by Sue Rabie
❄
The icy point of the switchblade was dug into his side.
‘I said drive faster!’ Jake yelled.
David complied. He jammed his foot against the accelerator.
The sudden lurch was unexpected, the shudder pitching Jake off balance.
David moved.
He swept the knife away from his side, then slammed the heel of his right hand into Jake’s nose. Jake stumbled back with a strangled cry. His foot slipped on the icy step of the cab, and he tumbled without a sound into the deep white of the grader’s wake.
David revved the engine harder to cover the sound of Jake’s cry. He knew that Jake would never catch them up. He would be left wallowing in the snow, would struggle in the deep drifts at the side of the road.
His plan had worked, the first part of it anyway, but David didn’t stop to congratulate himself. The hardest part was still ahead and he didn’t have much time – the crossroads was looming, the irrigation canal drawing ever closer.
Would it work?
It would have to, he told himself. He had no choice.
He drove to the point where the telephone lines deviated at a ninety degree angle.
The crossroads.
The irrigation canal would be a few hundred metres further on, making its way beneath the road they were on. If they could get to the canal, however snowed over it might be, they would be free.
David watched for the canal.
He saw it almost too late, the long furrow appearing as a mere shadow underneath the snow as the faint glow of the headlamp panned over it.
It was now or never. He took his foot off the accelerator.
It was important for him to be calm. It was important for him to think clearly.
Just ease down on the brakes, he told himself, don’t do anything to alarm Kyle.
The plough came to a halt just a few metres past the canal.
David got down quickly and went to the horsebox. He banged loudly on the groom’s door. ‘Time to change!’ he shouted over the noise.
He hoped that the gusting of the wind and the grumbling of the idling plough would obscure his voice enough to fool Kyle into thinking he was Jake.
Without waiting for Kyle to emerge, he jumped over the hitch and ran to the back ramp of the horsebox. He had to get May out before Kyle realised what was going on, had to get her away before the shooting started.
And it would start. Kyle couldn’t afford to let both of them go. He would shoot when he discovered David and May making a break for the fields. He would shoot to kill.
David heard the groom’s door open and at the same time he undid the right-hand clamp holding the ramp shut. The squeal of the groom’s door obscured the sound of the clamp. David moved silently to the left-hand clamp.
‘Jake?’ he heard Kyle call out above the idling of the grader.
He felt the horsebox rock slightly as Kyle jumped out, and quickly pulled at the second clamp.
‘Jake?’ The call was muffled, as if Kyle had stepped away from the box.
David lowered the ramp. It was heavy, was usually lowered by two people, and he struggled to hold it as he eased it to the floor.
May’s face was white. They had tied her to the central upright of the box, to the support which would have separated the two horses.
‘David?’ she gasped.
She was freezing, he could see that. She was only wearing a shirt and jersey, and her slacks were doing nothing against the cold. Her lips were trembling, and as he hurried up the ramp he could see her whole body was shaking.
‘May,’ he said, and cupped her face in his hands briefly. ‘We’re getting out of here.’
The groom’s door was still open. ‘Damn it, Jake!’ he heard Kyle call into the darkness. ‘Where the hell are you?’
David began to tear at the bonds securing May’s wrists. They had used the wire from the hay bales that David and Phiwe had loaded for the cattle out at Elandskrans. Had twisted it so tightly it had cut into her wrists.
‘Hold on,’ David breathed as he saw blood.
He tried to be as gentle as he could, tried to work the wire so that he wouldn’t hurt her any more, but time was not on his side.
She cried out and it was then that Kyle must have realised that something was wrong …
‘Nearly there …’ David muttered as he heard the curse of realisation from outside.
He tore at the wire, ignoring May’s cry as the wire sprang apart. ‘Run!’ he hissed.
He shoved her forward, pushing at her waist as he heard the yell from behind. They both ducked as the gun went off. Sparks flew from the framework of the horsebox.
‘Down there!’ David ordered.
He pushed May first, shielding her body with his as they stumbled into the snowdrift at the side of the road and slid down the small bank into the field. The snow dragged at them. It was difficult to make any headway, but they had to keep going, had to keep pushing because Kyle was still shooting.
Snow exploded just to the right of David’s knee, the gunshot echoing through the dawn. David threw a glance behind them. He could barely see Kyle in the darkness, which meant Kyle could barely see them. He had run to the back of the horsebox, was standing at the edge of the swept-away snow and firing down at them. ‘Keep going!’ David yelled at May. ‘Faster!’
They were at the fence now, and he literally grabbed May from behind and shoved her over it before half climbing, half falling over it himself. The top wire sagged as he landed on it. ‘Run!’ he shouted.
Again he kept himself between May and the bullets. Another shot rang out. David was sure he felt something tug at his jacket collar. He pushed May from behind, literally driving her though the snow to the deeper depression of the canal only metres ahead in the darkness. Two more shots blasted over them as they fled.
And then they were tumbling down, David holding desperately onto May as they fell …
Into the irrigation canal.
Into a flood of ice-cold water that took their breaths away as it swept them under.
Eighteen
❄
Alex Kyle stared at the path Roth and the woman had taken and swore viciously. He was still standing at the side of the road next to the horsebox, the snow from the plough up to his thighs and the gun empty at his side.
Around him the darkness was fading to a murky, gusty grey.
He turned as a thin shout drifted to him from behind.
Jake.
He was staggering along at a slow run in the wide path the plough had made, shielding his face from the snow that swirled against him.
Kyle waited impatiently for him.
‘What happened to you?’ he asked, with barely concealed anger as Jake staggered up to the horsebox.
Jake bent over to catch his breath, spitting blood and swearing foully. ‘He surprised me,’ he slurred.
Kyle frowned and pulled Jake upright. His face was a mess, his nose clearly broken.
‘You bloody idiot!’ Kyle seethed. ‘You were supposed to be watching him! You were supposed to be in control!’
Jake spat more blood. ‘And you?’ he whined through his broken nose. ‘What about you!’ He looked at the lowered ramp and the trail of disturbed snow that made its way down the short embankment to the fence below.
Kyle turned away. He wasn’t going to get into a shouting match with Jake, not now, not when they were so close to the bus. He looked up at the brightening sky. It was still snowing, but not as hard, the wind not as fierce.
They were running out of time.
He pointed to the grader. ‘Do you think you can drive that thing?’
‘I sat there watching him, didn’t I?’ Jake replied with heavy sarcasm.
‘Good,’ Kyle replied. ‘Then get it moving,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
He stared at the place where Roth and the woman had disappeared, trying to figure it out. He had waited a long time for them to reappear, was sure he had hit one of them
as they made their break, but they had simply vanished from sight.
He climbed down the bank to study the snow on the other side of the fence, searching for the telltale signs of his success as he followed the trail.
But there was no blood.
He walked a few metres further and discovered the reason for their disappearance.
Running parallel to the road was an eight-foot wide, concrete-lined ditch.
An irrigation canal.
It arrowed dead straight from west to east, kinking suddenly fifty metres downstream to disappear into the murky depths of the grey dawn.
Kyle stood at its edge and looked at the black water. The level was high and it was flowing fast and dark, the depth unknown and the cold unimaginable.
Kyle smiled down into its blackness and laughed. ‘That’s fine by me,’ he told the water as he turned away. ‘I hope you drown.’
❄
David was drowning.
The icy waters clamped his chest and throat. He couldn’t get his footing. The water was flowing too fast, the bottom of the irrigation canal too smooth and deep.
He had underestimated the level and force of the water, had forgotten about the increased flow due to the storms and the snow and the runoff from the dams.
He knew now that he had made a mistake, that both he and May could die here in the canal.
They went under again, May pulling him down. She was limp in his arms now, the lack of air and the deep, penetrating cold paralysing her. For a moment he considered letting her go, letting the water take her, but he held on, refusing to give up.
He forced himself up once more, kicking against the slippery bottom of the canal. He dragged in a breath. It was a spluttering, agonising breath. He wanted to cough, but he held the breath and forced himself to look for a way out, something to grab onto.
There was nothing. The angled concrete banks were smooth and featureless, the snow coming right down to the edge so that if there were indeed handrails or steps used for servicing the canals, David could not see them. He exhaled and began to go under again. He quickly took another breath. He tried to yell at May to hold on, but no sound came from his throat. He could feel no movement from her as he held her to his chest. Was her face out of the water? Was she drowning and he didn’t even know it? ‘May!’ he shouted. ‘May, breathe!’
It came out as a rasp.
He looked up.
The tunnel that ran under the road to Elandskrans was right in front of them, and over the opening was a grille to prevent debris from building up under the bridge.
A log had somehow managed to get caught there, and David yelled and twisted away frantically so that May was protected from its hooked branches when they hit.
He was slammed into the barrier with breathtaking force, was held there by the mass of water that surged past and into the darkness of the tunnel. He struggled to breathe, his throat raw from swallowing icy water. May was being pushed up against him, her soggy hair swirling into his mouth. The log was a looming presence, a dagger-sharp branch sticking out of the water centimetres away from him.
‘Jesus,’ he managed to gasp.
He wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or a curse, wasn’t sure if it was the sound of his voice or the knowledge of his near impalement that galvanised him into action. He hooked his fingers in the grille and began pulling himself up. He hadn’t even thought about doing it. He just pulled himself up so that May was out of the water, so that the torrent was not at his throat any more, but pushing upwards at his chest. He was surprised at his sudden progress, but his surprise quickly turned to dismay.
May was completely limp.
He locked his fingers in the grille at a higher point and pushed May onto the angled bank so that half her body was out of the water. He concentrated on pulling himself out too, clawing at the grille with numbed white fingers and dragging himself inelegantly over an unprotesting May.
Water streamed from his clothes as he hauled himself along the concrete bank, but he didn’t stop to rest. All he could see was May, lying there. Not breathing.
He was still on his knees as he bent over her and wiped the hair from her face. ‘May,’ he rasped. ‘Wake up, May!’
It was like Michelle MacFarlane all over again. He eased her head back, making sure her airways were clear, but this time he did it with someone else’s hands, his body shuddering and his head caught in a vice of numbing cold. He couldn’t feel her lips against his as he breathed into her, couldn’t feel the warmth of exhaled air as he turned his ear to her mouth. He hardly felt the pain as their heads knocked together when May’s body jerked reflexively as she began to choke. David sat back, knocked off balance. He pulled May to him, holding her as she heaved water and vomited into the snow.
Thank God. Thank you, God.
He didn’t know how long he sat there holding her, didn’t know how long it took for her to stop coughing and catch her breath and sag against him. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to try any more.
But the cold forced him to.
The wind cut into him, his wet clothes freezing against him, and David realised he had to do something. They couldn’t just sit there and wait for help.
May needed help first. She would freeze in the shirt and thin jersey she had on, hypothermia would set in and she would die of exposure.
The only thing he could offer her was his own waterlogged jacket. He struggled to shrug it off and tried to wring out some of the water before he tugged it around her. It was better than nothing, would at least cut out the wind, and it made an immediate difference. He could tell because he felt the cold straightaway, felt it burn into his back. He hunched his shoulders and ducked closer to May.
May’s eyelids fluttered open. She was half-conscious, drifting in and out of a cold-induced daze.
‘May … We have to get going,’ he told her.
He didn’t know if he could carry her, didn’t even know if he could get to his own feet. And where were they going to go? He sat for a moment longer.
Which direction to take?
They could go back to Boston. The road was cleared and they wouldn’t lose their way.
Too far.
They could go to the farm, to Anri.
Just as far.
The crossroads marked the halfway mark between the two points, and the only other direction was …
To Elandskrans, where David had promised to deliver supplies all that time ago.
They were the closest, they were the only ones that could still help.
Would they?
David didn’t wait to discover what his own answer would be. He had to move now, had to get going no matter what the outcome. He could feel himself getting lethargic, a sure sign that hypothermia was setting in.
Get up, he told himself. Walk.
He dragged himself to his feet, using the concrete wall of the canal siding, then bent down to pull May up. ‘Get up,’ he told her as she slumped heavily against him. ‘We have to move or we’re going to die. You have to walk.’
She looked at him blankly, her eyes glazed.
He tried again. ‘Please, help me. I can’t do this on my own.’
She began to cry. It was a deep sobbing, almost hysterical, as the shock of what they had just been through began to catch up with her. ‘T … they … k … killed th … them …’ She sobbed. ‘They … k … killed M … Malan and Du … Du Plessis.’
Malan and Du Plessis.
They were both dead.
‘What about the others?’ David asked. ‘What about Mark?’
May was almost unable to answer. ‘I … d … don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t k … know.’
She began to cry again.
‘All right,’ he murmured, as he pulled her against him. ‘It’s all right.’
She shook her head, her sobbing rocking both of them. ‘No …’ she said. ‘It’s n … not. They’re going to b … blame it on y … you. H … he used the same … knife.’
His stomach sank at her words. Everyone had seen him operate on Mark with Du Plessis’s Kershaw, everyone had seen him hold it, but he had put it down afterwards. Only no one would remember that. They would only know that someone had killed Du Plessis and Malan with the same knife David had used on Mark.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he told her. ‘It will be all right.’
They had to go on, had to get out of the cold.
‘Come on,’ David said to her as she leaned against him. ‘We have to keep going.’
She sagged as he took the first step.
‘Move your feet,’ he told her. ‘Come on, May, walk.’
He took another step and this time she followed his example.
❄
They struck out along the road, David guiding May as she stumbled along, using him as support. It was easy enough walking through the snow; the level was only just over his knees in places. It was soft and uncompacted, and the road beneath was smooth and flat. There was no headwind. The wind came from behind, and the dawn was bright enough for them to guide themselves by the tops of the fence poles on their left. But despite all of this the cold was still agonising, their wet clothes and hair sapping the warmth from their bodies.
They must have gone on like that for about an hour before they came to the pass behind the big hill. Walking became harder as the road began to twist and turn between outcrops and low mounds. David tried to keep to the road, tried to get his directions from the landmarks around him, but snow was still falling, and the hill that he knew was looming on his right was simply part of the swirling mass that made up the white world they were in.
May began to mumble incoherently beside him. He knew she was begging him to stop, knew she was telling him she couldn’t go on. He kept telling her it was just a few more steps and that they were nearly there. He very nearly began believing his own lie. He didn’t know how long they had been walking, didn’t know how far they had come from the crossroads, and before long he found himself shivering uncontrollably. He knew he was still on the pass, close to Elandskrans and help, perhaps even close enough to take a few moments rest and get his bearings.
He looked around in a daze. The wind had stopped blowing and the snow fell silently round them, the white layer that came up to his knees a smooth mantle obliterating all the dirt and hate and guilt from the earth.