by Candy Rae
CHAPTER 12 (Southern Continent)
When the horses and their riders trotted down the hill leading away from Fort the day before it was overrun, they turned sharp north, skirting the edge of the animal corral, using the upturned ground to hide their tracks. Gerry pushed them along as fast as he dared, wanting to be well away before nightfall and any possible pursuit.
Only Gerry and Camilla knew their eventual destination. That way, if caught, nobody could be forced to tell what they didn’t know. The escapees rode, silently for the most part, each alone with his or her thoughts. All the young women and girls with him, except for Martine, had left families behind; all were here without them for the first time in their lives. It was dark when Gerry called a halt for the night beside a small river tributary that bubbled merrily at them as they led their tired mounts to water. They had food in the saddlebags, enough for both man and beast for four days, after this they would make slower time as they foraged for food. Luckily, the horses appeared to enjoy the native vegetation and greedily nosed around for the most succulent stalks of the long desert grass once they had emptied their nosebags.
Once the adolescents had eaten, Gerry called them over to where he and Martine were sitting. In the clear light of the full moon, he took out the map that Camilla had thrust into his hands as he was leaving.
“No point in me keeping it,” she had said. “We aren’t going anywhere and I don’t want to make a present of it to the convicts.” Gerry had reluctantly agreed with this and had slipped it into the folds of his belt-pouch. He knew that he would not see her again, realising that the defenders were too few to keep up effective resistance for long. Some of the girls had realised this as well and it was with long and anxious faces that they settled down to hear him speak.
“Right,” he started, “we follow the edge of the foothills round for approximately three days. The land here is well wooded and should give us plenty of cover; it should hide our tracks. Then we break north at a suitable place and head for the coast. So that you know, we are making for a group of islands about eighty miles east of where we should hit the coastline. Our eventual destination is one of the larger islands on the chain of islands that reaches towards the northern continent. The map is detailed enough to tell us that there is water there.”
“Fresh water?” interrupted one of the girls.
“Yes. There are abundant hardwood trees and other foliage on the island and we all know that they require fresh water to survive. There will be roots and fruit there as well. We won’t starve.”
“Protein?”
“Fish in the sea and these ubiquitous rodents,” was the reply.
One or two of the girls sighed with relief.
“What about those at Fort?” a tall blond girl asked. “When will we know when it is safe to return?”
Gerry looked at his questioner, not knowing how to answer, well aware that there was little chance of return for any of them.
What can I do for her? What can I say to her? “Someone from Fort will come and tell us,” he lied. “They know where we are going.”
She nodded, apparently content. Others, the more thoughtful, looked unconvinced, Jessica Howard especially. She had inherited her father’s ability to see beyond the trappings and go straight to the root of the matter. She opened her mouth to speak but Gerry raised his hand in a gesture to stop her. The old saying that she can’t see the wood for the trees most definitely did not apply to the Captain’s eldest daughter.
She subsided, but didn’t look happy about it.
Martine, seeing this, decided to get them all off the subject. “Let’s get some kip,” she suggested with false brightness. “Things will seem better in the morning.”
The following morning there were many moans and groans as muscles started to ache in protest at the girls’ unaccustomed exercise. Not having taken part in the riding practice sessions, Jessica especially found it extremely difficult even to remain in a standing position for any length of time. The abused muscles in her thighs and calves trembled with every tentative step she took. She had absolutely no idea how she was going to get into the saddle, never mind how to actually stay there.
Gerry was sympathetic. He berated those inclined to laugh at her misfortunes, informing them in no uncertain terms that she had been thrown a-saddleback without as much as a by-your-leave. They at least had had time for their muscles to grow at least partly accustomed to the exercise.
They tidied their campsite and departed, wondering all the time what was happening back at Fort. Perhaps it was as well that they did not know. By common consent nobody discussed the matter, confining themselves to sporadic and short conversations on the subjects of breakfast and their aches and pains. They did not travel so fast the second day. Gerry did not want to push the horses too hard, especially the two pregnant mares, and they still had a long way to go. Every few hours they stopped and took a short rest and Gerry made them walk beside their mounts for at least part of the afternoon.
A small party of Larg was watching. They however, were obeying Aoalvaldr’s orders and stayed well out of sight.
It was almost dark when Gerry first became consciously aware of the uneasiness that had been building up inside him. The woods were far too still. Their footsteps sounded very loud in the silence. His grey mare also seemed uneasy, her ears flickered up and down and she tongued her bit nervously. He became aware that her back was stiffening under him and she began to take short jerky steps. His nose caught the whiff of a totally unexpected smell, of roasting meat. No, that couldn’t be; or could it? Silently, he motioned for those behind him to stop; not wanting the sounds of jingling tack to warn of their approach. He dismounted and signalled Martine to get the girls under cover. He himself began to walk through the trees, heading towards the smell, fully expecting to see a crowd of marauding convicts sitting round their campfire, as yet unaware of their presence.
As he drew near, the smell of roasting meat made his mouth water, and he heard the sound of low male voices that then unaccountably became silent. He frowned thoughtfully. He recognised none at this distance, he would have to get closer. As he approached the fire glow he realised, much to his surprise, that there were only four men lying round the fire pit. Gerry unslung his laser-rifle from his shoulder. As he set the firing mechanism to ready, he felt it’s quiet thrum up his arm. He dropped to his knees and began to creep closer to the fire. The men seemed to be unaware of his approach, laughing and joking quietly as they watched their meal cook. Hunkering down behind a prickly bush, this part of the hills was infested with these annoying plants, he aimed the rifle at the group. One burst would be enough to incapacitate them. He hoped, as he braced the butt against his shoulder, that the men had no friends skulking nearby. A laser-rifle let off an intense blaze of blue light when it fired, especially noticeable in the dark.
His finger was poised over the firing trigger when the men began to speak again. Gerry, being much closer this time, could even discern what they were saying. The name Camilla was clearly identifiable and then they began to talk about a locator. His finger relaxed and he brought the rifle down from his shoulder, set it to standby and laid it on the ground. There was no way the convicts could possibly have known about the locator. These men were not convicts. It must be the away-team who had been missing these many weeks. He thought for a moment, wondering the best way to approach them. If they were startled he might find himself being fired on before he had a chance to identify himself. Caution would be his best policy.
The men started to talk quietly again. Remaining hidden behind the bush, Gerry called out to them.
“Hello there.”
The four were instantly on the alert, two dropping to the ground, the other two picking up their own rifles and kneeling in their firing positions, beginning to sweep the area.
“Who is that?” demanded one. “Come out and show yourselves or I’ll fire a complete circle. Be sure I’ll get you.”
“It’s Gerry from the ship. I was the lives
tock-handler. Is that you Captain Howard? Commander Todd sent a group of us away when the convicts appeared at Fort.”
The away-team looked at each other uncertainly.
“Fort?” queried Angus. “What is Fort?”
“Commander Todd must have decided to stand and fight,” vouchsafed Tom.
Johannes Pederson raised himself slightly from the ground and looked at Peter Howard. “I know that voice. I think he’s telling the truth. I’m sure that is Gerry Russell.”
Gerry relaxed, ever so slightly.
“I’m coming out,” he announced, stood up and began to walk towards them, hands held high above his head.
Peter and the others could hardly believe what their eyes were telling them. Gerry was almost the last person they had expected to see out in the wilds like this.
“Great stars, it is you,” the Captain announced, as Gerry got close enough for him to make out his features. “Are you alone?”
“The rest are with Martine not far away,” said Gerry with a small smile.
“How many?” asked Peter, still rather bemused at these night-time shenanigans. “Where are the rest of the crew? Why did Camilla send you off? What has happened? The locator stopped working the day before yesterday.”
“Disabled,” was Gerry’s answer.
Johannes asked the next question, the one uppermost on his mind. “Where are Ulla and Carla?”
“Safe when I last saw them,” answered Gerry evasively. Looking at the four, he continued, forestalling further questions. “Explanations can wait. Let’s get the rest of my party in and then we can decide what’s to be done.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Peter and began to walk towards him. Gerry answered with a nod, saying in tones that only he could hear, “Jessica is with me but not Carla. Both she and Ulla had to remain at Fort. So did your wife. There was no way we could get them all away.”
That piece of information took the Captain aback. The situation must have been bad indeed for Anne to decide to send Jessica away like this.
He stepped back. “On second thoughts Gerry, you go and bring them in, I’ll wait here. You armed?”
“Rifle is in the bushes over there,” answered Gerry pointing in the direction of the prickly bush.
“Get it,” Peter ordered Angus.
Gerry left on his errand, intent on bringing Martine and the girls into the relative safety of the campsite as soon as may be. Angus searched the bushes carefully and on finding the rifle brought it back and placed it with the other two beside the fire, within easy reach.
Whilst the men waited, Peter took the opportunity to tell Johannes that his daughter was not with Gerry’s group.
“But that means that they are still at that fort place,” Johannes groaned, the blood draining from his face. “I must go to them.”
“You can’t,” said Peter, “not before we know what has happened.” He half-pushed the older man into a sitting position, reasoning that he’d better sit down before he fell.
A female voice came from the darkness beyond the campsite.
“We’re coming in,” it announced. There were sounds of approaching feet from the darkness. A young whirlwind sped ahead of the others and into the campsite. It was Jessica, desperate to see her father. With a squeal of delight she fell into his arms.
“Dad,” she cried. “It has been so awful. The convicts are going to take over Fort. Mum sent me away.”
Johannes sat up. “I must go to Ulla and Carla.” He lunged for one of the rifles, picked it up and started to run out of the campsite.
“Stop him,” shouted Gerry. “Stop him someone.”
It was young Tom who stopped the engineer and wrestled him to the ground. Johannes fought back like a man demented, but eventually he calmed down. He sat on the ground in a heap, sobbing disconsolately.
Peter disentangled himself from his daughter’s embrace and she stood, still and shocked, watching Johannes Pederson cry. She had never seen a grown-up cry before. He went over and sat beside him. “Johannes, there’s nothing you can do at the moment,” he said. “Fort is probably being attacked as we speak. We have a responsibility to those who are here with us now. You’ll not be helping your family if you run off and get yourself killed. We can work out what we can do to help them once we find ourselves somewhere safe to hide out and find out what the situation is back there. Until then we must bide our time.” It was the complete Captain talking now and Johannes began to pay attention. He stopped struggling. His shoulders sagged and he sat there, the tears running in rivulets down his cheeks.
Jessica tried to comfort him. “They were safe when we left.”
“But what is happening to them now?” he sobbed in a voice stricken with broken emotion. “Can you answer me that?”
Jessica could not. She had come to realise just what a perilous situation her mother had tried to save her from. She was not to find out until much later that it was already too late. Their loved ones had already been incarcerated in the cave and their captors were celebrating their victory.
They stayed silent for a while, lost in thought.
“We have to go on,” announced Gerry at last. “If they overcome Fort they will send search parties out to look for us once they realise that some have got away.” He and Martine drew closer to Peter, Angus and Tom. “I mean, eleven women. Too great a prize to be ignored. I believe that we should carry through Camilla’s original plan, make for the coast then the island chain. If we can escape capture that far we have a good chance to reach one of the larger islands. We can hide there, at least for a while.”
“How would we get across?” asked Tom.
“It’s fairly shallow water. We can swim. Make simple rafts if we have the time. The horses can and will swim beside us.”
Peter nodded. It appeared feasible. They could not stay here. It was too close to Fort.
“We all need some rest first,” he decided. “I vote we stay here until tomorrow evening. Get some provisions together. I also think we should travel by night and rest by day, safer from prying eyes.”
“Agreed,” said Martine. “Now I will get the girls settled if you men will get the horses tethered.” She turned away with a small smile and headed towards the bunch of girls.
“Yes,” said Peter, “and you Gerry can tell us the full story whilst we are doing just that.” The four walked towards the horses.
Johannes said nothing. He sat huddled by the fire pit, too wrapped in his own misery to care.
In the end, it was decided not to spend the entire night and following day resting. In the middle of the night the youngsters were woken, protesting feebly, and after a scratch meal they took to the trail again. Now that there were sixteen humans in the party they were too many to ride so they walked. At dawn they rested, the horses grazing contentedly nearby.
All had a spell of guard duty and when not on duty, most slept restlessly, imaginations running riot at what was happening at Fort. When they set out that evening, their packs would be tied to the horses. With no heavy luggage to carry it was hoped that they would make better time. After all, any pursuit would come on foot and without benefit of a pack train.
Peter was pleased to see that there was even some laughter and chatter as they readied themselves for their first full night’s march. They filled their water canisters from the nearby stream. Water was not a problem. This part of the continent was comparatively lush when compared with the desert further south. The succulent water roots would be gathered whilst they walked. They had a distinct advantage over the other edibles growing beside the streams as they were as nice to eat cold as hot and could even be consumed raw. There was still a scarcity of larger game around. The small rodents that infested the area were time consuming to catch, living as they did in burrows and they did not have the time to wait for traps to be sprung.
As they walked, Johannes Pederson plodded along at their rear, taking little interest in anything and speaking to no one. Peter Howard was no whit less worr
ied about Anne and the younger children as was Johannes about Ulla and Carla. He himself was holding himself together for everyone’s sake but it was taking a great deal of effort on his part. He thought constantly about Anne, Cherry and Joseph.
The party covered a considerable distance each night. They had no idea if they were being followed or not. They reached the coast at the end of their twelfth night and turned east. They hoped to be able to reach the islands without any trouble.
The woods along the continent’s coastline were different from those further south. Instead of desert palms the woods were composed primarily of the soft and hardwood trees that existed in the north, although they were not aware of this. The party, instead of negotiating the woodlands, found that they made far better time keeping to the beaches, and the journey was a gentle one, or at least it would have been if their situation had not been so fraught with tension and worry, but as the days passed, they began to relax. There was still no sign of pursuit and Peter was beginning to hope that the convicts were so involved with their new lives back in the hills that they would decide to leave them alone. So apart from their worries about their loved ones, a holiday atmosphere was becoming predominant, days filled with late summer sunshine and cool breezes from the sea.
One cool morning after their night’s march they even decided to hold a barbecue on the beach. Enthusiastically, wood for a small fire was gathered and enough sea fish were caught to provide at least two each. Once the fire was lit they attempted to poke a stick through the gutted fish and roast them on the fire. There was great hilarity as one by one the fish fell off the sticks and into the fire. Jenny scorched her hand slightly digging her half-cooked meal out of the embers. They ate every speck of delicious flesh from the bones. Even the baked roots had never tasted so good.
“Tell you what I do miss,” said Jessica, biting into one.
“What?” asked Martine.
“Bread,” she answered. “Warm, straight from the ship ovens… crunchy crusted bread.”
“Me too,” answered Martine, also munching her way through a root, “but more than that.”
“What?”
“Pickled onions,” was her unexpected reply. “I used to be addicted to them.”
They all laughed. They were beginning to forget about their fugitive status.
In fact, their pursuers had found their trail. The men had set out two days after Fort had been overrun.
* * * * *
