Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  She ignored the general chatter around the cooking pit that night and considered each one of them in turn.

  Tony was full of himself, bossy and loud but almost too bossy to be an obvious plant. When they’d trained her at the Residence, they’d drummed into her that the best spies were those who never drew attention to themselves, but could melt into a crowd; nonentities who would never be remembered.

  Nigel was certainly self-effacing, in spite of his confession, but his withdrawn, moody behaviour did not suggest he was spy material either. His mental breakdown last night was either a brilliant piece of acting, or his story about being coerced into going to Africa might well be true.

  She could dismiss Kirsty. The girl was quite helpless and harmless. Who would send an agent out into the field who couldn’t even drive and didn’t have a clue? She was kind, sweet and in other circumstances Amie would have labelled her as the typical blonde bimbo, more at home having her nails done in the local shopping mall than representing any secret service abroad. But was that the perfect cover? It could all have been an act, making Kirsty an ace spy better than all of them put together.

  And what about Charlie? Amie decided she was her best bet. Charlie was rude and abrasive, but a thinker interested in foreign affairs. She was up to speed on current events, had obviously studied politics and was not afraid to voice her strong opinions. Yet Amie had noticed that outside the group, she never brought attention to herself, and several times Amie had observed her watching and listening carefully to the others. But then she remembered that fuss at the veterinary crossing. Spies did not deliberately upset government officials. Was that the perfect cover, though?

  Confused even more by her musings, Amie slithered down inside her sleeping bag and decided to do what her handlers had asked her to do – watch, listen, wait and see. Only time would tell why she was here.

  In the darkness, the little bugs, nestling unseen under the Land Rover and the Hilux, continued to send out their locations.

  9 DEATH IN ZIMBABWE

  They were all up early the next morning, packed and ready to move out shortly after the sun came up. Amie travelled in the Land Rover with a still-morose Nigel at the wheel, and Kirsty in the back, ear phones plugged in, head back, singing tunelessly to her iPod.

  Nigel’s body language was easy to read. He gripped the steering wheel as if it would fly out of his grasp if he took his attention off it; so tense, so unhappy. Poor devil, she thought, if only he’d lighten up.

  “You know you could really enjoy this trip if you set your mind to it, Nigel. It’s not going to be all that bad you know,” she remarked as they left the outskirts of Francistown.

  He grunted, anti-social and disinterested.

  “How long have you been banished for?”

  “I suppose until Father thinks I’ve come to my senses and decided to live my life his way,” he said.

  “And he doesn’t want you to become a chef?”

  “Nope.”

  “That shouldn’t stop you if it’s what you really want to do. When you get back to England why don’t you go and train somewhere? There must be plenty of government sponsored courses you could take and then you could find work in a hotel or restaurant somewhere.”

  Nigel laughed. Was that the first time she’d heard him laugh?

  “Easy as that? You think so?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be that easy. Studying is hard work, but at least you’d be doing what you want to do.”

  “They would cut me off without a penny, Felicity. And in my circles that would be pretty hard to take.” Nigel was at least talking and he was OK, cute in a way, but so uptight.

  During the rest of the journey Amie watched the landscape move and change as they got closer to the border at Plumtree. Kirsty sang, if you could call it that, and Nigel drove, mouth turned down at the edges, silent in his misery.

  It took five minutes to pass through the Botswana side of the border but a painful, irritating three hours to enter Zimbabwe.

  The border guards were brusque and insisted on them unloading everything out of both vehicles. They poked and prodded each bag, pulled up the carpets, and investigated every nook and cranny. One official approached the cars with a mirror on a long stick.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Kristy.

  “They check under the cars as well,” Amie told her. “To make sure we’re not smuggling in guns or other stuff slung underneath.”

  “Wow, talk about thorough. Oh shit! Damn! Blast!”

  Her cry got everyone’s attention.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve broken a nail,” Kirsty splayed her hands out in front of her. “Look! What a mess.”

  It was all Amie could do not to laugh while the guards looked bemused. The one with the mirror, sneered, shrugged then hurried into the hut to answer the radio, and the winking bugs went undetected.

  The border guards were obviously itching to confiscate anything they thought might infringe regulations, but in the end, they settled for charging import duty on the food and mosquito nets. They wanted American dollars but once they were assured that the travellers didn’t have any, they accepted South African Rand instead.

  They all relaxed when they finally drove away from the barriers. Amie congratulated herself because they hadn’t discovered the several hundred dollars nestling in the money belt under her clothes.

  Once they were a few kilometres away from the border they stopped for a drink and to swap drivers. There was a little idle chatter about the guards at Plumtree, possibly the most comfortable time they’d spent together so far. A quick nature break and it was time to push on.

  They clambered back into the trucks. This time Charlie took the wheel in the Land Rover, and Amie climbed in beside her, determined to make friends, while Nigel joined Tony and Kirsty leading in the Hilux.

  The road, although tarred, was in terrible condition, pot holes and wide cracks made driving difficult. The occasional village appeared on either side where local children waved and screamed at them, running dangerously towards the trucks in the hope of handouts. They were pitifully malnourished with protruding bellies that spoke of Kwashiorkor, a sure sign they lacked protein in their diet. Amie’s heart bled for the poor little mites, but there was nothing they could do for so many.

  As they approached Bulawayo, the numbers of settlements increased. Tony had decided they would not stop in any of the major towns – Zimbabwe was not the safest country for travelling – and they were lucky to find one petrol station on the main road even though they were forced to pay exorbitant prices to fill up.

  Bulawayo looked like a tired old lady. There was broken glass in several windows, crowds of aimless people wading through rubbish in the streets, areas which looked like bomb sites where vegetation had run riot and shops that had very little to sell. Even the market traders, scattered across the pavements displaying their wares on old and tatty sheets, had very little to offer.

  Despite there being relatively few cars on the roads, the traffic was chaotic and they were forced to a stop while a confrontation over an accident somewhere ahead was sorted out. Next to them was a market where several young men were hassling a couple of white tourists into buying their beautifully made carvings, each shrieking they could offer the best price. The cacophony of sound made Amie want to put her hands over her ears, but she drew back quickly to wind up the window as a throng of small boys crowded around the Land Rover. They half climbed onto the bonnet, grabbing onto the wing mirrors and door handles, holding their hands out then patting their tummies pleading for money, for food, for anything the travellers could give them. Most wore ragged clothes, washed over and over again until most of the colour had been lost. They looked like unkempt orphans who’d banded together in the city forming gangs in an effort to survive.

  Amie’s heart pounded in her ears, these kids could easily break the windscreen and climb in. Charlie looked terrified her eyes wide in horror. There was nothing they co
uld do. Then, from nowhere a policeman appeared and set about the children with his baton, hitting their heads, arms, legs and anywhere he could reach until, bruised and battered, they had all fled.

  The officer tapped on the window and Amie wound it down a couple of inches.

  “I so sorry, Madam, these boys, they are bad. I look after you.”

  “Thank you so much.” Amie nodded and smiled. The policeman walked alongside them as the traffic inched forward. He leaned in against the car and Amie noticed the gang following parallel on the pavement, out of reach of the policeman but ready to crowd back the moment he moved away. It dawned on her from the expression on the official’s face that he was only protecting them in return for money.

  “We’re going to have to give him something,” Amie told Charlie.

  “What! A policeman?” She was astounded. “He could accuse us of bribery!”

  “I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Amie replied. “The moment he steps away from the car, those urchins will be back and they don’t look particularly friendly. They’re desperate, Charlie.”

  Charlie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Can’t we wait until the road is clear and then speed off?”

  “We could try, but if we get held up in the traffic again, he might not be so willing to help us.” Amie foraged in her bag, took out a twenty Rand note and showed it to the policeman. His broad smile convinced her she had guessed correctly. “I’ll pass it out of the window just as the traffic speeds up, but I’ll have to time it just right. Too early and he’ll be off and the children will be back, too late and he’ll think we’re teasing him and he could try and stop us. There is also the chance he might insist on a full vehicle inspection and he’ll find some infringement and fine us anyway.”

  By the time both vehicles reached the highway out of town, everyone was on edge. They stopped by the side of the road where the land sloped away on either side with no habitation in sight.

  “That was real scary.” Kirsty was shaking her hands as if her nails were wet. Maybe it was her way of releasing tension.

  “We’re here to help these people! Don’t they bloody realise that?” Charlie shrieked.

  “Not that lot though, that’s not where we’re going, is it?” said Amie.

  “No, I know, but really ...” Charlie’s voice trailed off.

  “It’s to be expected, you know,” Tony, cool, calm and collected, spoke up. “These poor devils are living well below the breadline.”

  “That was a horrible experience. I don’t care what you say about breadlines, Tony, these people are savages. They don’t deserve our help,” Charlie snapped. Her face was flushed, her shirt wet through so it stuck to her body like a second skin. She wiped the sweat off her face before going to unload drinks and food from the back of the Hilux. “I honestly can’t believe a policeman would take a bribe.”

  “These are not the people we’re here to help Charlie, get a grip woman. We’re going into Ruanga where it’s very different. Right, Felicity?”

  “Uh, yes I think it will be different, but there’s still a lot of poverty ...”

  “Stop being so stupid, Charlie,” Tony butted in as if Amie hadn’t said anything at all, “in most countries you can bribe the police. They’re not all like they are in Britain. I’m not the slightest bit surprised.”

  Charlie glared at Tony, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again and stalked off to the other side of the road.

  “Let’s not squabble,” Amie said quietly. “There’s a lot that’s different about Africa. Any policeman would think it crazy to pass up an opportunity to earn a few extra Rands, or better still, American dollars.”

  A couple of hours later they stopped next to a burnt out building that had once been a farmhouse. Now, it was deserted, the once-tended garden overgrown, a few mangy looking maize plants struggling to survive among the weeds, the sheds that had once housed animals torn down and abandoned. The scene had an air of desolation. A gentle breeze blew the dust into little swirls that danced across the parched earth.

  “Once the breadbasket of Africa,” Amie remarked sadly, pointing to the fields surrounding the farmhouse. “Now, it produces nothing. The farmers were chased off or killed if they didn’t leave. What a waste.”

  “There’s someone here,” remarked Tony, as a tall, emaciated African man appeared from round the corner of the building.

  “Has he got a weapon?” Kirsty shuffled over to stand beside Nigel.

  The man looked to be in his sixties, but it was often difficult to tell. The hot African sun caused wrinkles at an early age and made the locals look much older than they were.

  “Can we help you?” Tony asked politely.

  “Ngiyacela, food? You have food?” The stranger peered hungrily through the windows of the Land Rover. His hands flapped ineffectually by his sides, his expression one of desperation. His feet made circles in the dust, causing small puffs of dirt to rise and fall on his bare toes.

  Kirsty, her pity overcoming her fear, opened the back of the Hilux and grabbed a chunk of bread onto which she scooped out the contents of a tin of corned beef. “Sure, come.” She held it out to him, she’d lost her fear of this gentle stranger and smiled at him.

  He took it in both hands, bowing slightly as he did so. “Ngiyabonga.” The man bit into the bread, ripping it apart with his teeth in his haste to swallow it.

  “He must be starving.” Charlie was shocked.

  The man ignored them until he had finished every last crumb, then nodded again and smiled.

  “Look, have another one.” Kirsty turned to take a second hunk of bread out of the cool box.

  This time the man did not eat it, but dragged a scruffy piece of material out of his pocket and carefully wrapped it round the food. He looked at them. “For my children.” He turned as if to walk away then hesitated and looking back said, “You have work for me?”

  “No, sorry, we are heading to Ruanga,” said Amie.

  The man nodded slowly, then looked at the ruined farmhouse. “All this,” he waved his arm to indicate the farm, “was one time a beautiful farm. We have many foods growing here, we eat every day and we have meat.” He dropped his shoulders. “Now, there is nothing.”

  “What happened?” asked Nigel.

  “They come in the night. They have big guns. They say they are from the government and the big minister needs the farm for his children.” The African bowed his head. “They drag the boss out and the mistress and then they beat them very bad and they do to her ... you know ... all of them they are laughing all the time. When they finish, they pour petrol over them and they burn. Then they chase us away and after that no one come again.”

  “They just left it to rot?” Kirsty’s eyes were wide. “But, but why? That doesn’t make sense, if it was a good farm and you were growing food and ...”

  The man shrugged. “The President, he tells them.”

  “But you stayed?” Amie asked.

  “This is my home. This is where I live. My ancestors are here. I cannot leave them.”

  “What the heck does he mean?” Kirsty raised her eyebrows.

  “His family’s graves are on the farm so he is bound to stay with them,” Amie whispered back.

  “But now my family have no work, no food, no seed to grow and they tell us it is not our land now so we must not use it. All the animals were taken away. They take all the cattle and the chickens and the goats, they do not even leave one for us. Ngiyabonga, Lisale Kuhle.” The soft clicks in the words echoed round the group as he tucked the food package under his arm and walked away.

  No one moved for a few minutes, watching until the man disappeared from sight behind the ruined buildings of what had once been a thriving farm.

  “Wow, that’s really sad.” Kirsty looked close to tears. “Jeez, how can people behave like that? It’s terrible.”

  “Life is tough on this continent, it’s the survival of the fittest,” Amie replied turning to repack the
cool boxes.

  “We should have given him more food,” said Nigel, shaking his head.

  “You heard what the lady said, it’s the survival of the fittest.” Tony’s clipped voice brooked no argument. “No good us going without, we have work to do. We need to look after ourselves.”

  What a bastard, thought Amie as she climbed back into the Land Rover. The milk of human kindness doesn’t flow strong through his veins, that’s for sure. So what the hell is he doing here?

  The rest of that day’s journey through Zimbabwe passed mainly without incident. They found a quiet space to camp and were not disturbed. Amie was able to reassure Kirsty that the chance of any wild and dangerous animals approaching them was nil. The majority of the wildlife had been shot and killed for food by the large numbers of people who were on the point of starvation. It would be as well to watch out for the smaller stuff though – snakes and mosquitoes – but their biggest threat came from humans.

  They had parked a little way off the road, although there was almost no traffic, so no one noticed another vehicle drive past in the dark. The driver was tall, with dark hair and blue eyes which checked the little red light blinking on the box on his dashboard. Everything was going to plan – they were doing exactly as they’d been told. He smiled to himself in the darkness and drove on.

  Tony organised for them to take turns to stay awake and keep watch, just in case, but the night passed peacefully and the next day they left early just after the sun peeped over the horizon. As the sky grew lighter, they relaxed in the cool of the morning. This was the best time to travel, before the sun began to bake the earth, reflecting hot ripples of air off the ground.

  Before they departed Amie wandered a little way off and tried to contact Simon on her new phone, but there was no signal. She sighed as she put it back in her bag.

  Tony and Kirsty were in the lead, driving the Land Rover while Amie took the wheel in the Hilux with Nigel and Charlie. It was impossible to drive too fast the potholes were enormous and in places it was necessary to drive off the road and into the bush to avoid them. The occasional ones they hit sent bone-jarring waves through both vehicles and occupants and on one occasion, Charlie was thrown upwards and hit her head hard on the roof.