Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  By the time they had folded him up on the back seat, both of them were exhausted from the effort. Amie steadied herself against the car door for a moment until she got her breath back. She ferreted in the glove compartment, finding an old petrol receipt and a pencil stub. She scribbled a brief note for Simon to tell him what had happened and where she was going and left the paper on the dashboard of the Toyota, then jumped in behind the wheel of the Land Rover.

  She motioned to Beehive to remain there, and repeated the word ‘hospital, Apatu’ several times hoping he would understand. He nodded vigorously and as she roared off she could see his lone figure waving to her, becoming smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

  There were no longer any tracks to follow to the main road, but she reasoned if she drove in the general direction, sooner or later she would hit the tar. She had serious doubts she would make it in time, but the least she could do was try. The last thing she wanted was to leave the camp but she couldn’t sit and watch Trevor die. She put her foot down and drove as fast as she dared; for the terrain and in case she caused more damage to Trevor’s injuries.

  Simon, Bill and Jabu had headed north around the encampment. Now it was daylight it was easier to see the layout. Crouching down between two large rocks, Bill put down his Heckler & Koch L85A2 rifle and peered through his Seeker binoculars, focusing on the scene below.

  “Neat circle of tents, couple of metal tanks, no idea what they’re for, water probably. It has a military feel.”

  “No children?” asked Simon.

  “Not a one. How many are there supposed to be?”

  “Amie thought there were about fifty of them.”

  “Too many for those few tents.”

  “In the container?”

  “Might be, bloody hot during the day though, they’d roast in there.” Bill handed over the glasses. “See for yourself.”

  Simon squinted through the eye pieces. “Movement. Someone’s going to the container ... opening the door ... and ...”

  The rest of his words were drowned out by the sound of an approaching helicopter.

  “Hopefully, that’s the result of our beloved ambassador finally getting off his butt.”

  “From the markings, I don’t think so. They ain’t British and not Togodian either.”

  Both men ducked down as the chopper made a wide sweep over the camp before landing on the far side. The dust kicked up by the whirling blades obscured their view. Three or four men got out of the chopper to be greeted by a small welcoming committee and led into the container.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” muttered Simon. “What do they have in there? Not kids, surely.”

  “I don’t think they’re playing happy families down there.” Bill glanced at his watch. “Time to move, get back to the others. Whatever’s going down here definitely ain’t kosher. They’re too many of them and not enough of us. We need to haul in the big guns. Let’s meet up with the others and leg it back to Apatu.”

  “How they’ve managed to keep this all under wraps beats me,” muttered Simon as they backed away from their hiding place.

  On any other occasion he might have argued with Bill who was in charge, but he was also anxious to get back to Amie, he hadn’t liked leaving her alone with only Beehive to look after her when they were so close to the kidnapper’s camp.

  Had they waited a little longer, they’d have seen six children led out of the container and loaded into the helicopter.

  Amie barrelled over the drying mud as fast as she dared. In places the wheels spun as they lost traction on the slippery surface, then shot forward as they bounced over the drier un-burnt ruts. Small stones shot out from under the tyres but there was very little dust and she wasn’t concentrating, so at first she didn’t notice the truck coming towards her and only narrowly missed a head on collision. Both SUVs swerved and jarred to a halt. For a split-second Amie didn’t move. She was tempted to swing the Land Rover round and continue on, but she’d slid towards a large log which lay across her path and she’d have to reverse before she could drive forward. She looked over to the other Land Rover and was relieved to see the Togodo Parks Board emblem on the side.

  A young African flung his door open and came running over. “Are you OK?” he asked. “You are not hurt?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so, thank you.” She opened the door and stepped out.

  “I am Abuto,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers.

  “Uh, hi, Felicity,” she replied shaking his hand.

  “We are rangers. We are chasing the poachers. Have you seen anyone near here?”

  “No, no one. I was too busy trying to get to the hospital.”

  The ranger looked in the back window and shook his head. “He’s not good,” he pronounced. “I must take a look, you understand?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. But I promise you won’t find anything. Look at everything. Just some ordinary supplies and a very sick man. Please hurry. I need to get him to Apatu as quickly as possible.”

  Abuto took a cursory look inside, saw there were no guns and stood back satisfied. He peered at Trevor again and clicked his tongue. “How did this happen?”

  Amie was reluctant to tell him the whole truth; it would make life very complicated. “Uh, I’m not sure,” she said. “He went for a walk and then crawled back to our camp like this.” She shrugged and held out her hands palms up.

  “Where are the others? You are not alone out here? It is not safe for a woman on her own.”

  “No, no, really I’m fine,” Amie said. “They were not around when he came back like this and I didn’t want to wait for them. He needs to get to a doctor as fast as possible.”

  “You want we take him? We go now to Apatu and I think we can go faster than you. Then you can go back to your friends.”

  “That would be fantastic, thank you so much.” Amie was relieved she needn’t make the whole journey. She was already on the last jerrican of fuel but had no money to buy any more when she reached the city. Her plan had been to dump Trevor at the hospital and then present herself at the embassy, but once there, she worried they might not let her leave to re-join the others.

  It only took a couple of minutes to transfer the unconscious man into the back bin of the rangers’ SUV. There was space to lay him out flat on some old rugs; he’d be more comfortable there.

  As she watched them turn and head for Apatu at a speed she wouldn’t have had the courage to try, Amie climbed back into her Land Rover, reversed up and headed back to their camp.

  25 ANOTHER DEATH

  The sharp stones embedded in the ground dug into Simon’s knees and elbows as he crawled behind Jabu hugging the granite boulders on his right. They provided a little cover but minimal shade. He was hot, tired, sweaty and sore, proving he was not fit for field work, despite working out in the gym twice a week. He guessed Bill was also finding it challenging, anchored behind a similar desk in Pretoria for the last six months. In the distance he saw the kopje where they’d all arranged to meet up. Not far to go, he thought, a beer and a decent meal can’t come fast enough.

  The whirring of the rotor blades as the helicopter took to the air caused him to leopard crawl as close to the rocks as possible. He slithered sideways under the overhang of the granite boulders. They provided excellent cover perching on impossibly small bases. The noise of the machine was deafening.

  Bill, who’d been crawling ten or so metres behind Simon and Jabu, was just about to take cover from the chopper when he sensed something behind him. He twisted, but was too late to see more than the glint of a knife before it ripped into his neck, opening his throat, silencing his final gasps as blood spurted from the fatal wound. He slumped forwards, his mouth and eyes open, his fall cushioned by the damp leaves.

  His assailant slipped silently away between the boulders.

  As soon as the noise of the rotors had died away, Simon lifted his head. Jabu had nearly reached the kopje, but there was no sign of Bill behind him. He
waited a few moments and then crawled back along the way they’d come.

  Bill was lying face down, and for a second Simon didn’t notice anything wrong, then he froze. Blood had spattered the rocks and the crimson pool surrounding Bill’s head left no room for doubt. He was dead. Simon rolled him onto his back but jerked back in horror when his friend’s head flopped sideways. The knife had almost severed it from his body.

  Bile surged up from his gut and he retched, the dry retching of an empty stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled – someone had just killed his friend only moments ago, within twenty feet of him, and yet there was no one to be seen. The killer must still be close by perhaps watching him right now ready to pounce at any second?

  He slid away from Bill’s body, drew the small handgun from its holster at his waist and sat with his back to the rock. He systematically examined each bush, clump of grass and tree but there was no sign of anybody, no tracks, no clue as to who had killed his colleague. He fought down his rage then glanced in the direction of the kopje; no sign of Jabu, no sign of any of the other men. In self-preservation mode, he scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could in the direction of their camp. He had to reach Amie, he had to protect her; someone wanted them dead.

  The Land Rover slid over a patch of wet mud and Amie yanked the steering wheel too sharply causing the rear tyres to skid sideways. Damn! She was operating only on auto pilot, her concentration intent on following her outward-bound tracks. On the one hand it was a relief not to have to deliver Trevor back to Apatu, on the other she felt a little guilty leaving it to the rangers, but she was sure they would take him straight to the hospital. Her mind raced; who had tried to kill him? What had gone on out there? They’d only gone to recce the camp had they been ambushed? And by whom? Had Trevor been the only survivor? And what of Simon? She didn’t care how foolhardy it was but if they weren’t at the camp when she got back she was going to bully Beehive into going with her to find them. Having decided, she pushed all thoughts of disaster to the back of her mind and concentrated on just getting back.

  Simon had never run so fast in his life. He steered clear of the kopje, only slowing his pace a little to confirm there was no one there; even Jabu had vanished into thin air. Had he gone on ahead towards their camp? He’d not seen Bill’s body so why had he taken off? Simon veered away from the stone pile where they’d decided to split up. Instinct told him to put as much distance between himself and the assailant. If he was forced to use his gun, it would alert those holding the children and then he’d have more than one killer to deal with. He ran on, trying to breathe deep and steady like he did on the treadmill in the gym, but already he was exhausted and the heat made filling his overworked lungs harder than he would have thought possible. His rubbery legs wanted to collapse in the dirt but he forced himself to run on. To keep in a straight line was becoming impossible either from fear, dehydration or too much adrenalin; he didn’t know which and he didn’t care. He prayed for the strength to keep moving.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Amie drove back into the deserted camp. Simon’s vehicle was still there but no sign of life. Her heart sank, she’d been hoping the guys would be back, packed up and ready to report back to Apatu so they could bring in the big guns. She clambered out of the Land Rover. The embers of the little fire in the hole were still warm. Someone had been here recently. She peered into the tents, both empty. Everything was the same as she’d left it earlier, except for a half-eaten bowl of mealie meal. It was still soft; and left out in the heat, it would have quickly turned into the consistency of concrete. One of the African trackers was close by, she could feel him watching her.

  She swivelled. Beehive was peering out from behind a tree trunk. “It’s only me. What are you scared of?” she said. “It’s time to go find out what’s happened to the others. Quick meal and we’ll pack up and follow them. You can show me which way they went.” Since Beehive’s English was so limited, she pointed in the direction the men had gone and nodded, while cutting open a tin of sausage and beans. Grabbing some crackers, she held them out to Beehive.

  He was keen to take the food, but not so keen on going anywhere. He kept pointing and repeating Apatu, Apatu over and over.

  Amie shook her head. “No. The men went that way, the other way.” She pointed in the opposite direction. She debated for a moment if it was wise to rely on this little man who just wanted to go home.

  “I’m sure Ouma Adede would expect you to take good care of me, right?” she asked and was rewarded with a vigorous nod of his head.

  “Ouma Adede and I are very good friends.” Amie piled it on. “We have known each other a long time, and I know what a powerful woman she is, what great things she can do with her magic.”

  Beehive nodded again and his body quivered. If the only words he understood were Ouma Adede, Amie believed she’d made her point. She couldn’t really blame him for hiding when he was left at the camp on his own.

  Before leaving they stocked up on water, biscuits, biltong (dried meat) and a couple of cans of the infamous corned meat. If they took large quantities it would only slow them down as they would have to carry everything. It was tempting to drive part of the way, but Beehive would be tracking so they would not be able to travel much faster than a walking pace. If they came across the camp without warning it would be a disaster.

  Simon’s Toyota wasn’t locked but they’d taken most of the equipment with them. Amie rummaged around in the back of the truck to see what they’d left behind. She found one Heckler & Koch L85A2 and a rather ancient SLR7.62 which she handed to Beehive. He eyed it dubiously, and Amie realised he had no idea how to use it. She sat him down and showed him how it worked. “Look, the magazine goes in here, you pull back this lever and then you put your finger here.” She guided it to the trigger, “and then just squeeze.”

  Beehive yanked hard on it and the next moment was flat on his back as the gun recoiled and the bullet shot into the air. He lay there stunned.

  “Hmm, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” Amie tried to take the gun away from him, but there was no way Beehive was going to be parted from it. He sat up, cradling it like a baby, running his fingers lovingly along the barrel, giving Amie the most enormous smile.

  What have I done? Oh well, maybe he won’t need to use it at all, and if it makes him feel brave then it’s worth it, as long as he doesn’t shoot himself in the foot, or me.

  Since it was already late in the afternoon, the heat had become less oppressive and more clouds were rolling in obscuring the sun. It was muggy though, so carrying water bottles, food and the rifles made for an uncomfortable hike. The straps on the rather ancient rucksack Amie had found on the floor of the Toyota dug into her shoulders and made them ache. It wasn’t possible to get into a rhythm either as Beehive darted from side to side, frequently stopping to examine the ground. Occasionally, he walked several steps back the way they’d already come before setting off again.

  Amie guessed the main encampment might be a long way off, since Beehive had rolled up his blanket and hung it round his shoulders. That suggested he was expecting to spend a night out under the stars.

  Amie found it difficult to keep up with the tracker when he was on a roll. Several times she glanced at the ground, but whatever he saw was lost on her. Every now and then he poked the ground with the stick he carried, over-turning stones, lifting up branches on low lying bushes, then nodding and looking pleased with himself. He appeared confident that he was following the right trail.

  They stopped briefly for a few minutes to munch some food and swill a little water. Amie’s feet were sore, her boots were gripping her like iron clamps, but she knew better than to try and take them off; she would never get them back on again.

  The terrain was mostly flat, in places they could see where the fire had turned everything black and their feet sank into piles of ash as they crunched over burnt roots and charred branches. Then, as if a line had been drawn by some celestial hand, t
hey crossed areas totally untouched by the fire. Tiny new shoots were already springing up, the new grass lush beneath the bushes and trees, some of which already showed signs of resurging life.

  Amie’s feet were aching, her head was pounding and by now the rifle she was carrying was getting heavier by the mile. What made it worse was the stopping and starting. It was impossible to keep up a steady pace, get into a rhythm and establish distant landmarks or will them to get closer. Beehive followed invisible tracks as they wound round in one direction after another. Going back several meters to confirm they were going the right way was more exhausting than a route march.

  By now it was getting quite dark, making it impossible to track, and Beehive indicated they stop for the night. They crawled up into the low crevasses of a rocky outcrop, disturbing a family of indignant dassies who squealed in protest. To Amie’s horror, Beehive swept them away with his arm and for an awful moment, Amie thought he was going to kill one for food, but maybe he thought better of it because they would not dare light a fire to cook them.

  They nibbled their biscuits and dried meat in silence, then Amie draped the red, white and blue picnic blanket around her shoulders, and leaned back against the unforgiving rock in a vain attempt to get comfortable and sleep. It took her companion less than five minutes and he was out like a light. Amie marvelled at the adaptability of the Africans to survive in the harshest conditions.

  Despite the rocks digging into her and the cool wind whipping around, Amie slept better than she expected. When she opened her eyes, the first faint signs of the dawn greeted her, along with a well-refreshed Beehive rummaging in his bag. She tried to stand but all her muscles had cramped up and her joints refused to move. With great care she waggled one arm after the other, up and down and in circles. Then she leaned forward to kneel up, swaying slightly as the cramps in her toes made her gasp. She was tempted to giggle at Beehive’s face as he looked askance at her antics. Did he think this was some kind of ritual practiced by the crazy white man first thing every morning?