Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  7 A CRUEL DEATH

  If Jonathon had planned to observe the encampment from the low-lying hills close to the tents, Amie decided to observe it from across the river. She would wade over further downstream to the far side, rather than make directly for the camp, so she needed to circle round. First though, she had to find the river. Usually this wasn’t too difficult, for where there was water, the trees grew more abundantly alongside the banks. She hugged the more densely wooded areas, keeping her pace slow and steady. She deliberately put her feet only on the bare ground, and she kept an eye on the trees overhead. She doubted there would be too many large carnivores in the area with so many people around, but there was still plenty of danger, snakes, scorpions and spiders and, of course, the dreaded mosquitoes. She had no idea if they would take a liking to the gunk that she had spread all over her face, and she was reluctant to smear on the anti-mosquito cream in case the colour came off.

  As she approached the top of a low rise, she took off her backpack, got down on all fours and crawled to the summit. There, way over to her left, she could see the camp, exactly as Ben had described it with the river beyond it, the water sparkling in the moonlight. She wriggled like a snake over the brow of the hill and slithered down, looking out for any patrols. She had just reached the cover of a line of small bushes when she heard muted voices. She lay still, hugging the ground.

  There were two of them and if they were supposed to be guarding the camp, they were making a very bad job of it. They were standing not far from Amie, laughing and joking as they lit their cigarettes. It was unlikely they would have seen her crouched low under the bush, and it didn’t appear they were on the alert for any signs of danger.

  After a couple of minutes they wandered off towards the tented area, and Amie waited for several more, before she crawled away at a tangent. She was hoping she could find enough cover to hole up in, ready to get a good view when the sun came up in the morning.

  Amie made her way towards the river. She would need to cross it and as she approached, she saw with relief the water was not very deep and she would easily be able to wade across to the other side. She squatted down next to an overhanging willow tree that reminded her of the one in her father-in-law’s garden. Next decision, should she attempt to walk across and present a more visible target, or keep low and try to swim over? She mentally listed the contents of her backpack, was there anything that would spoil if it got wet?

  She kicked herself, one thing at a time, Amie. The first priority was to replenish her water supply, and while she was doing that, she could take an extra few minutes to make a decision.

  She slithered down the muddy bank, pulled out the empty bottles and waded a little way into the water. She filled all of them and screwed the tops back on. The backpack would be considerably heavier now, but that was a small price to pay when tomorrow the African sun beat down on her.

  Everything appeared quiet and peaceful, but Amie did not let her guard down for a moment. She kept trying to remember little bits from the films she’d watched, in what now felt like a previous life, on how to act like a commando. If only Jonathon had given her some lessons in self-protection.

  She remembered the gun, surely if that got wet it wouldn’t work? So swimming was out, she would need to wade across, but she would wait a little longer until there was no sign of life from the camp. She also remembered all those plastic packages she’d taken from Jonathon’s bag, it might not be a good idea to let those get wet either, for all she knew they might explode if they came into contact with water. It was no contest; she would have to walk across.

  The half-moon had risen high in the night sky before she decided to make a move. Clutching her backpack securely in her arms and bending forwards slightly, she waded into the warm water. It was approximately twelve metres from bank to bank but it felt the length of a marathon course to Amie as she tried to create as few ripples as possible. At this depth, the water only came halfway up her thighs, so she didn’t think it would be teeming with crocodiles or hippos. She shook at the thought, while her back crawled as she imagined someone taking aim and shooting her from behind. Time seemed to stand still as she crossed and at the last minute she fell forwards into the water as her foot hit the bottom of the slope on the far side. As quickly as she could, she scurried up the bank and crawled beneath the vegetation. She was some way upriver from the camp, so she decided to rest for a while and dry out a little, before she eased her way along parallel to the water, to get as close to the tented area as she could. It looked as if the bag hadn’t got wet on the inside, and she wiped it as dry as she could with her sleeve.

  Amie still had no idea what she was going to do once she’d taken a look at the camp. She could hardly walk in and demand they return her husband and his friends, assuming that’s where they were. They might as easily shoot her on sight, but it would be worse if they questioned, tortured or raped her. She went cold at the very thought but she couldn’t second-guess what was going to happen. She would have to make decisions as she went along.

  After about an hour, she shuffled her way further along the bank, crouching low, and moving a couple of steps before she paused to look and listen. She thought if someone saw her, they would expect her to keep moving. Well, that was the plan. She allowed herself a brief moment to feel smug. Was all this infiltration business simply common sense?

  At last, when she felt close enough to the furthest tent, she used her hands to dig down and make a hollow under a particularly dense bush, and curled up to wait for morning. She was doubtful if she’d be able to doze off for more than a few moments at a time, and so far, she had been running on pure adrenaline. One moment she felt brave, the next, terrified out of her mind. What choices did she have? Could she have left without finding out what had happened to Jonathon? Was she fooling herself if she thought she could do anything to help? What of her desperate longing to rescue Angelina? In fact what was she doing here at all, huddled in a hole by a river, in the African bush, next to a fundamentalist camp run by people who were not known for their kind and welcoming hospitality? It was all so bizarre! Would she wake up in her own bed tomorrow morning as her mother brought her an early morning cup of tea?

  No, the reality was here and now and she must make the best of it.

  The long night dragged on and on, but eventually the pre-dawn light showed Amie a clearer picture of her surroundings. She was very relieved to see the vegetation that hung over the hole she’d dug for herself was thicker than she’d thought, it had been difficult to judge in the dark. She had a good view of the camp a little way along on the far side of the river, though she would have to rely on her own vision. Charles had taken the binoculars, and Jonathon had that nifty little gadget that showed things at night.

  What now? She could only wait and see what happened. At some point someone was bound to come down to the river to wash or collect water.

  Shortly after the sun rose there was a call, its eerie tones splitting the air and Amie saw people rushing out of their tents, slipping down briefly to the river to wash before bowing down in prayer. So, these people were fanatical Muslims after all.

  All the time she had lived in Apatu, there had only been one mosque and only a few women were seen in the streets wearing the all-encompassing burqas. So, this was definitely not a camp of Togodian rebels.

  The next flurry of activity was the raising of the flag, which had a black background with a white circle and some Arabic writing Amie couldn’t read. Although she didn’t have a clear view of the middle of the camp, it looked like most of the soldiers had gathered round to stand to attention while one of the soldiers pulled on the halyard that took the flag to the top of the pole.

  This told Amie something else. Either they were not bothered if they were seen, or they were quite happy to engage with anyone who got too close. If they were as fanatical as they were described, it was likely they were happy to die for their cause. She recalled one of the great African leaders who’d sent his wa
rriors into battle with the promise that all the bullets from the British forces would turn to rain and would not cause them any harm. Of course, this was far from the truth and hundreds were mown down in the first charge. Even in this modern day, belief in witchcraft and magic was alive and well among most people, including the very well educated.

  Amie shrank back into her hiding place, checking to see there was nothing of hers that might reflect the sun’s rays. She removed her wedding ring, recalling some Hollywood movie where the sparkle from a ring had alerted a sharp-eyed guard, and the infiltrators were seized and put to death.

  Next, it was time for breakfast and the soldiers milled around holding plates as they queued up at one of the tents. To Amie’s eyes they didn’t appear to be very disciplined, pushing and shoving and behaving more like schoolboys than trained fighters. They were a rag-tag bunch, no two men were dressed exactly the same. While they all sported a black uniform of a sort, it was mismatched and scruffy. Most had boots, but a couple of them wore sandals. She tried to count them but it was difficult as they wandered to and fro. She estimated there were twenty to thirty in total.

  Amie massaged her arms and legs to prevent them cramping up, and wriggled into a more comfortable position. So far, no one had even glanced in her direction and she was not unduly surprised to note that no one was on patrol on this side of the river. For now, she felt she was safe if she remained hidden.

  A little later a few soldiers approached one of the tents that backed onto the river, opened the flaps, went inside and after some time, dragged out several women, at least Amie guessed they were women as each one was draped from head to toe in a black burqa. Several of them were wailing, shrieking and protesting, and Amie had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying out.

  She counted a total of seven altogether, who were forced to sit on the ground before each one was handed a plate. One of the soldiers went back into the women’s tent and dragged out two small children. They too were forced to sit and made to eat. One little girl refused, and shook her head from side to side. A soldier shouted at her and backhanded her across the face, sending the child sprawling in the dust. He heaved her back up and pointed to the bowl of food she’d rejected. Reluctantly she picked it up and dipped her finger in it. The soldier continued to glare at her and indicated she should put it in her mouth.

  Watching closely, Amie thought the captives were local Togodians. It looked as if they didn’t speak the same language as their captors so Ben had told the truth. But there was also the possibility he’d led Jonathon and Charles into a trap and he was in league with the group. Two white men might be good collateral for a ransom. Someone outside must be funding all this. Amie prayed if the men had been captured, they were still alive.

  Her eyes tried to pick out individual faces, but she was too far away to distinguish one from another, and to move closer would put her in danger. She tried to focus on the two children, was one of them Angelina? It was impossible to say.

  As soon as the women had finished eating, they were handed piles of the soldiers’ dirty plates and herded down to the river. Although they were a little way upstream from Amie, she now had a clearer view, but it was still impossible to make out who was who under all the black material. At the river they rolled up their sleeves and washed the dishes. Two of the guards were standing idly watching them, but as they huddled together sharing a match to light their cigarettes, one of the women gave a shriek. Like a wild animal she ran as fast as she could across the river away from the camp. Her heavy burqa weighed her down and for a moment, Amie thought she might be pulled under, but the water was not deep. When the woman picked up her hem she moved faster, putting more distance between herself and the camp.

  For a few brief moments the soldiers stood there in shock, and then they leapt into action. Running back to the tents, one of them reappeared with a rifle and took aim at the woman. He fired wildly, missing time and time again, giving the desperate woman the chance to get further away. She paused to try and wrestle off the burqa, but it was a big mistake, as more soldiers appeared further down on the opposite bank and a whole barrage of bullets flew until one found its mark.

  The woman shrieked and fell face down in the water. Oh my God, oh my God, Amie whispered to herself, and while every instinct urged her to try and save the poor soul, self-preservation and shock made her quite unable to move.

  For good measure, some of the other soldiers appeared and shot at the heaped black bundle, part floating, part dragging in the water, as it moved in the slight current. Amie could only console herself that at last the woman’s suffering was over and she was now free. She was worried the men would come and retrieve the body, so very close to her hiding place, but to her enormous relief no one seemed inclined to do so.

  After a few moments of cheering and backslapping and self-congratulation, the men scattered around the camp, some to form a loose cordon around the rest of the women who were standing in shock like waxworks. But the soldiers harassed them, and reluctantly they went back to washing the dishes under the eagle eyes of their guards.

  Amie quaked, what am I doing here? She asked herself for the hundredth time. What have I got involved in now? She glanced back at the body that was half floating in the current, at first bumping gently against the shore. Then it began to glide gently down the river.

  Amie had always thought it was cruel to force women to dress in black clothing in hot countries, everyone knew black absorbed the heat and was to be avoided. Was that why the men usually dressed in white she wondered?

  Her attention was drawn back to the camp where she could see one of the soldiers, who looked as if he was in charge, rounding up a group and marching them to the edge of the camp. She could only surmise it was lesson time, as the portly leader was shouting at them, waving his arms around as he screeched strings of words without appearing to draw breath. He waved a variety of different weapons at them, presumably demonstrating how they worked or what damage they caused.

  The men crowded forward, eager to get their hands on the weapons, but the commander, if that’s what he was, kept them at bay. He was determined to explain the theory before the practical.

  Two men appeared rolling a small drum that they filled with earth and propped against a large boulder. One by one the men were lined up, and handed a weapon. If the idea was to hit the target, not many of them succeeded in getting anywhere near it. Shot after shot rang through the air, but the drum remained pristine.

  The leader moved the men closer and closer still, but not one bullet found its mark. As the sun rose higher the men began to falter, and one or two tried to back off and look for shade, but their leader was ruthless and didn’t let up for one moment. He screamed, shouted, threatened and once again they would form up and attempt to hit the target.

  If Amie hadn’t been in such a precarious position, she would’ve found the whole display rather funny. It was like a parody from a television show, as they continued to load and fire, load and fire without hitting anything at all. This continued for some hours, until at last even their leader gave up in disgust and dismissed them all.

  It was at that point Amie realised the women were no longer in sight. She had been so absorbed watching the men’s antics she hadn’t thought to watch them. They were gone, possibly herded back into the same tent but she wasn’t certain where they were. She noticed one small girl being pushed towards the river, the soldier behind her urging her forwards with the barrel of his rifle. She walked one slow step at a time, looking at the ground, dragging her feet and in her left hand she clutched a bedraggled, blue teddy bear. When she reached the river she walked in a little way and turned to face the guard but not before looking in Amie’s direction.

  It’s her! It’s really her!

  Amie gasped under her breath. It’s a miracle she’s still alive and I’ve found her, after all that’s happened, after all this time. I’m sure it’s Angelina! Is it Angelina? Or am I hallucinating? She was finding it d
ifficult to think straight and as the heat waves oscillated the scene in front of her, she began to have her doubts. Yes, the child certainly looked like Angelina but it was probably only wishful thinking. Amie exhaled and stared as hard as she could. The child wasn’t allowed to stay in the cool water for very long, before the guard on the bank shouted at her and reluctantly, she climbed the bank and was pushed into the tent which Amie now guessed was the one where the women were kept. She wondered if they’d be allowed out again at lunch time.

  Twice during the day the women were let out, and escorted away from the camp, on each occasion closely surrounded by at least a dozen armed guards who kept them closely packed together. Amie could only guess they’d increased their surveillance after the morning’s attempted escape.

  The afternoon looked as if it was designated as time for siesta; the camp lay quiet. Amie took the opportunity to doze off in a deliberate attempt to stop her thoughts from racing, asking herself questions she couldn’t answer. Each time she woke and there was no sign of life, Amie took the opportunity to dig further down and widen the depression in the ground where she was hiding. It was hard work, for the sandy soil was deeply packed and her nails became torn and ragged. She opened the backpack and retrieved the spoon, asking herself how she could have been so stupid not to think of using it before. It must be the heat, preventing her from thinking straight. The sweat dripped from under her cap, ran down her face, stung her eyes and made her clothes stick to her body like a second skin. What was worse a small swarm of biting flies had found her and were having a feast. She didn’t dare swat them too vigorously in case she was seen, but they were making her life a misery.

  She mentally mapped the camp layout as best she could, which was similar to the way Ben had described it. She had also decided what she was going to do once it got dark, so all she had to do now was wait, and hope and pray no one noticed her.