by Tom Bale
Jody sits up, brushing sand and bugs from her hair, and registers the two men lying nearby. One is tied up, conscious and muttering to himself. The other has a serious head injury. She moves nearer, cautiously, to examine the wound.
‘What if you’ve killed him?’
‘So?’
‘It wasn’t this guy’s idea to put us here.’
She is feeling for a pulse when Sam comes to stand over her. ‘No, but he works for whoever did. So he’s the enemy, too.’
‘All right, but–’
‘No! It’s not “All right, but”!’ Sam shouts. ‘It’s them or us, haven’t you got that by now? Them or us.’
Sam kicks at the sand, sending a tiny spray over her leg. He’s almost angry enough not to care if he accidentally catches her with his foot.
It’s all gone to plan. Why isn’t she more grateful?
Jody bows her head, but not before he’s seen the flash of fear in her eyes. It was there the last night, too, when he was pretending to strangle her. But hasn’t he always said he’d rather kill himself than threaten violence against a woman?
‘I do get it,’ she says. ‘But he’s still alive. We ought to sit him up, at least.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Sam murmurs, kneeling beside her. ‘That was out of order.’
She manages a weak smile. ‘It’s okay.’
He opens his arms and embraces her. Feels her tears on his cheek.
‘I don’t care if these two die,’ he says, ‘and I won’t apologise for that. I don’t care who dies, if it means saving you and the kids.’
She nods. Gently he pushes them apart, so he can look her in the eye.
‘This isn’t over yet. You realise we might still have to do some horrible stuff?’
‘Us or them,’ Jody agrees. By now the dinghy has caught her attention. ‘Why don’t we get away in that?’
‘We have no idea where we are. Once we’re out at sea, they could easily ram us in a larger boat – then this has all been for nothing.’
He can see her thinking it through for herself. His fury has subsided enough to recognise that it’s an advantage, her refusal to take his word for it. Two heads are better than one.
‘As a last resort, though?’
‘Maybe. But it won’t be easy.’ He gestures at the men. ‘We’d have to take at least one of these guys with us.’
Hostages, is what he means, but hopes he doesn’t have to spell it out. Then there’s a cough and Grace sits up, rubbing her eyes. Dylan is also awake.
‘Better get to work,’ Sam says briskly.
Jody tells the kids to stay where they are, and she and Sam roll the injured man on to his side before tying his hands with another bungee cord. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but the man doesn’t react in any way. Jody checks his pulse again and says he’s still alive, but deeply unconscious.
They strip him of his weapons: a knife and a gun. It’s an automatic pistol, Sam thinks, though all he knows of guns is what he’s seen in the movies. But the sight of the firearm turns him cold. This was to execute them, if need be.
‘Hide it,’ Jody hisses, nodding towards Dylan.
The gun is much heavier than Sam expected. Stuffing it into his pocket, he’s aware of its weight, its bulk – and the fact that if it goes off by accident it could kill him.
The second man jabbers to them in his own language, his voice thick and phlegmy because of the damage to his nose. Then he switches to English: ‘Please…’ he says, almost weeping as he begs for mercy.
Stone faced, Sam makes the universal symbol for Be quiet, and to his surprise, the man obeys. Maybe it’s the fact that Sam has the gun.
The children have stood up for a better view. ‘Who are they?’ Dylan asks fearfully.
With a glance at Sam, Jody says, ‘Just some men who came to see how we were.’
‘I don’t like them,’ Grace says. Her eyes are shining with tears and she’s unsteady on her feet, using one of the stakes as a crutch.
‘Can they help us?’ Dylan asks.
‘Not really,’ Jody says.
‘But if we ask them nicely?’
‘Yes, Dylan, that’s what I’m gonna do.’ Sam plucks at Jody’s arm, and when she leans close he whispers, ‘Better take the kids away for the next bit.’
64
It’s a request that ought to fill Jody with dread, but his outburst has brought it home to her. Their lives are at stake, and when it comes down to it she, like Sam, would sacrifice anything – anyone – for the sake of their children.
Grace and Dylan have to be physically manhandled away from the boat, both craning their necks to keep their gaze on their father. They can sense the prospect of violence in the air, as well as the fear and uncertainty, though their moods lift when they see the dinghy up ahead.
‘Are we going on that?’ Dylan asks.
‘Maybe. But not yet.’
‘Ohhh.’ His body sags, dragging on her arm. ‘But I wanna go home, Mummy!’
So do I, darling. So do I.
Grace is shivering. ‘I don’t like boats. And I don’t feel well.’
Her matter-of-fact tone threatens to crush Jody’s spirit. Her poor daughter is well aware that no one can relieve her suffering: she simply has to accept it, and she does, bravely and with remarkably few complaints.
And that, Jody decides, is more than enough to justify whatever action Sam needs to take.
They skirt the dinghy and wade into the sea, paddling while they wipe off sand and insects. They’re all covered in fresh bites, and sore from sunburn, but after a few seconds Grace backs out. The water is too cold for her.
While Jody’s distracted, Dylan manages to clamber over the side of the dinghy, and yells: ‘Water!’
At first, Jody doesn’t understand. She grabs Dylan’s t-shirt before he tumbles into the boat, then spots two half-litre bottles of drinking water. One has been opened and there’s a mouthful or so missing; the other is sealed.
‘Well done, Dylan. I’ll get them.’
As she leans over, she notices something else of interest: a walkie-talkie. She grabs the water, hands one bottle to Dylan and then picks up the radio. Her first instinct is to call to Sam, but he’s busy leading the conscious prisoner towards the trees.
‘Where’s Daddy going?’ Dylan asks.
‘Nowhere much.’ She forces a smile. ‘Let’s have a drink, shall we?’
In the viewing room they have watched, for the most part, in stunned silence. Naji joins them, gripping a two-way radio as though it’s a stress toy. He and Borko are staring so intently at the screen that Gabby feels like she’s been forgotten.
Which isn’t a bad thing. When Sam lifted the boat to reveal that Jody and the kids were alive, Gabby wanted to whoop with joy. She had to settle for a discreet fist pump.
The family are unharmed. There’s still hope.
One of the guards looks to be in a bad way, though Gabby is impressed that Sam and Jody have put him in the recovery position. It’s more than she would have done if she was in their place.
The camera picks up Sam taking a knife from the guard, along with something she can’t see clearly. She guesses its significance by the way he and Jody stare at it.
‘Is that a gun?’ Gabby asks.
‘Yes,’ Borko confirms.
‘Why did they take a gun with them?’
‘They always carry guns. It means nothing.’
Gabby doesn’t respond, but she’s even more gratified that Sam has turned the tables on them.
When Jody leads the children down to the shore, Gabby assumes they’re going to use the dinghy to escape. But Sam hauls the other guard to his feet and heads towards the trees, stopping a couple of metres from the camera. The sound quality is far from perfect, but he’s close enough for his message to be heard. And if there was any doubt, he puts a knife to his prisoner’s throat.
‘Whoever’s watching this – is it Borko, you fucker? If you don’t let us go, I’m gonna kill this guy
here. Got that?’
Gabby is shocked to hear Borko’s name, but the man himself barely reacts.
Naji says, ‘We should notify the other patrol. They’re still some distance away.’
‘Tell them, but don’t send them in.’
‘But, sir–’
‘We hold off for now.’ Borko indicates the screen with a twitch of his coffee cup. ‘First let’s see what happens.’
‘We want a safe way out of here!’ Sam shouts at the camera. ‘A proper boat, no more than two people on board. No guns or knives. You’ve got an hour.’
As he says it, he glances at his prisoner and spots a watch on the man’s arm – thank God. He’s making this up on the spot, and has a horrible feeling it shows.
It doesn’t help that he has no way of knowing if his message is getting through. He has to assume there’s someone listening at the other end, but he can’t know for sure.
‘Who’s in charge?’ he growls at his prisoner. When he doesn’t respond, Sam shakes him roughly, then hooks his ankle, causing the man to stumble and fall.
‘Please,’ the man cries. ‘No hurt. Is mistake. Mistake.’
‘Too bloody right it’s a mistake. Now tell me who’s done this to us? Is it Borko?’
The man’s eyes widen at the name, which is all the confirmation Sam needs. Feeling grimly satisfied, Sam turns towards the shore and sees Jody looking in his direction. The kids are beside her, sharing a bottle of water. The sight of it makes him forget everything else for a second.
Jody holds something up, and when he beckons to her she comes running, Grace and Dylan trailing behind. Not only does she have a second bottle of water, but there’s a two-way radio.
‘Found this, in the boat.’
‘Have you tried…?’
‘No. I thought you’d want to do it.’
He nods, and is about to take the radio when he has another idea. ‘Not yet.’
65
Jody can see that Sam is in no mood for a debate. He glugs a couple of mouthfuls of water, then thrusts the bottle back at her. ‘Stay with the kids.’
‘Shouldn’t we stick together? They might be sending reinforcements.’
Sam shakes his head. ‘We have to show them we mean what we say. Otherwise we’re not gonna get out of here.’
‘We still have the dinghy,’ she points out. For all Sam’s objections, she’s more and more inclined to take their chances out at sea.
‘Not unless we have to. I don’t reckon we’d last long out there.’
Grace and Dylan seem to have been revived by the water. They’re holding hands as they approach, casting wary glances at the man on the ground. To Jody’s dismay, they seem equally wary of their dad.
‘Is he all right?’ Grace asks. Picking up on her concern, the guard directs his pleas to her. When Sam wrenches the man to his feet, she gasps. ‘You’re not going to hurt him, are you?’
A warning glance from Jody prevents Sam from saying something he might regret. Without another word, he takes off through the trees, crashing through the undergrowth with his prisoner stumbling at his side.
Jody decides to follow at a safe distance, while trying to construct an explanation for the children. Daddy, she says, needs to scare the man in order for them to leave the island – so they mustn’t get upset.
It sounds feeble even to her own ears. How much better if she could tell them the truth: These men don’t care if we live or die. If we’re going to survive, we have to be every bit as ruthless as they are. But what kind of message is that to teach your children?
The correct one, Sam would probably say. Because that’s how life is, once you strip away the rules and conventions designed to hide that reality.
Their destination, unsurprisingly, is the snake pit. It’s the one other place where they know there will be cameras.
The guard understands quickly enough. As they get closer, his shoulders slump and his movements become sluggish. Sam takes him right to the edge, and once again turns to face the camera. He studies the walkie talkie for a moment, then presses a button and speaks into it.
‘So it is Borko, isn’t it? Your guy’s just told me. I wanna speak to you.’
There’s no response. Sam confers with Jody, who takes a look at the radio and agrees that he’s using it correctly.
‘Why don’t I do it?’ she says, and with a reluctant nod, Sam hands it over.
‘Please, if you’re there,’ Jody says into the radio. ‘This has to end now. Our daughter–’ Her voice catches. ‘Grace needs a doctor. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt. We just want to leave–’
Sam grabs the walkie talkie, not roughly, but with purpose. This was his plan all along, she realises. Good cop, bad cop.
‘You were quite happy to see one of us end up in that pit,’ he snarls. ‘You’ve got five minutes to answer – then your man’s going in.’
Borko has mixed feelings about Sam’s act of rebellion. There’s admiration, certainly, and a grudging respect; he’s conscious that his guests would have been thrilled to watch these events unfold, though he knows that part of their delight would stem from the fact that his extravaganza has gone so dramatically wrong.
In his own language, he says to Naji: ‘Do you think he could kill them?’
‘He’s desperate enough, certainly.’
A huffing noise from Gabby: she’s picking up some of what they say, but not enough to take part in the conversation.
He tells her: ‘We were discussing the likelihood of Sam carrying out his threat.’
‘He’ll do it,’ Gabby says immediately. ‘Look at his face.’
Toying with her, Borko says, ‘Do you think we should let him go ahead?’
Naji draws in a sharp breath. ‘Sir, Luka is the nephew of Duravar’s mayor. I don’t think the president would approve of his death, given the strategic importance…’
It’s a less than subtle reminder that he is answerable to his father, and Borko works hard to maintain his composure. Gabby has also picked up on the slight, which is unforgiveable.
‘I think you should talk to him, at least,’ she says.
‘Negotiate?’
‘Why not? The last thing you want is a bloodbath.’
Borko shrugs, resting back in his chair. Ignoring Naji, his steady gaze contains a question for Gabby.
What’s it worth to you?
Sam has removed the man’s watch and forced him to kneel facing the pit. Time’s nearly up and there’s been no response. Jody stands a few metres away, trying to keep the kids distracted.
‘Looks like you’ve had it,’ Sam mutters to his prisoner.
‘Please, sir. Not do this, please, sir.’
The sir is a new tactic. Sam peers into the pit. He spots a couple of the snakes in amongst the dirt and leaves.
‘Why not? No one minded if we died in there.’
More urgent shaking of the head. ‘Snakes not kill. Snakes here to…’ Running out of English, he goes wide-eyed, mimicking fear.
‘Just to scare us, eh?’
‘Scare,’ the man repeats, then nods. ‘Not kill.’
‘But some people die here, don’t they?’
The man looks confused. ‘Sir…?’
‘Don’t give me that bollocks. I’m not sir to you, any more than you’re sir to me. And you understand English well enough. This has happened before, hasn’t it? People brought here and left to cope in the wild?’
The man shrugs, but it’s half-hearted. ‘Yes,’ he admits. ‘Others come.’
‘You evil bastards.’ Sam steps closer and places his foot on the man’s shoulder. Keys the radio and says, ‘I hope you’re watching, cos he’s going in.’
There’s a sudden shout from Dylan: ‘Has Daddy got a gun?’
Sam glances down at his pocket, then back at Dylan. In his excitement the boy has forgotten everything but his obsession with weapons; he springs forward for a closer look, and Jody only just grabs him in time. But now the guard is moving too; he
’s worked his hands free and he twists round, lunging at Sam, who tries to stamp down and push him over the edge. But he doesn’t have the momentum; his body weight is shifting in the other direction and he stumbles as the man grabs Sam’s ankle and shoves his foot into the air.
Sam goes down heavily on his back. The gun has slipped from his pocket. They both see it at the same time but the guard is quicker to react, launching himself at Sam, pressing down on his legs and punching him in the groin. It causes a gruesome muffled pain, deep and faraway but coming in like an express train; Sam can’t help drawing his knees up as he turns, reaching for the gun…
He’s too slow. The guard snatches it, rolls clear of another swiping kick from Sam and comes up on his knees, spitting blood as he lifts the gun and growls at Sam and fires–
66
The crack of the gunshot brings everything to a halt. Jody instinctively crouches, pulling Dylan down with her. Grace is wide-eyed, her hands clamped over her ears. They’re all nearly deafened by the noise.
Jody fights a violent urge to be sick. Because of the trees in the way, all she can see of Sam are his legs. He’s flat on the ground, not moving. She has a better view of the guard, up on his knees and aiming the gun as if to fire again. She’ll never reach him in time...
There’s a squawk from the radio, and a voice barks: ‘Luka!’
The guard hesitates, then climbs to his feet. He glances at Jody, shifting his position so he can keep an eye on her. Slowly she straightens up. There’s another gruff command over the radio, which is still clutched in Sam’s hand. He’s alive, conscious, and Jody can’t see any blood. She feels incredible relief when she registers that the bullet must have missed.
‘Sam! Give the radio to Luka.’
Jody gasps. Sam meets her eye and she knows he is thinking the same as her: that voice sounds like Borko.
But Sam looks in no mood to obey. Jody has a terrible feeling that he would rather die than accept defeat.
