At last, it was impossible to ignore the complaints from the children in the back. They were hot and hungry, and despite not eating or drinking for hours, they kept asking for bathroom breaks. When she saw a clump of straggly vegetation not far from the road, Amie drove off the tarmac and headed towards it.
Once they’d all scrambled out, she went to investigate the plants; there were several fruits that were safe to eat. She was unsure about some of the leaves and having once made that near fatal mistake, was now unsure which were good to eat and which were not. Some years had passed since she’d been forced to fend for herself in the wild, and now she was in charge of these children, she didn’t want to kill them.
She meandered through the grassland and shrubs identifying some wild melons, cucumbers and a marula tree that had dropped several of its nuts on the ground. She scooped them up and began handing them round.
“Maisie, come and join us!” she called. The little girl was too terrified to get out of the truck, but unseen by anyone she’d crawled behind the steering wheel to play at being the driver by turning it this way and that.
The children stared at Amie’s berries. It wasn’t hard to imagine what they were thinking.
“Are you sure this stuff is all right?” Linda turned the melon over and over in her hands.
“Yes, these fruits I know, but don’t ... No! Winnie! No! You can’t just eat any plant and that one you’ve just picked you can’t eat. It’s Kigelia and that fruit will make you very sick.” Winnie dropped it immediately. “Go wipe your hands on those leaves over there,” and Amie pointed to a clump of wild sorghum. “We don’t have spare water to wash hands, so scrub them very hard on the grass.”
They sat and nibbled the fruit. The melons weren’t the sweet, imported kind the girls were used to eating in England, many of them were quite sour, and the fleshy marula nuts were also quite tart, but no one complained.
“Right, back in the truck, we can eat as we go along, and bring some for Maisie.” Amie marched them back to the Land Rover, a bit like a sergeant major, she thought, but I have to keep them under control. Winnie seemed reluctant to get in. “It’s so hot in there,” she said, pointing to the back seat.
“Yes, I know darling, but we need to run away from the bad people don’t we? We must drive far, far away from them.” Amie gave her a hug and lifted her up into the truck.
“How much further?” Fazia asked.
“I’m not sure.” Amie moved Maisie to the back seat and climbed in behind the wheel. “I think this road will take us to the capital city which is called Atari, and I hope we’ll find some friends there. Why don’t you all curl up and have a little nap?”
The first couple of times Amie turned the ignition key, the Land Rover refused to start and she broke out in a cold sweat. No, no, she thought, not now, no, please! It gave one more hiccup and then reluctantly turned over twice and burst into life.
“What do you need your lights on for during the day?” Linda asked.
“Are they on?” Amie peered at the dashboard. “Goodness, how did that happen? No wonder the engine didn’t start first time.” She flicked the switch then looked at Maisie. “Did you play with these switches?” In the rear view mirror she saw the child give a tiny nod.
“You must never, never do that again, do you hear me? If the truck won’t go, then we will all have to walk.”
“Then we would die.” Linda shouted at Maisie who promptly burst into tears.
“OK, let it go now, Linda, I’m sure she won’t touch the knobs again will you, Maisie?” But the child was too busy crying to answer.
They travelled on through the heat of the day, Amie praying that the engine would recharge the battery sufficiently to start the truck again if they had to stop. She had to rein in her impatience each time one of the girls begged her to stop for yet another bathroom break. She left the engine idling as they took their time communing with nature. They were all sweating in the heat. She had limited their drinking water to make it last as long as possible, so she suspected their constant cries of, “I need to pee, again!” were just an excuse to escape the truck and let off some steam.
Now they had left the village many miles behind, the children had lost some of their fear and saw no reason to hurry. She tried to explain to them that they must use all the fuel to make the truck go forward, but they took little notice of her. They probably didn’t believe her.
“You can stop at a petrol station and get more, that’s what my dad does,” piped up Maisie from the back seat.
“Have you seen a petrol station?” Amie barked. It was hard to be gentle. There was no response.
At last, just when the sun had started to sink behind the hills, they saw the city lights twinkling in the distance. Their cheering came at the exact same moment that the Land Rover juddered, spluttered and came to a halt. It was going no further.
“Why are we stopped?” Winnie asked.
“Well, girls, we have finally run out of petrol. We will not be able to go any further tonight.”
Amie put her head in her hands to ease the stiffness in her neck and shoulders and give herself a minute to think. Should they stay in the truck overnight and walk into town the next morning, or follow the road on foot in the dark? She squinted at the distant lights, estimating how far away they were and how long it would take little legs to walk that distance. She guessed it might be Atari, but she wasn’t familiar with the southern part of Ruanga, and it might only be a mining town. But if it was, then there was a good chance she could contact other foreigners who could help her, she knew the expatriate network was second to none in Africa.
The children, especially the little ones, now refused to leave the truck, so the decision was made for her. They felt safe inside and despite being both hungry and thirsty, loudly announced they were not walking anywhere in the dark. Maisie was convinced there was a lion behind every bush, while Fazia whined she was too tired and Linda flatly refused. The only child who had nothing to say was Winnie, who was curled up in a little ball on the back seat fast asleep.
Amie ensured all the doors were safely locked, and leaving only the narrowest opening at the top of the windows, settled down to sleep. The morning would come soon enough.
It was a very uncomfortable night. Stuck behind the steering wheel, Amie tossed and turned, bumping her knees and elbows every five minutes. Finally, she got out and walked round to the back of the Land Rover where she opened the tailgate and climbed into the space behind the back seats. She was still scrunched up, and the floor was hard, but it was better than a soft seat and obstacles like steering wheels and gear sticks digging into her. She finally drifted off and was walking down the aisle with Simon, while the church bells rang and the congregation was cheering. Then the chimes turned into hollow clangs and the cheering and clapping morphed into wails. She sat bolt upright, banging her head on the roof and scaring the daylights out of the howling children who’d thought she’d run away in the night. The bells were worn by a herd of goats driven by a small boy who pressed his nose against the window making faces at the girls who screamed in terror.
Amie rubbed her neck, and giggled at the startled kids; goats and children.
“Hey, calm down, you lot, there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s only a little boy with his goats. She pulled a couple of grotesque faces at the young lad and one look at her sent him scarpering across the grassland, shouting to his animals to follow him.
“We thought you’d gone and left us,” wailed Maisie.
“No, I’m still here,” replied Amie climbing over both rows of seats and into the front. “OK kids, we can’t drive any further, so we’re going to have to walk, unless we can hitch a ride, but there’s not too many cars using this road. So, all ready? Got bottles of water?” Amie did her best to sound upbeat.
“I’m hungry,” whined Winnie. “When can we eat?”
“As soon as we get to the town.” Amie doubted she would see any wild edible plants this close to the
city and anything growing would be sure to belong to a local farmer; accusations of theft was the last thing they needed.
“I’m hungry, too,” Maisie joined in. “I’m too tired to walk.”
“Well, I’m not going to carry you,” Amie replied as sternly as she could. “We will all have to be brave like soldiers and march along. The quicker we walk, the quicker we’ll get there. Right, out we get.”
They scrambled reluctantly out of the truck and stood while Amie locked it up, hoping against hope it would be safe until she could return with fuel. While they might not drive it away it wouldn’t take long for someone to remove the wheels and any other detachable items.
She lined up the girls in single file and marched them off up the road singing at the tops of their voices in time with their steps. At first the elder girls refused to join in, until first Fazia and then Linda got into the spirit of the game and they all stomped along singing and waving their arms as they approached the city. In the light of day it looked much further away than Amie had thought.
As the sun began to warm up the land, the little ones began to wilt and move slower and slower, until Winnie finally came to a stop. To Amie’s dismay, Atari looked no closer than it had when they’d first set out. Would they ever get there?
“Look, look a car!” shrieked Linda, and before Amie could stop her she had run into the road waving her arms up and down like a windmill.
“Stop! Stop!” she shouted and the car did – inches away from her. Amie realised she’d been holding her breath, expecting to see Linda flattened under the wheels.
Linda rushed round to the driver’s side, and grabbing the man’s arm which was resting on the open window, she begged him to take them all into town. Amie dashed over to apologise and add her pleas for a lift. The driver smiled.
“What the devil are you doing walking this far out of town?” the Englishman asked her.
“Very, very long story,” Amie told him. “We need to get food first, and then,” she glanced over the group, “a bath, clean clothes, some fuel for our Land Rover, a good sleep and then find the British Embassy.”
“I can certainly point you in the right direction for all of those except the last one.” As he spoke, he leaned over and opened the back door so the children could pile onto the seat.
“Hop in.” He nodded at Amie who gratefully climbed in beside him.
“Do you live in Atari?” she asked as he moved off.
“Here on a two-year contract, out of London. Just made an early call to one of the sites near the border.”
“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t help us get to the British Embassy?” Amie asked.
“They closed it, about two months ago.”
“Closed!” This was the worst possible news she could hear.
“Yup. No one is quite sure whether it’s part of a cost cutting exercise post Brexit, or if there’s some row going on between the British and Ruangan governments. Oh, by the way, name’s Doug Sanders and you are?”
“Uh, Felicity Mansell.” Amie was tempted to give him her real name but held back. Officially Amie Fish had been deceased for a couple of years, but then Felicity Mansell was manufactured out of thin air and she doubted there were any long-term records on file of her existence either.
“Well, as I was saying, the embassy just closed its doors and before anyone knew it, we were told to liaise with the American Embassy should there be any problems. Of course, it might also have something to do with our project originally being British, but our company’s been bought out by a US outfit. Maybe Ruanga isn’t important in the greater scheme of things. There aren’t many Brits left here now, most of us have been replaced by American crews, so it’s a wait and see game.”
Amie was stunned. She’d been so sure she could deliver the children to the embassy, explain the circumstances, get through to London and hopefully they would send her back to Durban and Simon. Now she was back at square one with no idea what to do. Were the Americans likely to help her? How could she explain the fate of the aid workers, she hadn’t even enquired the name of the agency that had sent them out there – if they were aid workers at all. Worst of all, while she might have been able to make a plan for herself, she had now promised four children she would look after them and keep them safe.
She prayed that Doug would not ask any more searching questions; she was still working on a cover story.
“So, where have you come from?” he asked after a few minutes silence.
“Zimbabwe,” Amie replied. “The children ran away when the farm they were living on was attacked.” She lowered her voice, “and we don’t talk about it, you understand? I’m just helping them to get to safety. They are still too traumatized to say anything much.” As she said this, she turned to glare at the children huddled together on the back seat. She hoped at least the elder girls would have the sense to keep their mouths shut and stop the little ones from gabbling on. A few sentences in broad regional English accents might alert Doug to her lie and make him probe further.
She was relieved when an uneasy silence fell over the children as they sped towards the Ruangan capital.
Atari was just as she remembered it, much like many African towns. There was the usual taxi rank, teeming with minibuses, while throngs of men, women and children swarmed along the pavements, often stepping into the street without looking either way. In front of the two-storey stone buildings that lined either side of the road, row upon row of women sat on the pavements with their wares set out before them on pieces of material or torn up cardboard boxes. Mostly they were offering fruit, vegetables and raw meat. A few had assembled makeshift stalls where they were cooking a variety of animal parts and whole mealie cobs. One wizened old man was grinding away on a battered metal structure pressing the juice out of sugar canes into small plastic cups. There was the usual cacophony of sound; shrieking voices, horns blasting, the odd goat bleating as it tried to escape from ropes tying it to a lamppost, and the inevitable squawks from chickens as they were hauled out of their cages feet first, bound tightly around the legs and handed over, still complaining, to the waiting customers.
From the looks on their faces, Amie guessed the girls had not passed through any major African towns on their way to the death village, as she now thought of it. She could only guess it had been abandoned long ago and was now a handy collection point for the children. The girls stared wide eyed at the scenes before them and howled with laughter at the state of some of the battered vehicles on the road. It was hard not to gawk at the piles of rubbish littering the ground, the raw meat sellers and the plight of their doomed animals where no animal rights groups would save them from their misery.
As soon as they had found somewhere to sleep and get cleaned up, Amie needed to have a long talk with the children, she needed as much information from them as possible before she planned what to do next.
14 THE CHILDREN'S STORY
Doug swerved along the main streets, narrowly avoiding pedestrians as they weaved back and forth across the road, then he turned into a quiet, leafy, suburban street that, except for the wraparound verandas and the tropical vegetation in the gardens, could have been any number of places in the first world.
“It’s best I drop you here,” he said. “This is a small guest house we often use for minor visiting bigwigs and it’s a whole lot cheaper than the hotels in town.” He must have summed up their present circumstances given the state of their clothing and lack of luggage of any kind, but to Amie’s relief he refrained from asking any more questions.
“The lady that runs it goes by the name of Twigga, and she speaks pretty good English. I’m billeted two streets further over, large pale blue house, can’t miss it. If you need help, just yell.”
“Thank you so much. I do appreciate your kindness. I’ll need to get back out to the Land Rover with petrol before anyone makes off with bits of it.”
Doug threw back his head and laughed. “Tell you what, I’ll pick up some petrol fo
r you and meet you back here just before sunset, as soon as I finish for the day. How would that be?”
“Would you really? Sure you don’t mind?”
“It’d be my pleasure. Always willing to help a lady and her,” he paused, “children.”
“Oh, they’re not ...” Amie paused too, the less said the better, but she would have to think of a plausible story for later. He was bound to start asking questions, and she had no intention of telling him the truth. She’d stick to the Zimbabwe scenario she’d mentioned earlier.
Slowly the children climbed out of the car and looked around.
“Where’s this?” asked Maisie.
“A nice guest house where we can stay for a night or two while I get things sorted out,” Amie replied. “Let’s go and meet the lady who owns it, shall we?”
The door flew open before they even had a chance to clang the cow bell hanging invitingly outside on a long chain. Amie could only guess that Twigga had seen the car arrive outside and was ready and willing to offer them accommodation.
“Come in, come in, welcome.” The very tall African woman grabbed Amie’s right hand and shook it effusively in the three directional handshake that was common practice in Africa. “Come, come into the parlour and tell me what I can do for you.”
“Thank you.” Amie ushered the little ones in front of her, leaving Linda and Fazia to follow. They remained in the doorway, taking in the oversized furniture, the glass cabinets filled with china, glassware and photographs and the plethora of doilies and chair back covers draped carefully in strategic places.
“Come, come. My name is Twigga. Yes, I know it is the Swahili word for a giraffe,” Twigga giggled. “But my mother told me many times that she was visited in the night by an enormous Masai warrior, so she knew I was going to be a very tall girl.”
Amie thought Twigga’s mother had been right, for she towered over her by at least six inches. She was also as thin as a straw, with long slender fingers and a narrow, smiling face.
Cut for Life Page 13
