Die Trying by Lee Child

They’re going to the punishment hut,” Reacher whispered.

They lost sight of them as the trees closed around the path to the next

clearing. But they could still hear the screaming. Sounded like

Brogan knew exactly what was going to happen to him. McGrath

remembered recounting Borken’s end of the conversation on the radio.

Reacher remembered burying Jackson’s mangled body.

They risked getting a little closer to the next clearing. Saw the six

men head for the windowless hut and stop at the door. The point men

turned and covered the area with their rifles. The guy gripping

Brogan’s right wrist fumbled the key out of his pocket with his spare

hand. Brogan yelled for help. He yelled for mercy. The guy unlocked

the door. Swung it open. Stopped in surprise on the threshold and

shouted.

Joseph Ray came out. Still naked, his clothes balled in his arms.

Dried blood all over the bottom of his face like a mask. He danced and

stumbled over the shale in his bare feet. The six men watched him

go.

“Who the hell’s that?” McGrath whispered.

“Just some asshole,” Reacher whispered back.

Brogan was dropped onto the ground. Then he was hauled upright by the

collar. He was staring wildly around and screaming. Reacher saw his

face, white and terrified, mouth open. The six men threw him into the

hut. They stepped in after him. The door slammed. McGrath and

Reacher moved closer. They heard screams and the thump of a body

hitting the walls. Those sounds went on for several minutes. Then it

went quiet. The door opened. The six men filed out, smiling and

dusting their hands. The last man darted back for a final kick.

Reacher heard the blow land and Brogan scream. Then the guy locked the

door and hustled after the others. They crunched over the stones and

were gone. The clearing fell silent.

Holly limped across the raised floor to the door. Pressed her ear onto

it and listened. All quiet. No sound. She limped back to her

mattress and picked up the spare pair of fatigue trousers. Used her

teeth to pick the seams. Tore the material apart until she had

separated the front panel of one of the legs. It gave her a piece of

canvas cloth maybe thirty inches long and six wide. She took it into

the bathroom and ran the sink full of hot water. Soaked the strip of

cloth in it. Then she took off her trousers. Squeezed the soaking

canvas out and bound it as tight as she could around her knee. Tied it

off and put her trousers back on. Her idea was the hot wet cloth might

shrink slightly as it dried. It might tighten more. It was as near as

she was going to get to solving her problem. Keeping the joint rigid

was the only way to kill the pain.

Then she did what she’d been rehearsing. She pulled the rubber foot

off the bottom of her crutch. Smashed the metal end into the tile in

the shower. The tile shattered. She reversed the crutch and used the

end of the curved elbow clip to prise the shards off the wall. She

selected two. Each was a rough triangle, narrow at the

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base and pointed. She used the edge of the elbow clip to scrape away

the clay at the leading point. Left the vitrified white surface layer

intact, like the blade of a knife.

She put her weapons in two separate pockets. Pulled the shower curtain

to conceal the damage. Put the rubber foot back on the crutch. Limped

back to her mattress and sat down to wait.

The problem with using just one camera was that it had to be set to a

fairly wide shot. That was the only way to cover the whole area. So

any particular thing was small on the screen. The group of men

carrying something had shown up like a large insect crawling across the

glass.

“Was that Brogan?” Webster asked out loud.

The aide ran the video back and watched again.

“He’s face down,” he said. “Hard to tell.”

He froze the action and used the digital manipulator to enlarge the