Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “Only following orders,” said the woman, grabbing a handful of hair to tilt Amie’s head back. “You’d do well to follow orders here. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  As soon as she finished, she threw the dirty water on the ground, and marched off towards the container and disappeared inside.

  “She’s the woman who does the ... you know ...” Fazia tailed off.

  Amie shuddered. Man’s inhumanity, especially towards women, never failed to disgust her. She looked around again but there was no way she could see to escape.

  “Felicity?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t Jean-Pierre our friend anymore?”

  “No, sadly. I think he’s working with these people,” Amie replied. “We trusted him, but ...” She shook her head. She’d grown to like the tall Frenchman. She had believed him, swallowed his feigned indignation about the FGM problems in France, commiserated with him, thought he was working on the same side. How wrong she had been. She was furious with herself for falling for his Gallic charm. Hell! She’d even been attracted to him, and had it not been for Simon then ... where was Simon? Was he still alive or had Jean-Pierre killed them all? Would the British Government send help if they didn’t hear from them? They wouldn’t just leave these little girls here to be mutilated and then sold off to the highest bidder? Dear God they couldn’t leave them here, or her for that matter ... could they? How long would they take before they sent in an army to rescue them? She clung on to the faint hope the authorities would act quickly, if they knew ... but if she, Simon and all the others were dead, who would tell them the whole story?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Jean-Pierre who was sauntering over to them, camera in hand. “Now ladies, I want you two, you clean ones, to smile for the photograph,” he laughed. “No, no, that is not right. I want you to look miserable and frightened. Just you,” he pointed to Fazia and Amie, pushing Linda and Winnie to one side. Winnie squealed and clung on tightly to Amie, kicking and fighting until two men ran over and dragged her away. They marched Linda and Winnie off and shoved them inside one of the tents. When Amie tried to intervene, someone from behind slapped her so hard across her head she saw stars and her vision blurred.

  There was a sudden shout as someone fired a shot into the air and Fazia and Amie clung together at the exact moment that Jean-Pierre pressed the shutter. He looked at the screen and then walked over to show them.

  “Thank you, ladies. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

  The photograph showed them clinging to each other, terrified. “You should fetch a fair price, I think.” He smiled. “Later we’ll make a movie together, the kind you pay to see in the hotels late at night?” He leaned in close to Amie and whispered in her ear. “You must trust me, ma petite. I promise. This is just make-believe, pretend. Trust me and we will all get home safely. We need to play their game a little longer. We are fooling them.” He stood up hiding his smile, then walked off, chuckling to himself.

  “What does he mean, make movies?” Fazia whispered.

  “I have no idea. He said it was all pretend, and we had to continue to play their game, but I don’t believe he’s our friend. I don’t trust him one bit. Tell me quickly what happened after you got out of the car by the embassy.”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing? What did the officials say to you? Who did you speak to?”

  “No one.”

  “Fazia help me out here. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “We never went into the embassy. We walked around the corner and met a lady and a man. Jean-Pierre spoke to them in French so I don’t know what he told them.”

  “And then?” Amie prompted when Fazia faltered.

  “Then the lady said they would take us to get warm clothes for England and photographs for our new passports.”

  “And then?” repeated Amie, wishing Fazia wouldn’t keep stopping.

  “We went into the street and they said they needed to collect something from where they were staying in the hotel. So we went up into their room and they gave us a drink and I remember falling asleep. When we woke up they told us they were going to drive us to get our photographs taken. Then we got into the car, and we had another drink and when I woke up again we were here.”

  “What did the man and woman look like? Are they staying here?”

  Fazia shook her head. “Not seen them again.”

  Amie sighed. “They brought you here in a car, yes?”

  “Yes, a green one.”

  “I know we followed you.”

  “But then why didn’t you rescue us?” Tears ran down Fazia’s face and it dawned on Amie that probably she wouldn’t trust her now, not that she could blame her.

  “We tried, darling, we tried. I heard where you were staying in Apatu and I came to say goodbye, but when we arrived at the hotel Tony and Charlie, that’s the names of the two that took you, and put you in the green car, so we followed.” Amie hoped that Fazia would believe her.

  “You called them Charlie and Tony! Do you know them?” Fazia’s body went stiff as she pulled away from Amie and stared at her. “Wait, they were with you in the village before Jean-Pierre locked you up in the hut!”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know who they were working for I thought they were innocent aid workers.” Amie felt wretched.

  How could she explain to Fazia that a witchdoctor knew where they were sleeping that night? It was going to sound so far-fetched the girl would never believe her.

  “Oh Fazia, it’s a long story but yes and no. I had met them but I didn’t know what they were going to do. Please trust me, I’m on your side. I’m here to help you escape.” For a moment Amie wondered if she should add that Simon and Jake were out there somewhere and they were the good guys as well, but she didn’t know what had happened to them, perhaps they’d met the same fate as Bill. There was no point in raising Fazia’s hopes.

  28 THE AUCTION

  Linda poked her nose out of the tent and once she checked the coast was clear, she trotted back over and sat on the tree trunk with Amie, who asked the same questions she’d asked Fazia. Through Linda’s brilliant eye for detail she described their meeting with Charlie and Tony and how they’d never even reached the front door of the embassy. Amie kicked herself again for falling for Jean-Pierre’s lies. It was all her fault. She had never felt so guilty in her life.

  Maybe Linda sensed how Amie felt, for she grabbed her arm and said, “That man and lady were ever so kind to us, and because Winnie was scared of the soldiers standing outside the embassy, they said they would take us to get a chocolate milkshake and have our photographs taken and then they would get our passports, really quickly.”

  By now the day was drawing to an end and the clouds that had kept the temperature down, even sitting out in the middle of the compound, had spared them the worst of the heat. As darkness fell, Amie wondered if they were going to leave them there all night. In the fading light, one of the soldiers came over and handed them each a tin bowl containing a watery stew. It looked pretty revolting but tasted better than Amie expected. They’d been given several bottles of water during the day; obviously looking after the merchandise, she thought wryly. If any of them needed to relieve themselves they were escorted just outside the clearing, but not for a moment did the soldiers take their eyes off them. The first time Amie complained bitterly but either the two men sent with her did not understand or they simply refused to listen. The anger boiled up inside her. How dare they treat her with such indignity? Although she waved her arms and shouted at them to turn away, not for one second did they do anything but stand and watch. They’d not touched her, but she felt violated and when she was marched back to sit on the fallen tree trunk she was fuming. She was determined to try and escape. She was not prepared to sit passively. She must make some attempt to get free. The biggest problem was how she was going to take the three children with her; leaving them behind was not an option.

  Once the evening meal
was over, the children were all rounded up and marched over to the container. Amie had noticed several of them wandering around the camp during the day but none had approached her and for the most part they had stayed in two of the small tents erected near the cooking area. Now she saw for the first time that Fazia’s estimate of eighteen was about right. Did that mean that several dozen of them had been sent out already?

  A few of the men came over and she shuddered as they used their guns to poke and prod them towards the container, urging them on as they shuffled up the ramp and into the vast metal box. Thick metal rails had been welded along the side walls about half a metre from the floor and tiny handcuffs had been attached to them on short lengths of chain. As the children filed in, their hands were grabbed and the cuffs snapped round their wrists. There was no chance of escape. They treated Amie in the same manner when she slid down to sit on the bare metal floor. The chains were long enough to allow her to put her hands together in her lap, but not to lie down. The small-sized cuffs cut cruelly into her wrists. Never before had Amie seen such small ones, they must have been specially made. There was no doubt these men were well prepared.

  As soon as the last child was secured, the huge doors on the back of the container were slammed shut and they were left alone. The darkness was unnerving and the relative silence surprising. There was the occasional sobbing, mumbling and shuffling but not a word was said. It reminded Amie of a zombie film she’d once seen, humanoid creatures that moved but never spoke.

  It was totally dark, not even a chink of light shone through. It reinforced their helplessness, and for once Amie had no idea what she could do to get them away from this living nightmare.

  At some time in the long, dark night Amie must have fallen asleep as the grating of the doors being opened woke her with a start. One by one the captives were released and then shooed out to go and collect their breakfast plates. The smell inside the container was awful, several of the children had had accidents in the night, and Amie was glad to scramble out into the pale, early morning sun. Already a few clouds were skittering across the sky, a portent of rain later in the day.

  Amie’s bum bag had been searched and Jean-Pierre’s Glock removed. She had no weapons left. After breakfast, one of the soldiers motioned to her to go and sit on the bench in the middle of the compound again. As soon as she was settled, Winnie and the other two came over and huddled beside her as before. Casually, she unzipped her bum bag and began to feel around inside it. Why hadn’t she done this yesterday, she had wasted valuable time. She’d been careful to keep her body language submissive, however angry she felt inside. She stooped her shoulders, maintaining a defeated miserable look on her face, and refused to make eye contact with her captors. She hoped and prayed they would not see her as a threat, believing she’d accepted her fate.

  Amie felt every item she had in her bag: a stick of lip salve and some paper tissues, that’s all they’d left her. When Winnie began to take an interest and ask what she was doing Amie urged her to keep quiet.

  “Ssh! Just pretend I’m sitting here doing nothing,” she whispered.

  She became aware that one soldier was observing her very closely, his eyes narrowed. She surreptitiously removed her hand and kept both of them in view.

  A loud rumbling from the air got closer and closer and Amie’s heart beat faster, her hopes soaring. Their rescuers were coming and soon this would all be over. The soldiers however did not appear worried. One looked at his watch and nodded.

  “The bad men are coming again,” whimpered Winnie. “Don’t let them take me, F’licity, please don’t let them take me.” And she buried her head against Amie’s tummy and clung on tightly, her tears soaking Amie’s cargo pants.

  “What happens when the bad men come?” Amie asked her, but the child only shook her head and cried harder.

  It was Fazia who replied. “They line the kids up and the men get to choose one or two,” she shouted into Amie’s ear as the noise of the approaching aircraft grew louder. “Then they take them into the container with cameras and then we hear screams. We’re not sure ...” she paused. “Then they come out and get back on the helicopter and fly off.”

  “The men and the girls?”

  “Yes, and often there is blood. I think they do the thing, you know, with everyone watching.”

  Amie shoulders slumped. It was difficult to believe that anyone could be so perverted, so cruel.

  “They usually go for the youngest ones first,” she continued.

  “Is that why you’re still here?” By now Amie had to shout as the deafening noise of the rotor blades whipped up the dust around them.

  “I, I don’t know. They’ve never made me go in the line.”

  The dust and wind whirled round their seat making them turn their heads and cover their eyes.

  Possibly, thought Amie because you’re a politician’s daughter. They may have other plans for you. Once the blades had come to a complete stop three well-dressed businessmen climbed out of the helicopter and approached the clearing. Already the soldiers were rounding up the children, poking and prodding them with their guns into a huddled group. They were clutching each other, weeping and wailing. When they came to take Winnie she screamed and ran behind Amie’s back, but the soldier tried to pry her away from Amie. Amie clung to the child, determined she would not give her up without a fight.

  “Let her go,” the soldier screamed as he tried to wrench the child away.

  “No, I bloody well won’t!” Amie screamed back. “Leave her alone.”

  The soldier swung the butt of his gun and hit Amie hard on the head. Her world spun as she toppled off the bench, loosening her grip on Winnie. The soldier dragged the little girl off Amie who staggered to her feet rubbing her head. She sank back onto the tree trunk and wiped her eyes on her shirt and studied the new arrivals.

  The three men swaggered into the central area where they were offered tea and liquor. They were laughing and joking. Two of them took off their suit jackets; sweating in the morning heat after the airconditioned helicopter, despite the clouds now blanketing the sun. The one closest to Amie wore a brown suit, his gut hanging over his belt, a few wisps of hair swept over his almost bald head. He must have been at least fifty years old and he was here to buy a mutilated child. Amie was disgusted, could it get any worse? The other two may have been a bit younger but both showed signs of a dissipated life. They also wore expensive suits, and were grossly over-weight, their snow-white shirts wrinkling with patches of sweat already spreading out from under their arms. The way they walked and talked these men cared nothing for the lives of others. They had the power and money to buy anything they wanted, including young girls. Brown suit took out a silver cigarette case and offered it to the fat, bald, greasy guy sitting next to him. Blue suit paused for a moment then ruefully shook his head and unwrapped a packet of gum, chewing with his mouth open. Brown suit shrugged, lit up, lazily blew smoke circles in the air and sat back in his chair.

  The kidnappers were bullying the younger children, shouting and hitting them until they formed a ragged line.

  “Bloody perverts, this crowd want the young ‘uns,” said Linda. If I could only get my bleeding ‘ands on them, I’d give ‘em what for.” Something in the tone of Linda’s voice took Amie back to an earlier conversation and she whispered in her ear.

  For a moment the girl looked puzzled, and then she smiled. “You got it.”

  “Wait a moment. Wait until Jean-Pierre has moved away.” She watched as the Frenchman hovered by the buyers, occasionally whispering into an ear. Would he never go? She felt Jean-Pierre’s eyes on her as she sat there rubbing her aching head but eventually he walked over towards the container.

  “Now’s your chance. Go, now.” Amie gave Linda a little push and she slid away sidling casually towards the buyers.

  The auction began, the men taking it in turns to call out their prices. Occasionally one would get up and walk over, to poke and prod the merchandise, looking at th
eir teeth, feeling them between the legs. Some of the little ones lashed out, causing everyone to laugh and jeer. Others remained mute, as if in a trance. When cigarette man approached Winnie, she lunged forward and bit him on the hand. He jumped back swearing and backhanded her across the face. She suddenly broke away from the line and raced back to fling herself at Amie, the blood from her cut lip staining Amie’s shirt. Everyone turned to stare as the child sought refuge with the only person she trusted.

  The same soldier as before rushed over and this time he hit Amie a lot harder on the head. As they dragged Winnie away, everything went black.

  When she came to the men, the helicopter and Winnie were gone. Her ears buzzed, her vision blurred, but she could feel hands wiping her face with a wet cloth. “Are you OK?” Fazia whispered.

  Amie struggled to sit up. She felt the bump on her head; the size of a football. “Yes, yes, I think so, just dizzy.” The camp area swirled around her alarmingly, she felt totally disorientated. Then she remembered. “Winnie, where is she? Did they take her?”

  “No, no they didn’t. This time it was three even younger kids.” Fazia sounded bitter. “I hate them. I hate them for what they’re doing.”

  “How long, have I ...?”

  “Been out? I dunno, half an hour maybe.”

  Amie looked round the camp. “I don’t see Winnie, where is she, are you sure they ...?”

  “Yes, they took her with others into that tent over there.”

  Linda suddenly appeared and dashed over, looking very proud of herself. “Got it,” she whispered, “an’ I got other stuff too.” She just managed to slide three things down the front of Amie’s bloodstained shirt before one of the guards ordered her back inside the tent with the other children. She shouted several expletives at him but obeyed.