Night of Knives

by Jon Evans

  "I know something about mines. My father was a miner. They are built with ventilation circuits. As we go deeper, it becomes hotter." She nods, wondering how deep they are right now, how close to the Earth's molten mantle. "Hot air rises, any schoolboy will tell you. This creates a pressure imbalance that brings cooler air down from somewhere else, somewhere outside. All we must do is keep walking into the wind, to the source of that air."

  It sounds good. As long as their escape isn't discovered, or the air doesn't get unbreathable, or the heat unbearable, or the climb up to the surface isn't too much for them, or the exit isn't blocked. There are so many ways to fail. But at least they have a plan.

  "How are you feeling?" she asks.

  She sees his teeth but can't tell if he's smiling or grimacing. "I will be fine."

  Veronica isn't at all sure of that. "Let's rest a little longer."

  "We have no time."

  "Five minutes won't make any difference."

  "With this air perhaps it will."

  He has a point. The air is now so thick and hot it feels like breathing through a cigarette. If they stay too long at this level oxygen deprivation might become a real issue, like altitude sickness in reverse. And heat exhaustion is unquestionably a danger.

  "All right," she says. "Let's get going."

  They advance into the draft, much fainter in this wide corridor than it was in the shaft, but still noticeable. Everything looks green in the phone's LCD light. Walking fast is a relief after slowly worming their way down the endless shaft in darkness, but she has to slow down for Lovemore, who is limping. At one point he bumps his head painfully on the ceiling; afterwards he walks on exaggeratedly bent knees. They reach an intersection with an equally wide and high corridor, but one without rail tracks. They stand there a moment, unable to determine from which direction the stronger draft comes.

  "The tracks must go to the main elevator shaft," Veronica says. "We can't go up there. Let's try the other way."

  Lovemore nods. He is now breathing with every few steps he takes, as if running rather than walking. They continue down this corridor, moving with new hope; the wind is stronger here, and noticeably cooler.

  The corridor ends at a metal grille set in stone. Beyond the grille, a circular shaft six feet across rises at a forty-five-degree angle towards the sky. Cool air hurtles down into the mine. Veronica thinks she tastes water in the air. It's a way out – except for the solid metal grate that bars their way.

  She examines this obstacle. It is not like the ones up above that were welded in place. This one has two halves separately seated in the stone walls; in the middle, their flat metal edges overlap and are bolted together. She unfolds her Leatherman and sets to work. Lovemore sits with his back to the corridor wall and concentrates on breathing.

  There are only four narrow bolts. Two come out easily once she scrapes the rust off. The third requires a great deal more effort. But the fourth, near the bottom, will not budge, despite Veronica's increasingly frantic efforts. It appears to have rusted in place.

  "Motherfucker," she pants, staring at the grate. One rusted nut. That is all that stands between them and the path to freedom. But it will not move.

  "There must be stairs," Lovemore said hoarsely. "In case of some disaster. There must be stairs."

  "If we can find them. Maybe they've been blocked. Or that exit's locked. And they'll probably take us right to Gorokwe's troops. Fuck. One fucking nut."

  "The top of this shaft may also be walled off."

  She winces. He's right. She stares venomously at the offending hexagonal hunk of metal. Then she reaches up to the top of the grate. Her previous removal of three bolts allows the two halves to pull away from each other and create a little vee of space, just enough to wedge her fingers into. She pulls as hard as she can. Even with this leverage it doesn't feel much different from trying to rip an iron bar apart with her bare hands.

  Veronica threads the fingers of her other hand into the grate, and then climbs up onto it, placing both her feet flat against the metal bars, supporting herself with her hands. She pushes with all the strength of her legs. At first nothing happens. Then there is a groaning sound – and then an unexpected crack – and suddenly the grate is open and Veronica has to flail about to avoid falling off as metal rattles on the floor. She hoped she might loosen the rusted nut; instead she has torn it right off its bolt.

  "Marvellous," Lovemore wheezes.

  She drops back to the ground and pulls the two halves of the grate apart wide enough that she can squeeze between them. Then she looks up the wide ventilation intake shaft and wishes it wasn't so steep. They could maybe walk up a thirty-degree incline, like that they descended. This forty-five-degree shaft will have to be climbed with both hands. It will take them hours to reach the surface.

  She says, "Maybe there's another way out, but I'm thinking this is the only way we might actually escape."

  "Yes."

  "It's a long way up."

  "Yes."

  "Do you think you can climb all the way?"

  Lovemore looks at her a moment, then says, softly, "If I must, I will."

  "I'm sorry," Veronica says. "I think you must."

  Chapter 37

  "Lovemore," Veronica croaks. "Look."

  He doesn't react.

  "Look." She grabs at him clumsily. "Up."

  His head slowly turns upward, towards the distant blotch of … not light, exactly, but a different shade of darkness than what they have been moving through for hours.

  "What is it?" he asks dully.

  "I think it's the outside."

  At least the air is clean up here. That has been the only good thing about the climb. Their ascent has been far longer and more gruelling than Veronica expected. Her muscles are near collapse, her toes are covered in blisters, the skin on her hands has been ribboned by sharp rocks. Her blood- and sweat-wet fingers keep skidding away from handholds. This slanted six-foot-square shaft is far more dangerous than the smaller one they descended. Veronica's feet have slipped off footholds once, and Lovemore's twice. All three times they barely avoided tumbling to their deaths, and survival cost them several deep cuts. Her thirst is burning, ravenous, and the pebble she sucks on has ceased to help, the inside of her mouth feels as dry as paper. Lovemore seems in even worse condition. He has almost ceased to engage with the world.

  "We're almost there," she promises him. "Just a little farther."

  "You go."

  "You first." She wants to be below him in case he faints.

  He sighs, takes two shivering breaths, then forces himself to resume his upward progress. Veronica climbs behind him. She is only dimly aware of her external pain. It pales next to her all-consuming thirst.

  When she looks up next the blotch seems hardly larger. She wants to cry. You can't spare the moisture, she tells herself firmly. Just climb. This will be over soon and you will forget this nightmare ever happened.

  Climbing a forty-five degree slope is equally unlike rock climbing and walking erect; it requires locomotion on all fours, like an animal. Veronica tries to climb like a monkey. It actually seems to help a little. When she looks up next the the blotch is noticeably larger, and definitely a paler shade of black than its surroundings. She remembers with something like despair that the exit is probably blocked by a grate, as at the other end of the shaft. If it has been welded in place she doesn't know what they will do. Lovemore certainly doesn't have enough strength to climb back down. Veronica doubts she does either.

  Nothing they can do about it now. Above her, Lovemore is moving faster, proximity to the surface seems to have lent him new strength.

  "It's open," he grunts when they are only a hundred feet away.

  She refuses to believe him, refuses to hope. But it's true. The shaft leads straight into open air. It isn't until they reached the edge that they realize why; the exit is in the middle of a sheer rock wall, directly above a wide river. The moon is clouded but there is enough light
to see the boundary where the cliff meets the river twenty feet below. They can hear and smell the rushing water beneath them. Water. She has to hold herself back from simply throwing herself into the river and drinking deep.

  "What do we do now?" Lovemore asks.

  Veronica thinks a moment. There aren't a whole lot of options.

  "We rest, get some strength back," she says. "Then we jump. It doesn't look shallow." She has no idea what shallow water looks like in darkness, but saying it makes her feel better. Than a horrible idea occurs to her. "Wait. Are there crocodiles?"

  "No," Lovemore says. "In the Zambezi, the Limpopo, yes. But not here."

  She sighs with relief.

  "But I cannot swim."

  She stares at him. "Really?"

  "I'm sorry. I never learned."

  "Well. We can't climb back down. I was a lifeguard once." She thinks back to when she watched children in the neighbourhood pool when she was sixteen. Not exactly the same as supporting a full-grown man in a powerful river at night. But she has no choice. "Just trust me and don't panic, and I'll keep you up."

  After a second Lovemore says, "I trust you."

  "Good." Veronica looks at the water. She knows she should wait, gather her strength. But she doesn't think there's much left to gather, and she is overcome by a blinding urge to just get this over with. "Fuck it. Follow me."

  She steps back down the shaft, lowers herself like a sprinter on blocks, then takes a stumbling running jump into the river. The fall is so terrifying she almost screams.

  But the water is deep and cool and deliriously refreshing. Veronica is drinking from it even before her head breaking the surface. She has to pull away and remind herself not to drink too much too fast.

  "Hurry!" she cries, floating in the strong current, trying to stay near the shaft entrance.

  She is almost too successful; Lovemore nearly falls directly onto her. He comes up spluttering and thrashing, panicked despite her warnings, grabs Veronica's arm with a vicegrip and drags her head down below the waterline. His body is convulsing like a landed fish, pulling them both deeper into the river. Veronica kicks as hard as she but barely manages to get her head above water for another breath.

  She fights to free herself but he is far too strong. Veronica gives up the struggle and allows him to pull her closer, wraps her other arm around him so she holds him from behind, and kicks again, with all the strength left in her legs. Their heads emerge from the river again for a few seconds. Lovemore is still thrashing uncontrollably.

  "Calm down!" she orders him.

  They fall back into the water. Then Lovemore goes limp, and his vicegrip on her arm loosens. Veronica grabs him in a bearhug and pulls them back up above the waterline. It isn't easy treading water for two, Lovemore is dense with muscle, but she manages.

  "Sorry, sorry," he coughs.

  "It's okay. Just hang loose."

  She can't tell if the rushing sound ahead indicates rapids or a waterfall, but she knew they don't want to find out. They swim clumsily for the shore opposite the mine. The river shallows into a pebbly bed, and they stumble onto rocky land. Above them she could see the outlines of trees against the clouds; thick, untracked African bush.

  "Free," Veronica says, almost disbelievingly, and collapses to the ground.

  * * *

  Now that her thirst is gone Veronica is bitterly aware of her hunger, and of the blisters, cuts and scrapes that cover seemingly her entire body. She tries to imagine what it would be like to be safe, well-fed and pain-free. It seems like an impossible dream.

  Ahead of her Lovemore fights his way through the trackless bush. He staggers with every step, but Veronica isn't worried about him like she was in the mine. Freedom and water seem to have given him back some strength. She follows wearily in his steps. Branches slap at her face, her soaked shoes squelch noisily on the slippery underbrush. She hopes they are moving east.

  "What is it?" she asks, when he stops.

  "A footpath."

  She has to squint to see it in the moonlight, a thin dirt path.

  "There are many who live now in these hills," Lovemore says. "They come from the cities, they lose their homes to sickness or Operation Murambatsvina and they come here to live in the bush, as their grandparents did."

  "Do we follow it?"

  "Yes."

  The trail is narrow, uneven, and often impeded by roots and branches, but it's much better than fighting their way through dense forest. Veronica's breath grows ragged and her mind fogs with exhuastion, but she doesn't let herself stop, until Lovemore comes to a halt so sudden she almost collides with him.

  "What is it?" she asks.

  "Be silent," he whispers. "Look. Up that msasa tree."

  Veronica follows Lovemore's gaze up to a tall, leafy tree that overhangs the path. There is something on one of its uppermost branches, she can't quite make it out in the dappled shadows, but she knows immediately, on some instinctive level, that she doesn't want to be any closer to it.

  "Leopard," Lovemore says softly. "They leap on their prey from above."

  The tawny shape is immediately above the path. "You mean if we kept walking –"

  "More likely it is just sunning itself. It is very rare for them to attack humans."

  His actions are not near as confident as his words; he takes her hand and leads her in a wide semicircle around the predator. Veronica looks over her shoulder as they return to the trail, just in time to see the leopard stand and stretch with malevolent grace, and her breath freezes in her throat, but after stretching it lies back down again.

  They continue, fuelled by adrenalin. The path leads upwards and then opens without warning onto a wide dirt road. To their left the sky is just beginning to shine with the dawn. To their right, the road crosses a wooden bridge, leading back towards the mine.

  "That way to Mozambique," Lovemore says, looking east, to where the road skirts a sheer ten-foot cliff.

  "Does this road go to the border?" she asks.

  "It goes near. Afterwards there are trails."

  "Let me guess. It's like this all the way. Steep hills and cliffs."

  "Yes."

  She sighs. "Can we get there before they follow us? Do you think they'll track us?"

  "Is Mozambique where you want to go?"

  She is taken aback by the question. "Where else?"

  Lovemore considers. Then he says, "Yes. You must go east. You must escape. But I will go back to the mine."

  "To the mine? Are you crazy? What for?"

  "To try to stop them."

  "What? How?"

  "I don't know," Lovemore says. "But I know they have made a mistake in bringing us here. They have brought us like vipers into their heart. We know they will attack tomorrow, we know their missiles are in that mine. Maybe I can find a weapon, and find the stairs into the mine. I must try. There will be war. Mugabe must go, but not like this. So many will die. There are so many already close to death. I must at least try."

  Veronica tries to find the right words. "I understand. I know what you mean, I'd want to try too if we had any chance at all. But please, don't be crazy. They've got guns, we've got nothing, we're on our last legs here. We can't stop them. It's too late, we don't have time. Mugabe's flight is probably already in the air."

  "You go to Mozambique," he says. "Escape. Tell the world."

  "I don't think I can get there without you."

  "I'm sorry. I can't go with you. I can't leave my people."

  Veronica looks east, along the road that has been blasted through the hillside and curls beneath a sheer granite cliff. Then she looks west, towards the mine.

  "We'll go and see," she offers. "If it looks like we can do something, we will. Maybe I can help. If not, if it just looks useless, we go to Mozambique."

  Lovemore looks at her for a long moment before he acquiesces.

  * * *

  The intersection where the dirt road meets the paved road seems deserted. A faint mist has risen
here, making the hills around them seem ghostly, unearthly. Down the main road, they can see, half-lost in the mist, the edge of the chainlink fence surrounded by the yellow mounds of discarded ore. They make their way cautiously, staying to the shoulder of the road, ready to leap into the bush at the slightest sound, but the hills are silent, not even a bird sings.

  From the base of one of the great heaps of dirt they can see the low buildings and gravel parking lot of the mine. Four men guard the main entrance. Veronica and Lovemore are as far away from them as possible, and it's too misty to see well, but she thinks they are all carrying rifles. Otherwise the complex is deserted. The fence seems to be in good repair and surrounded by barbed wire everywhere.

  "Your Leatherman," Lovemore says to her.

  She looks at him. His breath is still ragged. "What are you going to do? Climb the fence, cut the wire, walk in and challenge Gorokwe to a duel?"

  "The mineshaft. If we can destroy the elevator –"

  "It's guarded," she says. "Even if you do, there'll be stairs out somewhere, and they'll be guarded too. You can't stop them."

  "I must try."

  She shakes her head. "No. I won't let you do it."

  "Please. Give me the Leatherman. You go to Mozambique and tell the world everything that has happened. Please, Veronica. So many could die. Think of Rwanda. Imagine if it was your country. I must try."

  After a moment she swallows, nods, surrenders the Leatherman. He limps to the fence, and begins to climb. Veronica doesn't move. She looks out at the gate guards. They haven't noticed anything yet. Lovemore sways and almost falls as he climbs the fence, and its rattle as he rights himself seems to carry a terrifyingly long way, but the guards do not react. Once at the barbed wire he hangs on with one hand and begins to saw with the other. It looks awkward and incredibly difficult.

  After only a short time he stops to rest. When he looks around and sees Veronica his eyes widen and he makes a shooing gesture. She stands up reluctantly. Then she looks past Lovemore and quickly drops back down to her belly. He turns and sees: the guards have noticed him. Two of them are coming.