Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “And then what?” Fazia hadn’t spoken in hours. Her face was flushed, perhaps from the heat although it had cooled down considerably now the sun was setting. Did she have a fever from her encounter with the lion? If so, there was nothing Amie could do about it except give her some aspirin if she was in pain, but the girl hadn’t complained once. She would have to wait until they got to Apatu to have it properly treated.

  “Then what? What do we do then?” Fazia repeated.

  Amie had hoped they wouldn’t think to ask that. She still didn’t have a plan, but responded cheerfully, “We’ll find some good people who will get you back home.”

  Yes, it would be home for them but not for Amie, she no longer had a home, or a family; she didn’t belong anywhere.

  She had promised she’d drive them into town but they were low on fuel. She’d emptied the last can just after they’d crossed the river and she doubted they had enough petrol to get them to any sizeable town; Apatu was still a long way off. If they were forced to walk, which was highly likely, she would try to find the main road that ran from the Ruangan border through to the city. It was the only place where she could possibly get the medical and consular help they needed.

  She’d briefly considered trying to reach Dirk and Helen’s game farm, but it was a long way off the main road, in the middle of nowhere, if they were still there. Once she hit the road, she couldn’t be sure whether to turn north or south to find their turn off. They too thought her dead; they’d even been at her funeral. She could just imagine their faces when she turned up with four British children of African heritage who she was trying to rescue. She reasoned she would stand a better chance in the capital city, with an airport and friends in high places. She’d given Dirk and Helen enough grief in the past.

  The clouds had begun to roll in, blocking out the last glimmer of light from the setting sun. They had crossed the river just in time. The rains could come at any moment and all the rivers in this land of drought and deluge, would be transformed into raging torrents. The dry river beds would welcome the first trickles of water sliding over the sand, turning the dry dongas into fast flowing rivers. The temperature had dropped from the daytime forty degrees to about twenty; it felt cold.

  After much grumbling and complaining, pushing and shoving, everyone had fallen quiet, and slight snores from Fazia resonated in the darkness. The moon was full, but as the storm clouds rolled in, the land darkened and outside became pitch black.

  Amie didn’t think for one moment she would sleep. She shivered as she slid down in the driver’s seat and tried to get comfortable, but the fact that she’d not slept at all the previous night, together with the stresses and strains of getting the truck and the children this far, sent her to sleep the moment she put her head back and closed her eyes.

  She had no idea how long she slept but it was completely dark when she woke and this time it was her bladder that was screaming for attention. She checked the children were all fast asleep, quietly opened the door and slipped out. The cold night air hit her but she could smell no danger. After listening for several moments, she decided it was safe to relieve herself.

  She’d only gone a few steps from the Land Rover and was about to grab the door handle of the truck to climb back in when a rough hand clamped round her mouth pulling her head backwards; her body slammed hard against the person behind her. Still half asleep, she had no time to take evasive action before the other hand held her in a fierce grip pinning her arms to her sides. A leg came out and swept her off her feet and she swung free for a moment before landing heavily on the ground. It knocked the wind out of her. In the dim light she could not see her attacker who was now lying on top of her, his muscular thighs trapping her.

  Amie writhed and kicked but it made no difference. She was unable to move and had no breath to scream and alert the girls. The weight pressing down on her slim frame was crushing her ribs, causing her to gasp for air. She went limp, hoping he would release his grip and she would get a chance to fight back. She heard him chuckle, almost as if he’d read her mind. He was not going to give her a chance to escape. Amie couldn’t imagine who would attack her here in the middle of nowhere. There had been no sign or smell of danger, and walking about in the bush at night was not something the Africans did on their own. Her mind was whirling; this didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be the police, they would have approached in a vehicle, and again, there would be several of them. A poacher? A local farmer? Someone from a hunting party? Someone sent to take the girls back for their barbaric ceremony? She had no idea. Whoever it was had her at his mercy and was dangerous. She didn’t know how to escape this time.

  For a brief moment the clouds drifted away from the full moon and illuminated him. She was staring into the face of the man she thought she’d killed. He was alive.

  Time stood still while Amie’s thoughts ran riot. What was the best thing to do, what could she do? Having remained limp for several seconds she tried to wriggle her arms free, to move her legs but the man on top of her was as solid as a rock, and did she imagine she heard him chuckle, again?

  Without warning, he suddenly pitched forward and fell flat on top of her crushing her even further into the ground and knocking the breath out of her once more.

  “Got him good an’ proper, Miss.” Linda was standing over her grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Want me to whack him again?”

  Amie heaved and rolled his dead weight off her, struggling to get free. She glanced at him lying next to her. “Uh, well maybe, um ... You could have killed him, Linda!”

  “Nah,” the ten-year-old brandished the tyre iron she’d rescued from the tool kit under the front seats. “He’s still alive, I bet. Want me to finish him off?”

  “No, NO! Better not.” While Amie would have been quite happy to finish him off herself, she was not about to allow Linda to commit cold blooded murder in front of a crowd of children who were all climbing down from the vehicle and staring at the unconscious man.

  “Well, how are we going to tie him up? Or shall we just drive away and leave him for the lions?” Linda was relentless.

  Before the child could ask any more questions, Amie scrambled to her feet, flexing her arms and legs, and brushing off the earth, twigs and leaves that covered her. She felt small hands from behind running up and down her legs helping her to get clean. Turning round she saw Winnie looking fearful. “I’m fine,” she reassured her. “The bad man has gone to sleep for a while, so he can’t hurt us now.”

  But what were they going to do with him? Maybe they could drive away, and leave him behind but that hadn’t worked the last time so she needed another plan. Already the sun was coming up, throwing its beams over the dry land. Where had the night gone?

  “Linda, you stand guard. Fazia supervise the little ones to dig out some food and water for breakfast, not too much mind, while I make a plan.”

  What plan? She asked herself. Leaving him here was probably not the best idea. He had to have a vehicle nearby, though from where she was standing, she couldn’t see it. If she could disable his truck that would delay him, and give them a chance to get away, but leaving four small children to guard him while she wandered off into the bush to search for a truck that was goodness knows where would be insane.

  In the end the captive solved the problem for her.

  “I won’t try to move,” he said, “but first you must listen.”

  Linda waved the tyre iron at him but Amie grabbed it from her. “So talk. You’ve only got one chance so you’d better make it good. I have some pretty feisty girls here who would love to bury this in your head. And that goes for me too.”

  “I am called Jean-Pierre Maurin. I am from France.”

  “So?”

  “Ma cherie, we are on the same side. We should not fight. I thought you knew more about these people who bring girls to Africa for this unspeakable thing, so I follow you. You see? I too am looking for them now. But that is not their real reason.”

  “You mean n
o one is going to cut us!” Fazia took a step towards him but Linda dragged her back.

  “Uh, yes, they would. It was all part of the deal.”

  “If you don’t know where they are, how do you know what the deal was?” This didn’t make sense to Amie.

  “My people, your people, told me what it was and it had to be stopped. So, you see we are working together.”

  Amie’s mind raced. Was he telling the truth? Why hadn’t Maddy told her there was another agent in the mix? Maybe that last message, the one she never got, was about this man ... and she’d nearly killed him!

  “OK, mate, so once the deed was done what then?” Even to Amie’s ears Linda sounded tough. She had picked up a piece of wood with a large bulbous root on the end, and was waving it dangerously in the air. Amie was waiting for her to brain someone by accident.

  “Careful with that,” she said, but couldn’t help smiling. Linda was a pain at times, but she was tough.

  “Yeah, like we’re supposed to believe that! You wus there in the village. You wus with the rest of them.”

  “Yes, yes that is true, and I locked Felicity up.”

  Amie gave a start. How did he know her other name? He must have been in contact with Maddy.

  Fazia was sharp, she too had noticed. “How do you know her name?” she spat at him. “Who are you?”

  “If you let me sit up maybe I can explain better?”

  “Not a bloody chance, mate.” For good measure Linda threatened him with her club.

  “Wait! I can only tell you the truth,” he said. “To stop this stealing of children I had to pretend I was one of them. I had to get them to trust me.”

  “Yeah, well we don’t trust you, see?” Linda was not convinced. Ten years old, standing in the dawning light in her now filthy T-shirt, scruffy trousers with her shoelaces trailing on the ground and waving her wooden weapon from side to side, she reminded Amie of a Valkyrie from days of old. She had to admire her.

  Jean-Pierre looked towards Amie and said, “Would it help if I said Maddy had sent me?”

  Amie almost dropped the tyre iron in shock. So Maddy had sent Jean-Pierre?

  “Hey, watch it, Miss!” Linda shrieked as Jean-Pierre went to sit up. He took one look at Linda and lay down again.

  “How can I possibly believe that?” Amie was incredulous. “You’re French, at least you say you are, so what would a Frenchman be doing working with ...” she stopped. None of this made any sense. “Wait,” she said. “The other aid workers, what happened to them?”

  “They were a threat yes, poking their noses in. I have no idea. Why do you think I threw you into the hut? It was to keep you safe. The rest of them thought there were only four of you.”

  It was possible this man might not know that someone had killed Kirsty, but Amie still felt very uneasy. How could she prove he was telling the truth? She looked at Linda. “One wrong move on his part and you have my permission to brain him; permanently if necessary.”

  “Sure thing Miss, just give me the word.” Linda seemed positively eager to hit him as hard and often as she was allowed. She was balancing on the balls of her feet like a prize fighter in the ring, just waiting for his opponent to drop his guard.

  “Turn out your pockets,” Amie told Jean-Pierre and then remembered something. “Wait,” she told Linda, “don’t take your eyes off him for a second.” She moved over to the truck and reaching under the seat, pulled out the Glock she’d taken from him in Atari. She grabbed the magazine from the glove compartment rammed it into the butt and returned to stand over the man.

  The children gasped and Linda’s smile became even wider. “Cool, Miss. Can I hold that?”

  “Not a chance.” Amie grinned. Turning to look at Jean-Pierre she barked at him “Now, turn your pockets out.”

  If Amie had hoped he would have any evidence on him that he was telling the truth, she was disappointed. All he pulled out was a packet of paper hankies, a wad of cash, a couple of crumpled hotel receipts, a small penknife, a small black plastic box and a few coins. He’d not replaced the wallet or the gun.

  “You can’t prove anything you say.”

  “Except for Maddy,” he replied, “I know why you were sent here.”

  Which is more than I do, Amie thought.

  “I know you work for the British Government, and I can only tell you that our governments, they are working together now, on this, this problem.” He nodded towards the two youngest children. “These pigs are dangerous. They have been making this ... this operation for years. We have been trying to get them for a long time. So, you see, Felicity, when you were sent to find out about those other persons pretending to be aid workers, I was told to support you. It makes sense.”

  Amie nodded, his story sounded plausible, but she still felt very uneasy.

  Fazia butted in. “Did he say you worked for ...?”

  “... Hush now,” Amie cut in. “Are you on your own? How did you find us here?”

  “It wasn’t difficult. I followed your dust cloud and saw where you crossed the river. And yes, my vehicle is about half a kilometre back there.” He waved his arm in the general direction, but dropped it when he saw Linda just itching to hit him with her nasty-looking club. Not for one moment had she kept still, circling him like a vulture eying its prey.

  “What supplies have you got?” Amie was aware that theirs were perilously low and she had to get Fazia’s wound attended to soon.

  “Food, water, first aid kit, petrol, blankets, a tent.”

  “I’ve never slept in a tent,” said Winnie, making them laugh. It seemed such a normal thing to say in a situation that was anything but normal.

  Amie made up her mind. She would trust him because she had to. She couldn’t see any way of neutralising Jean-Pierre except for putting a bullet in his brain. Even if she only shot him in the leg, he would suffer an agonising death; worse if some predator scented his blood. She needed his help, she needed his supplies and if she killed him, she would get neither.

  She took a step back. “Kids, get back into the truck, lock the doors and sit tight.”

  “Where are you going? Please don’t leave us.” Winnie’s little voice tore at Amie’s heart.

  “I’ll only be a little while, I promise. I’m going to go with him and bring his truck back.” She took a step away from Jean-Pierre and holding the gun steady, told him to stand up.

  Linda looked sulky as she climbed back into the Land Rover still clutching her club. She glared out of the window as she watched Amie and Jean-Pierre walk away.

  Amie glanced behind; four little frightened faces were pressed against the glass. Tears were streaming down the cheeks of the two younger ones.

  Amie held the gun steady. “Don’t do anything to make me regret this.”

  He raised his hands and nodded.

  “Lead the way.”

  Once out of sight of the Land Rover, Jean-Pierre spoke. “So what happens now?”

  Amie had to double her steps to keep up with his six-foot frame as he strode across the low-lying grassland. The sun was already beginning to beat down and the temperature was rising fast. Amie didn’t want to leave the girls in the car for too long; they would fry.

  “We need to be quick but don’t try anything. I’m too close to miss.”

  “My dear Felicity, I am here to help you. In Paris we are just as worried as you are across La Manche. It has been going on for too long, girls disappear from school, from their places of worship, from their homes, and the parents say nothing. It took many years before we learned they were being taken to Africa for this barbaric practice. It is illegal in France! To do such a thing to a beautiful, young girl. Merde! It is a disgrace!”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Amie replied, stopping dead in her tracks as Jean-Pierre swung round to face her.

  “In Britain, you do nothing!” he continued. “It has been against the law in France since 1983, and we have jailed over a hundred people. The first person was in 1988 a father an
d his two wives, and in 1991 another was put in jail for five years; the mother, the father, whoever is responsible. And even if they take the girls away to another country to do this terrible thing, we will still send them to jail.

  “You know what happens? Before, they would send these young girls to England where they would be butchered like animals. We ask them why would you do that? Because our girls will stay pure, they say. Pah! It is our culture, our practice for many, many generations, they say. Pah! We in France care nothing for these ancient primitive ways. No proper man in Europe would understand this! So we prosecute these primitive people and we put them into prison. If we hear about a girl who is going to be taken for this ... horreur ... barbaric practice we would interview the parents, examine the child and if we saw after their ‘little holiday’ she had been mutilated, we would send them to prison.”

  “It’s illegal in Britain as well, you know.” Amie was defensive.

  “Of course, but tell me, how many prosecutions have there been in England for these parents?”

  “I ... I have no idea. This is the first time I ever ....”

  “... I can tell you, not one! They do this study and they think ... only think, that one hundred and thirty-seven thousand women in England have suffered this way.”

  “What? How many?”

  “Oui,” Jean-Pierre nodded. “You are shocked, I can see, but that is the number, and how do they find out? Only when the girls they get pregnant or they have problems and they go to the doctor or the clinic. It may be more girls. It is a disgrace.”

  Amie waved the Glock at Jean-Pierre. “Keep walking, we need to get back to the kids.” She shook her head. “Fazia and Linda told me they’d been taken to a party but didn’t know what was going to happen. Then the police raided the house and most of them managed to escape I think, only to be sent back again by their parents. It’s horrific, I had no idea.”