The answer, he was certain, was no. He could not imagine anything that would eclipse Noah’s obligation to fulfil his duties. Duties that demanded that Derek face up to what he had done. Two men had been murdered and someone had to account for it. The books needed to be balanced, the scales of justice weighed. And that, as Noah had made it painfully clear already, was not something that could be negotiated. Not by him, not by anyone.
Trying to ignore the pain in his bruised ribs from his encounter with the tree stump, Derek again wondered why he had confessed to the killings. Had he simply needed to purge? He remembered feeling oddly numb as he wrote the letter, as if the words were being penned by someone else’s hand – perhaps by Joe himself. Had he kept quiet there was every chance he would have got away with his crimes – after all, there was precious little evidence proving that he had done it. And, ironically, without any solid proof, Noah would be unable to arrest him.
In truth, Derek did not have a clear answer for himself, only that something deep within him – something perhaps interwoven with the war – had compelled him. Even now, it had a hold over him. Perhaps it was because, regardless of what these men were, in spite of how many lives they had destroyed and what they had done to Shawu’s family, ultimately he had still committed a mortal offence. Whether it was justified or not was not the issue. He knew he couldn’t just walk away from it. He had killed many times before, but had never been a murderer. Not in the true sense, anyway. Even vengeance had a further price.
As he contemplated his fate, his thoughts turned to Edward.
He felt an immediate pang of grief scythe through him. Lord, how he missed his brother. His biggest regret was that after surviving the trauma of the war, and after all they had endured together, they would again be forced apart. The life they had planned for was lost now. The thought of it, of what it would do to Edward, was unbearable.
Trying to clear his mind, he massaged the side of his head and looked up at Shawu. She was now almost two hundred yards ahead of him and was still pulling away. He shook his head and threw up his arms in frustration. ‘What are you running from? There’s nothing behind us … look!’ he shouted.
Oblivious to his words, Shawu kept pushing forward, her ears pinned back against her shoulders. Infuriatingly, Derek could still not fathom what was happening. Was it mental illness that was spurring her on? Something else?
And then, all at once, several things began to happen.
Shawu started to trumpet wildly, in a frenzy almost, and broke into something approaching a horse’s gallop. Her giant legs kicked up large columns of dust and her trunk waved frantically around her face. Even her ears flared out.
It was a charge.
Something had to be in front of her, Derek realised.
‘Oh no,’ he uttered. He reached back for his rifle and began to run.
What was she charging towards?
Lions?
Poachers?
What the hell was in front of her?
Her trumpeting grew louder now, more urgent.
‘Shawu!’ Derek cried, unable to see past the veil of dust around her body. As the sand bit into his eyes and filled his throat, he moved out of her wake and cut to the side of the river bed to try to get a look at what was unfolding. Hurry … hurry, his mind urged. Emerging in clear air, the truth finally revealed itself.
And then everything, absolutely everything, changed.
He felt the strength drain from his limbs, his rifle all but slipping from his grasp.
Of the few truly remarkable things he had witnessed in his life, this surpassed them all. How was it possible? How had he missed it?
Shawu hadn’t been running away from something.
She had been running after it.
A young elephant was limping towards her, her fragile ears flapping clumsily as she struggled in the thick sand. She made a desperate mewling sound that, to Derek’s ailing mind, seemed too soft to be coming from an elephant. Shawu, in turn, trumpeted a low yet frantic response. Unmistakably, it was the voice of a mother calling out to her child.
Derek felt his eyes burn, and then slowly squeeze shut.
He was left with a single, indelible image. Alone, it was worth going to prison for.
It was the picture of a small child, once lost and alone in a land of killers, now found and running to her mother.
57
‘That’s a goddamn miracle,’ Andrew repeated, loudly clapping his hands. ‘What does the rest say?’
Edward had just read out the news about Shawu’s calf, but had fallen silent as he progressed onto the second part of Derek’s letter. A concerned shadow drew across his face, darkening further the more he read.
‘Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it,’ Andrew offered, his smile faltering.
Edward blinked twice, and then again, as if unable to believe – or even accept – what he had just read. ‘Not this time,’ he said faintly, before crumpling up the letter in his fist.
‘Is it Shawu?’
He paused, shut his eyes. ‘No.’
‘What is it, Edward?’
‘Derek’s in serious trouble,’ he whispered back, disconnected.
‘But he’s alive?’
‘He is … but they’re not.’
‘They? Who’re you talking about?’
‘Derek killed two men.’
‘He did what? Who?’
Edward leaned against the large painted rock for support. ‘The poachers who murdered Shawu’s family. He found out who they were, tracked them down … went after them.’
‘What? But where– how the hell did he find them?’ Andrew replied, trying to filter through a coherent question.
Edward opened his hand, offering him the crumpled letter. When he spoke, his words felt as though they were no longer his own. ‘He became someone else.’
As Andrew hurriedly unfolded the pages and began to read, Edward pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. They had come so far, prevailed over so much … and now this. A deep stab of anguish pierced through him. He thought about how Derek had spent his entire life travelling from one crusade to the next, never able to leave things alone – forever standing up when nobody else would. Always putting up his hand, regardless of the consequences.
Why couldn’t you leave it for someone else? he kept thinking. What have you done to yourself, Derek?
Andrew, feeling as though he had climbed outside his own mind, skipped to the last page.
I believe the detective will be waiting for me at the border. I cannot imagine another outcome to this. Nor can I see how he will allow me to pass. But if, by some grace, I am able to continue with Shawu and her calf, we will be waiting for you at the pans at month’s end – just as we planned. But this, as you now know, is little more than a faint hope.
I know that as you read this you will be urging me to reconsider my decision – to evade capture. But I have made my choice and I will abide by it. I will leave my fate to this detective. As I have already explained, he is a good man who, in many ways, reminds me of you.
I cannot begin to convey how sorry I am for what this means for us and for the plans we had.
I know I have let you down, once again.
I only hope that in time you can forgive me.
Derek
‘He confessed?’ Andrew said, his words brittle skeletons.
Edward nodded, but could not speak.
‘He’s still got a chance to get out of this. Perhaps he’ll have a change of heart when–’
‘No, Andrew. Now that he’s made up his mind, that’s it. He won’t blink, won’t back away. It’s not in him.’
The professor folded the letter, removed his glasses. ‘I’m so sorry, Edward.’ He reached for something more substantial to say, a verbal balm that would help console his friend, but could find nothing honest to draw on.
Edward stepped to the edge of the embankment and stared into a bank of storm clouds gathering on the horizon. ‘Please, Derek. For o
nce, just this once … put down your hand.’
58
As they neared the Bechuanaland border, Morgan eventually spoke, betraying almost an hour’s worth of silence. ‘You still sure you want to go through with this?’
‘This isn’t about what I want.’
‘But you are going ahead with it?’
Noah stared out through the windscreen. ‘Are we really having this conversation again? Like I said before, it’s out of my hands.’
‘I understand,’ Morgan replied and then took a breath. He was not looking forward to what he had to say next. ‘Look, there’s something I need to tell you.’
Responding to his tone, Noah turned to him. ‘What is it?’
‘When this is all done and you’ve brought him in,’ he hesitated. ‘I’m finished.’
‘What?’ he said, his mouth widening. ‘You’re resigning?’
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought–’
‘You’re quitting over this?’ he repeated in disbelief.
Morgan slowed the truck to avoid a large boulder and then nodded softly.
‘You’re giving up your career because I’m not willing to let a killer walk away?’
‘No, Noah. I’m giving up my career because I am willing to let a killer walk away.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘I don’t believe in the job the way you do. I’m always going to want to do what I think is right. To make the decisions that sit well with me. And that’s not good enough.’
‘Look, this is a difficult one and I know you don’t like it. Hell, neither do I, but you can’t resign over it! Come on, Morgan. You haven’t thought this through.’
‘I’m sorry, Noah. I’ve made my decision. I’ll work for a couple of weeks, give you a chance to get in a replacement, but then I’m done.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘You’re letting your emotions cloud your thinking–’
‘That’s exactly the point,’ Morgan cut in. ‘I allow my emotions to dictate too much. I can’t see things objectively, at least not the way you can. You were right about what you said to me last time.’
‘I don’t believe this. I really don’t.’
‘These past few days have changed everything for me. Things aren’t the same anymore. I’m sorry.’
Noah folded his arms and stared down into his lap. ‘I can’t just let him go, Morgan.’
‘I’m not asking you to. That’s not what this is about.’
‘I’ll do anything else,’ he continued, not listening. ‘Anything.’
‘You’re not hearing me. I don’t want you to do a thing, Noah … but I do want you to know something.’
‘What?’
‘These past three years have … well, they’ve meant a great deal to me.’
‘C’mon … don’t do this …’
Morgan smiled, but could not hide the hurt in his eyes. ‘You’re the best man I know. I’ve been very fortunate.’
‘Please, Morgan, stop it. I can’t do this job without you.’
‘You’ll do it better without me,’ he countered.
Noah brought his hands together beneath his chin, as if in prayer. When he spoke again his voice sounded weary and flat. ‘Please reconsider, Morgan. This isn’t right. Don’t walk away.’
Morgan watched as the Bechuanaland border appeared into view, where the great Limpopo met the Shashe River. Where they would spend the next several hours waiting for an elephant and a man named Derek Hughes.
‘I’m sorry, Noah, but I already have.’
59
‘Malaria?’ Derek heard himself utter as he propped himself up against the side of a fever tree. Or maybe it was sleeping sickness. Where the hell was he? he wondered again. He could barely work out which way was up; he felt drunk and out of control, drugged even. Something was very wrong with him. And it was real. Encephalitis? A spider bite? He was sweating profusely, but was so cold he could barely bring himself to stand up straight. The sun that for so long had been trying to peel the skin from his back was now slowly freezing him to death. But how could he be so cold when pools of heat waves, vivid mirages, flickered and glimmered on the ground ahead of him? Trying to ignore his pounding head, he staggered over to a large boulder. He stared down at it and watched as it swelled and contracted impossibly under his hand.
Get a grip, he thought.
As he tried to focus his mind, a panicked thought suddenly occurred to him.
Where were Shawu and her child?
He staggered around in a circle.
Nothing. What the hell was happening?
He was lucid enough to see that it was already late afternoon, yet he could only remember snatches of the day. He had a vague memory of waking up and eating some berries, of feeling exhausted as he followed behind Shawu. And then there was a period of quietness – a flat spot in his memory. Followed by flashes of a great many trees. And then the sun. Then falling down a slope.
And now he was here.
He looked up at the horizon and winced as the sun clawed at his eyes. Something about the land ahead of him was out of place. But what? It was as if his mind no longer had the ability to distinguish between basic truths. The more he searched the area around him, the more convinced he was that something was catastrophically wrong with him, grievously out of kilter. But something in particular – some crucial fact – was gnawing at him. Something was missing. But he couldn’t put a finger on it.
‘What … the hell … is happening?’ he whispered, the world all but swimming around him. And then, as if two loose wires kissed briefly together, the mist cleared for a moment and he was given a coherent glimpse into his situation.
‘No … no,’ he uttered.
He was surrounded by trees and tall grass in almost every direction.
Somehow, in his delirium, he had left the river … and left Shawu and her child unprotected.
How far had he wandered away from them?
As more questions jostled for attention in his fraught mind, a swirling tempest roared through his head. But instead of carrying rain, it brought sleep.
Buckets of it.
60
Having slept fitfully for a few hours, Noah decided he’d had enough. He eased open the truck’s passenger door and slipped out into the early morning. He was mindful not to wake Morgan who, somehow, appeared to be resting peacefully with his arms folded on the steering wheel.
Walking away from the truck, he stretched like a man who had emerged from a violin case before slowly making his way to the summit of three large rocks neatly stacked on top of each other like giant scoops of ice cream. Finding a comfortable spot, he sat down and allowed his legs to dangle over the edge of the river. To his right lay South Africa, to his left, Bechuanaland. Although the sky was only now beginning to lighten, from his elevated position he was already able to see almost a mile down the spine of the great river. Even dry, the Limpopo was something to behold. He had heard stories of how the ground would shake when it came down in flood and he tried to imagine what it would look like, what it would feel like. His mind conjured up a rushing, rolling wall of water churning up the sand and tearing trees from the ground as though they were rooted in ash.
As the image drifted from his mind, a stiff breeze rose and he noticed the bruised heads of several large thunderclouds looming on the horizon. A flurry of silver assegais stabbed at the land beneath them.
A part of him was beginning to hope that Derek wouldn’t arrive. And yet, he somehow knew he would. Despite the deception, Noah suspected that Derek Hughes was fundamentally a man of his word.
‘Did you get any rest?’ a voice called out from behind him.
‘Shit,’ Noah half-choked, snapping his hand to his gun and then slowly easing it away. ‘I thought you were still sleeping.’
‘Surprisingly, steering wheels aren’t as comfortable as they look,’ Morgan replied, climbing up the rocks. ‘So, did yo
u get some sleep?’
‘Define some.’
‘More than none.’
‘Then yes, I slept like a lamb.’
Morgan yawned. ‘I sure as hell won’t miss nights in that bloody truck.’
‘What? You’re not going to miss all this?’
‘You’re right. Sleeping in trucks … getting paid like beggars … being stalked by lunatics … what’s not to miss?’
‘Trust me, it’ll still leave a hole.’
‘Sure. Like a bullet,’ Morgan suggested, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He only ever smoked one cigarette a day and it was always first thing in the morning.
‘Any idea what time it is?’
‘I don’t know. Five maybe?’
‘Think he’s coming?’
‘I do, actually. I don’t know why I believe the word of a man who did nothing but lie to us, but I think he’ll show.’
‘Have you thought about why he wrote the letter?’
‘I have and I still don’t really understand it. His conscience must’ve got the better of him. That’s all I can come up with.’
Morgan lowered the cigarette from his mouth and cupped his hand over its glowing tip to shelter it from the wind. ‘What kind of man does all this to himself for an elephant?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose we’ll soon find out.’
‘It must be some elephant.’
‘I guess so.’
‘I’ll just be glad when it’s all over.’
Noah stared down at his feet and watched as a bird launched itself from its nest on the side of the riverbank.
‘Hey,’ Morgan said, lifting his head to the horizon. ‘Looks like we’re in for a storm.’
‘I know,’ Noah replied, his eyes narrowing. ‘The weather’s also looking bad.’
‘Funny.’
‘Not really,’ he retorted, and smiled anyway.
Journey from Darkness Page 21
