SS Glasgow Castle 41 Chapter Forty One

I started walking into the setting sun. I walked crouched at first; then I straightened up and broke into a trot. I glanced back just once and saw Kross crawling towards the top of the rise. I hadn't taken a dozen steps when I heard a couple of shouts, scattered claps of shots fired by the pursuing soldiers, and then a sharp, deep crack, immediately followed by a horrible scream. I knew it was Kross shooting and that he had scored a hit.

I broke into a run. I didn't look back again until I reached the baobab. The screaming went on and on; it didn't sound like a human, it sounded like an animal in great pain. I was shaking as I ran and very nearly ditched the rifle. But when I was nearing the baobab a small indistinct shape darted into the higher gra.s.s to the right of the trunk. It made me keep the rifle.

I stopped behind the fat trunk and got my bearings. I fancied I could see something green in the distance - trees lining the river, far away? I wasn't sure: the sun, a s.h.i.+mmering red orb suspended right over the horizon, blinded me. Then the shooting started again and I thought f.u.c.k it, and just ran towards the setting sun.

After a while the shooting stopped, and so did I. I glanced back. I couldn't see Kross, I couldn't even identify the spot where I'd left him. My legs ached. I was thirsty and hungry. I slowed down and attempted to wipe the salty mud – sweat mixed with dust - off my face. The spots where the skin had been cut by the gla.s.s stung and burned. I started wondering about the possibility of getting infected by an exotic, deadly parasite.

Then Kross fired again – the deep crack made by his rifle was unmistakable. It was answered with a flurry of shots from the soldiers.

I ran again. I was gasping for breath before long, so I switched to walking with long, fast steps, and kept at it until I simply couldn't go on any more. It was nearly dark by then.

I stopped and got out the bottled water and drank. I couldn't get enough. It took a real effort to stop; it took half the bottle. I thought I could make out trees in the distance. Thirty kilometers to go! I tried to estimate how far I'd got; it couldn't have been more than two or three.

The sun went down fast, too fast. I couldn't see anything even remotely resembling a river. I walked faster and faster until my legs started to hurt. I knew it would be dark in a quarter of an hour. I didn't want to look for a river infested with crocodiles in the dark.

A couple of minutes later the river popped into view quite suddenly on my left, as I reached the top of yet another gentle rise. I didn't actually see the water - just the dark band of trees that had to mean water. I estimated they were about a kilometer away. I didn't think a crocodile would wander this far from the river, but all the same I took to holding the rifle in both hands, finger laid across the trigger guard. As the sun slipped out of view and everything briefly turned purple, I gripped the rifle more tightly and swerved towards the river. I wanted to be close enough to make out the trees on its bank when night fell.

It fell minutes later, just as suddenly as the previous time: almost instantly everything was black. I stopped under a lonely acacia tree and had a drink and a think. I checked the time - it was twenty past seven - but I had difficulty in telling where the ground ended and the sky began. I could feel eyes watching me. Was it a little lizard, or something bigger? It was so f.u.c.king dark.

I remembered there'd been a new moon the previous night - the night earlier? But there was some light from the stars, and it seemed to get stronger. I drank a little water from my last bottle and waited. When I could distinguish between different kinds of darkness, between the sky and the ground, the trees and the gra.s.s - I got going again.

I moved very slowly, halting every minute or so to look around and listen for a few moments. After a while, I was surprised to find that I could clearly distinguish shapes from a dozen steps away. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the young moon had risen: a curved sliver of reflected light hundreds of thousands of kilometers away.

I consulted my watch: it showed two past ten. I tried to work out how far I'd come. I had been travelling for around four hours; it had to be at least ten kilometers. But that was only a third of the distance I had to cover. I had to get to the ford in the river, to the border crossing by dawn.
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I didn't rest again until a few minutes past midnight. I sat down on the ground and straightened out my legs and ma.s.saged my thighs. It was then that I heard the river: a whispering gurgle behind my back. I looked over my shoulder and I could make out the trees, a ragged band of darker black not more than a hundred paces away. I could even smell the water, the air seemed sweeter.

I got to my feet and slung my bag across my back and picked up the rifle. Suddenly I heard a deep, growling grunt in the darkness, then the gra.s.s swis.h.i.+ng and rustling as something big rushed towards me.

I was off like a f.u.c.king Olympic sprinter. I ran as fast as I could and then even faster when I heard a a throaty snarl right behind me. I felt a foot slip and turn inward and I literally flipped over in the air before landing on my side and the rifle arm.

I immediately threw myself over onto my back and pointed the rifle at the darkness between my feet and fired. The bang was deafening and I swear that the flame which came out of the barrel was almost a foot long. It lit everything up like a photographer's flash for a fraction of a second and I saw the hairy snout of a wild pig, one red eye gleaming madly above an orange tusk.

It shrieked and swerved to the side and plunged into the gra.s.s. Immediately a small stampede started, with gra.s.s stalks and twigs snapping all around me to the drumbeat of many small hooves. I worked the bolt to reload the rifle, and the hot cartridge case jumped out of the lock and burnt my forearm. I screamed and got up and chased the wild pigs, still screaming like a f.u.c.king loony. But naturally they were much faster than me and I caught a bad st.i.tch in my side.

It forced a halt, and I realized I'd lost my sense of direction. I couldn't see the river and the trees any more. Then I recognized a small red star hanging low over the horizon; I was sure it had been roughly in front of me when I was walking earlier: I remembered wondering if it could be Mars. So I set off once again, guided by that little red star.

I saw the river just as the first sun rays lit up the savanna. It wasn't far away, no more than half a kilometer. It didn't look like crocodile country any more, the trees along the bank were few and far between. Far away, I saw two dark humps appear against the lightening sky - they had to be the twin rock domes I'd seen on the way in.

It seemed I was getting close to the ford where Kross and I had crossed the river. I examined the landscape on my left and sure enough, I saw a section of the track maybe half a mile away, a short strip of red that curved out from behind one gentle hill to disappear behind another. I crouched and began scampering towards the river in a wide arc.

It took a while: by the time I reached the river, the sun had risen over the horizon. I crept along the sh.o.r.e towards the track; when I got there, I ducked behind a bush and listened. By then all sorts of life were making their presence known with an a.s.sortment of chirps, hisses, clicks, and whistles. However, I didn't hear anything indicating the presence of people. I picked out a good spot to cross - a rock midstream offered the possibility of getting to the other sh.o.r.e in two determined leaps without getting feet wet.

I closed my eyes and counted down from ten to zero and started running. I swear I got across that river in no more than ten seconds, then ran up the short slope on the other side and dived into the gra.s.s. I thought I could recognize a huge acacia that grew between the river and the track - I remembered looking at that tree on the way in - I was as moved as if I'd seen a very dear long-lost relative.

I stopped behind its trunk and looked and listened. The pink sun was fully over the horizon; the sh.o.r.e I'd just left was pastel and peaceful. I could hear no suspicious noises. I leaned back against the tree and slowly slid down to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut and said:

"f.u.c.k."

Then I put the rifle aside and set about changing my costume.