Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “Yes, yes. Perhaps with your help. I can.” Jean-Pierre sat up and pulled himself to his feet. He swayed dangerously for a moment and then shook his head. “I do not think we have time to go back to our camp, we must keep up with the others. Together we are all stronger, yes?”

  Amie bit her lip. She wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. They had already lost two men. “I found Bill,” she told him. “He’s dead. It may have been someone from the camp, so they know we’re here. Let’s just find the others and then go and get help. We can’t do this on our own, especially with you wounded. There are just too many of them and from the one glimpse I got, the kidnappers are very well armed.”

  Jean-Pierre leaned against the trunk of a fever tree as he thought for a moment. “Bill? He is dead you say?”

  Amie nodded. “He’s back that way,” she pointed. “Beehive told me you had split up, three in each direction.”

  “Oui, that is true. But they must have been very silent as I heard nothing before they shot me.”

  “When, where were you shot? I didn’t hear any guns fire.”

  Jean-Pierre ignored her question. “That is so sad. Your friend is dead, very sad. But wait, the other men, Jake and Trevor is it? Where are they?”

  “Trevor’s on his way to hospital with another sort of wound. I tell you, Jean-Pierre they know we’re here. We must go back to Apatu and get help. It’s the only sensible thing to do.”

  “Maybe you are right, ma cherie. We go tell them that our cover is flown away and we must gather more men before we fight them. You are beautiful and wise.”

  “Enough of the flannel for now.” Amie snapped then had to grin as she saw the puzzled look on Jean-Pierre’s face. “It means less of the flattery, we’ve more important things to do right now.”

  “But, of course, you are right again.” The Frenchman picked up his rifle and rucksack, refusing to let Amie carry it for him and took a couple of tentative steps, wincing as he put his weight on his left leg, but at least he could stand.

  “You can’t walk properly. What if I go find the others and bring them back here? It will save time and you can rest a little longer.” Amie began to take a careful note of her bearings before bending down to fill her pockets with a few large stones.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll pick up more large rocks along the way and use these as markers to help me find my way back to you,” Amie smiled. “You can pick up some good tips from old fairy tales. Hansel and Gretel?”

  But he only shook his head. “No! We stay together. We go this way round,” he pointed to the left, “and the other three they go that way, and then we say we will come back again to the middle if we cannot walk all the way around the camp. We must join them.” The Frenchman had changed his mind again.

  “I’ve made a decision,” Amie said surprising even herself. “We don’t follow them. We need to go and get help. Even if we catch up with the others, there aren’t enough of us, we’re already two men down and I have no idea where Beehive has gone. We don’t have the firepower, so we have to go back to the vehicles to get help.”

  She thought that Jean-Pierre was going to argue with her, but after a moment he nodded. “But of course, you are right, ma cherie, we go back to the vehicles ...”

  “... and the first aid kit,” Amie looked at his bloodstained jeans with the tear where the bullet must have entered. “Come, let’s go.” As she was talking she’d grabbed a stout branch from beneath an acacia, tested it for strength and handed it to Jean-Pierre.

  He smiled. “Ah, I think I do not need a stick until I am an old man!”

  They set off, Amie leading the way, not entirely sure they were trekking towards their old camp, but she was hopeful they were going roughly in the right direction.

  27 A WALK INTO DANGER

  Jean-Pierre shuffled behind her, using both the stick and his gun as crutches, but they had not gone too far when he called out to her. Turning, she saw he’d slumped down, gasping and screwing up his eyes in pain.

  She turned back. “I’m sorry, was I going too fast? I didn’t think.”

  He winced, caught his breath and gave her a wry grin. “No, no, it is me who is so slow. I need to just rest for a few moments. And it will be dark soon, not so easy to find our way. We should rest here for the night.”

  Amie hesitated. Much as she wanted to rush back to the vehicles she could see some sense in what he said. Walking must be very painful for him. Reluctantly, she sat down beside him.

  “You are afraid, no?”

  “Of what?”

  He chuckled. “The wild animals? Me?”

  “No, don’t be silly.”

  Jean-Pierre put his arm around her shoulders. “You are very courageous, ma petite Amie. You are so special.” He pulled her towards him, brushing the tip of her ear with his lips.

  To her horror, Amie felt waves of desire flow through her body. She eased away slightly, but Jean-Pierre was relentless and pulled her back, pressing his chest against hers.

  After all the drama, all the horrific events of the last few days Amie was tempted to bask in his embrace, let him take all the decisions and responsibility. She relaxed against him and he folded her in his arms. He rocked her gently to and fro for a few minutes then lifted one hand to stroke her face. Turning her head towards him his lips sought hers as his other hand ran lightly up and down her back, coming to rest at the back of her neck. He stroked her gently.

  Amie knew what an attractive man he was, possibly the sexiest man she’d ever met and it would be so easy to ... She snapped out of her daydream and pushed him away. What was she thinking! Simon was out there somewhere, possibly dead or mortally wounded and what was she doing? Fantasising about this charismatic Frenchman, what sort of girl was she? If, she had never met Simon, if she was someone happy to have sex just for the thrill with no feelings other than lust, then maybe. But, she wasn’t that sort of girl.

  She pulled away and refused to meet his eyes. She shrugged off her rucksack and offered him some of her brown river water.

  Jean-Pierre was horrified. “You must not drink that, it is bad.”

  “It’s the only water I’ve got. It’s this or nothing.”

  “But I have.” Jean-Pierre opened his rucksack and took out a bottle. He drank but to Amie’s surprise did not share it with her. She noticed a clump of sour figs and leaving her gun and rucksack, she got up and walked over to pick huge handfuls of leaves. She spotted some wild sorrel further away and grabbed some of that as well. She offered some to Jean-Pierre who looked at them suspiciously.

  “These are to eat?”

  “Yes, sour figs are quite nutritious and there’s lots of moisture in them. Probably much safer than the river water. They don’t keep long though, they’ll shrivel up in the heat.” Amie chewed on the juicy leaves and after a few moments, Jean-Pierre nibbled cautiously on the greenery.

  Amie laughed. “Don’t worry I’m not trying to poison you. Would I be eating them if they were deadly?” She took another mouthful.

  He still didn’t look convinced and after chewing on one leaf and screwing up his face in disgust, he tossed the others aside.

  They sat in silence for several minutes and then Amie said, “We need to keep moving. We should try to find our old camp before it gets too dark. It’s still some distance I think.”

  Jean-Pierre stood and began walking, but this time he took the lead.

  “Wait,” cried Amie scrambling to her feet. She grabbed her rucksack and gun and rushed to catch up with him. “I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.” She pointed. “The vehicles are over there, towards those far hills.”

  But Jean-Pierre didn’t stop and he was walking much faster now. “No, no, ma cherie, you have it wrong. This is the way. I know you women you are so delightful but you have no idea on the direction.”

  Amie hurried after him, his sudden spurt of energy surprising her. She was convinced they were going the opposite way to the vehi
cles and the old camp. Yet still he strode ahead, his leg didn’t appear to be bothering him so much now either and he was setting a fast pace. Amie was struggling to keep up with him; his legs were much longer than hers and he was marching out way ahead.

  A little further on she ran to catch up and grabbed his arm. “Look, I know this isn’t the way. See those far hills over there? They were on our other side earlier. Jean-Pierre I don’t care what you think about women, we’re walking straight towards the kidnappers’ camp. Stop!”

  But the Frenchman, shrugged her off and walked on even faster. She raced to keep up with him. His injured leg wasn’t slowing him down at all. He was striding out like an Olympic walker. Was he angry she’d not given in to his advances? Was this his way of getting back at her?

  Her sense of danger increased with every step, until she decided not to follow him any further. Something wasn’t right. He might think he knew the way but she knew better. She didn’t want to be left on her own so she hesitated for several seconds before stopping. She looked round at the terrain. Jean-Pierre was definitely leading them straight into danger. She made up her mind, turned around and began to retrace her steps. If she had to fetch a rescue party on her own so be it, and if he was stupid enough to stumble blindly into a camp full of armed men that was his choice.

  She found it easy to follow the tracks they’d just made, the grasses were still bent, several small stones were turned over showing the damper mud where they’d been kicked aside and she recognized clumps of trees and the odd granite boulder. She was feeling quite pleased with herself when she heard footsteps behind her and a big hand landed on her shoulder.

  An angry Jean-Pierre glared at her. “Where are you going?” he demanded. “You walk straight to them. You walk into the danger.”

  Amie stood her ground. “No,” she snarled. “You are the one with no sense of direction. You can go whichever way you want, but I’m going back to our camp.”

  “No, you are not!”

  “Yes, I am!”

  “You must follow me!”

  “I don’t have to follow anyone if I don’t want to. I can take care of myself.”

  Jean-Pierre grabbed her by the arm, but Amie shook him off. “Take your hands off me,” she growled, and to make her point, she swung the gun off her shoulder and pointed it at the Frenchman. “You can go wherever you want, but I’m going to get help.”

  He burst out laughing. “Ah, ma petite belle, you think you are going to shoot me with your gun and walk away?”

  “Yes, if I have to.” Amie tried to sound convincing, but she knew it would be a foolish thing to do. She thought they might be close enough to the large camp that they would hear the shot and come running. However, she was unnerved by the smug look on Jean-Pierre’s face. He threw his arms wide and laughed at her. “Go on, go on, shoot me,” he taunted. “But check first to see if the safety catch is off,” he giggled, it sounded weird coming from such a large, well-built man. “Maybe,” he continued, “you should check the bullets as well? Do you have enough?”

  Amie took a few steps back and checked her rifle. Jean-Pierre was right, it wasn’t loaded. She looked at him in horror. She’d left it beside him when she was picking those leaves.

  “Ah, it is not wise I think to let the beautiful women walk with loaded guns, they can be so dangerous.” As he spoke, he moved incredibly fast and grabbed the weapon. He took the bullets out of his pocket and reloaded the gun, but didn’t give it back to her. He waved it in the direction they’d been walking. “Now, go, I will be behind you.”

  Amie was fuming. What was his problem? Was it sheer macho behaviour? Was he not prepared for a woman to tell him he was wrong? Had she hurt his ego? Again, she stood her ground. “No, I’m not going that way, call it a woman’s instinct if you like, but ...”

  He prodded her sharply with the barrel pushing her forward. “Go,” he hissed. “you will do as I say ... no trouble please.”

  Amie had no option but to do as he told her. Every time he decided she wasn’t walking fast enough he jammed the gun barrel into her kidneys. She tried walking faster, bearing off to the right, or left, but he just prodded her again to keep her moving forward. As Amie had suspected they were walking straight into the kidnapper’s camp.

  It looked as if they were expected, for as they broke through the last line of trees, two men dressed in fatigues rose up to greet them. They conversed with Jean-Pierre in rapid French. Despite Amie learning it at school she couldn’t follow a word. It was obvious though that they’d been waiting and they were all smiles, slapping him on the back and hugging him before dragging her further into the central area. She could see at least six tents, a cooking pit, and a large area that had been cleared of bush. Dominating the scene was the shipping container on the low-bed truck. It looked far larger out here in the bush than it would have, had it been stacked among hundreds down at the docks.

  The central area was ringed by at least a dozen men, all dressed military style, all armed, and all alert. These were not ragamuffin mercenaries, but well-trained, hardened men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

  Amie’s heart sank. Any last hope she might have entertained had been dashed. Jean-Pierre was truly a child kidnapper. She couldn’t believe she’d been duped again and again. She should have made sure she’d killed him on the streets of Atari when she’d had the chance. It was too late now.

  She was frogmarched over to a fallen tree trunk utilised as a bench and told to sit down. She scanned the area, wondering if the children were still there; it was all so silent. Then she heard a whimpering; a crying child. Jean-Pierre sauntered over, a smug grin on his face.

  Amie glared at him. “Your leg suddenly got better,” she snapped.

  “Ah, my little Felicity, Amie. That is because it was not my blood.” He giggled again, the sound grating on her nerves. How she longed to wipe that self-satisfied look off his face.

  “Trevor put up quite a fight, perhaps he even survives but I doubt it,” he explained, enjoying her discomfort. “But it will be quick for you, I promise, ma cherie. I will not make you suffer.”

  “What about the others? What’s happened to them?” Amie hated herself for asking but she was desperate to know if Simon was still alive. The Frenchman simply gave one of his Gallic shrugs and wandered off.

  She looked around. There must be a way to escape, but she couldn’t see how to reach the edge of the camp without being stopped, quite violently she imagined. Several pairs of eyes were watching her like hawks. She’d just have to wait for an opportunity but thought it unlikely there would be one. The men were all dressed in fatigues, each cradling an AK47, a mixture of white, black and Asian, probably mercenaries, with loyalty only to the people who paid them and no questions asked. They were lounging around, smoking and laughing as they leaned against the outer trees, boulders and the oil drums that were grouped on one side at the edge of the clearing. But they never took their eyes off her for long.

  From behind there was a sudden squeal and a small body launched itself at her. Amie’s eyes widened as Winnie threw herself into her lap. She buried her head into Amie’s shoulder, clinging on tight and sobbing her little heart out. She was followed by Linda and Fazia who ran from one of the tents and hugged her, stroking her as if they couldn’t believe she was really there. Amie hugged them all, thankful to know they were still alive, but not here, not under these circumstances.

  “I am so glad you came for us,” Linda whispered. “Can you get us away from here? Please! Please! I just want to go home.”

  All the girl’s bravado was gone, she was just a frightened ten-year-old, clinging to the only person who’d been kind to her since she’d been abducted.

  Amie stroked her hair. “I’ll do my best,” she whispered back, “but I have no idea how I can – yet,” she added, not wanting to take all hope away.

  “S’OK now,” Winnie murmured. “F’licity is here.”

  Such trust in her brought tears to her eyes and sent he
r spirits plummeting. She could see no possible way she could ever help these children now. “Where’s Maisie?” she whispered.

  Winnie began to sob again. “Maisie’s gone,” she whimpered.

  “Gone where?”

  “They took her away. A helicopter arrived and horrible men got out. They made us line up and they looked at us. Then when some are chosen, they do it ... you know ... and then the men took them away.”

  Amie gasped and screwed her eyes up tight. Poor little Maisie, she thought, poor little girl. She sniffed. “How, many have been taken so far?”

  “Dunno,” Linda said softly. “Lots and lots.”

  “How many are left?”

  It was Fazia who answered. “Eighteen of us, but there were lots more when we arrived. Felicity, you will get us away from here, won’t you?”

  Amie didn’t know what to say. How could she promise anything? She changed the subject. She put her finger to her lips. “Fazia, is it true your father is a government minister?”

  “Yes, he’s in the cabinet. He has meetings with the Prime Minister at Number Ten,” she whispered back.

  Amie’s immediate thought was they were unlikely to sell Fazia off; surely they would hold her for ransom? But then she remembered that the official government policy in England was not to pay any kidnapping demand. Would they break the rule if it was one from their own inner circle?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a tall, black woman dressed in fatigues who approached them with a hairbrush, an African comb, a bowl of water and a cloth.

  “Right, we need to get you tidied up,” she announced. Grabbing Fazia roughly by the arm she pulled her away from Amie.

  “Leave her alone, you bully. You’ve no right to treat her like that,” Amie blustered.

  The woman smacked Amie across the face sending her reeling to the ground, and Winnie with her. “I’ll do whatever I like with her, you stupid cow, and you too if you’re not careful.” She pulled Fazia away again and proceeded to scrub her face and hands and drag the comb through her hair. “You want to look nice for your photo, don’t you?” she sniggered. She pushed Fazia to one side then grabbed Amie and proceeded to do the same with her. Amie was so shocked that at first she put up no resistance as the women scrubbed the dirt off her face and tidied up her hair. “Wait! What the hell are you doing?” she cried. “Leave me Get off me!”