
    No. That was
impossible.
    They were
trying to scare him--that was all.
    Two more
shots. A pheasant erupted out of the ground, a ball of spinning feathers, and
screamed up into the sky. Alex ran on, his breath rasping in his throat. A
thick briar reached out across his chest and tore at his clothes. He still had
the gun he had been given, and he used it to beat a way through. A tangle of
roots almost sent him sprawling.
    "Alex?
Where are you?" The voice belonged to Rufus. It was high-pitched and
mocking, coming from the other side of a barrier of leaves. There was another
shot, but this one went high over his head. They couldn't see him. Had he
escaped?
    No, he
hadn't. Alex