by Sue Rabie
Wads of money.
Anri stared in astonishment.
Where had it come from? Who did it belong to?
She turned away in disgust as she saw the expression of greed and triumph on Jake’s face.
‘Are you all right?’ Miriam had seen her look.
‘I’m fine,’ Anri whispered.
She looked at the boy’s pale face, watched him shiver as he tried to get closer to Miriam’s warmth.
‘There’s something not right here,’ Anri said to Miriam. ‘There’s something very wrong …’
But before she could explain further, Michelle and Kyle were back in the horsebox, and the journey back to Boston commenced in silence as Jake started the grader and turned it back the way they had come.
And beside Alex Kyle, against his leg so he could feel it at all times, sat the money in its new bag.
It was a blue-and-yellow school satchel, the kind you carry books in, and on the label was the name Siyabonga Africa.
Twenty-Two
❄
They went almost immediately, staying only long enough for Inga to collect a few things and David to sit and eat a bowl of food – something he found difficult because of the churning in his gut. All he could think about was the women at the farm, what he had set in motion, the lives he had put at risk. He eventually set the half-eaten bowl of food aside when Inga returned with his gun held across his chest.
It was an old shotgun, double barrelled, bare triggered, with a smooth walnut stock that had been lovingly cared for. David noted how easily and confidently Inga carried it.
‘Good,’ M’Kathle said. ‘It is time for you to go.’
It was still snowing as they left, but not as heavily as before.
The evacuation helicopter would be there soon, David thought. As soon as it stopped snowing and the skies cleared.
The thought made David set as fierce a pace as he could. He led the way back up the pass, avoiding the cliffs and sticking to the road. It was difficult going for him. His breath seemed to tear into his lungs, his legs felt like lead, and he still ached all over. He tried to ignore the discomfort, but his pace slowed and he glanced back at Inga to indicate he should take the lead. But Inga resolutely stayed where he was. He was content to walk in David’s footprints, the going easier when someone else cleared the path. It was clear he was irritated by the slow pace, but he said nothing, only glowered at David’s back as they made their way upwards.
It was a good hour before they reached the top of the pass.
They left the road and started out as the crow flies towards the farm. David thought it would be quicker and perhaps easier too. They would avoid the longer, more time-consuming route the road took, and instead would only have to negotiate one forested hill that separated the farm from the top of the pass. Again Inga stayed behind him, glowering when David slowed the pace further or stumbled into the fences.
Eventually they entered the first stand of trees that heralded the beginning of a mature wattle plantation ready for cutting, and began the push up the slope into the forest that would take them almost to the back door of the Werner’s farm.
The forest was dense and dark, the snow bending the tree tops inward and darkening the lanes further. The going was harder than David anticipated, or his condition worse than he had thought. David slowed even more. It was difficult striking a path through the knee-high snow gathered against the trunks, awkward finding routes around fallen boughs that had become so heavy with snow that they had simply snapped and crashed to the ground. There were a number of such obstacles to navigate, and eventually Inga snarled short-temperedly and struck off in a different direction from David’s to find his own way through.
David was battling, had stopped to bend over and catch his breath. ‘Wait,’ he gasped, as Inga started down a slope.
He knew how dangerous these falls were, knew how precariously the trunks were balanced on top of each other. There were three trunks cantilevered out of this particular fall, and enough packed snow to keep them balanced just right until something upset them or the snow shifted and the whole lot went sliding down the hill.
‘It’s too dangerous that way,’ David called down to Inga. ‘We should go above …’
But Inga waved him down. ‘You go that way,’ he called back up to David. ‘I’ll sit and wait for you on the other side.’
He started across the fall, picking his way through the tangle of smaller boughs that had been brought down with the bigger trees.
A sharp crack like a pistol shot ricocheted through the forest.
It might have been the burden of the new snow that started it off, might have been Inga’s weight that finally tipped the scales, but whatever it was, the packed snow that had held the fall together gave with a sudden jerk.
All at once the fall began to move, straight towards Inga.
‘Watch out!’ David yelled as the topmost trunk slid like a juggernaut off its neighbour and slammed with ground-shaking ferocity into the earth. ‘Get down!’
He couldn’t tell if Inga heard him or if he even managed to get the warning out in time. All he saw was the entire fall sliding straight for him, the trunks careening downwards and ricocheting against the trees where Inga had only moments before been standing.
A great billow of snow obscured the collision.
From then on all he heard was the screeching of wood on wood as the whole mess barrelled down the slope. The tremble of the earth under his feet seemed to last a lifetime, the shrieking and thumping unending as he waited with bated breath for the avalanche to end.
It did eventually stop. The sheer number of trees and other obstacles in the way made sure that the whole fall ended up as yet another barrier of wood and churned snow some twenty metres down the slope.
David let his breath out as the world around him gradually returned to the hush of before.
But now the silence was even deeper … breathless almost.
‘Inga?’ David called.
He got his legs to move beneath him, slid and stumbled his way along the path of the slide until he was halfway down. ‘Inga!’ he yelled.
He wasn’t expecting to find him, certainly wasn’t expecting him to have survived.
He actually jumped when he heard an answer.
‘Here …’ came the muffled call. ‘Over here …’
David scurried down the slope.
He found Inga in the lee of a pair of logs that had jammed themselves in an inverted V, the arrowhead formed by the two trunks having deflected the fall. Several smaller boughs had also wedged themselves into the formation and had further served to shield him.
David clawed and tugged at loose branches to get to the man trapped beneath. ‘Bloody hell …’ he breathed, as he pulled away the last of the debris.
And then he swore again. Inga’s arm was wedged, and by the expression on his face David knew the arm was firmly caught. There was blood on the torn bark of the trees and bright red spattered the scattered snow beneath.
‘Just hold still,’ David said as he lowered himself into the nest where Inga lay. ‘Don’t move.’
Strangely, Inga didn’t seem particularly concerned about his situation. It was clear he was in pain, some of the weight of the trunk was pressing on his arm and causing him severe discomfort, but it was also clear that he was otherwise unhurt.
‘All right,’ he moaned through clamped teeth. ‘This time I’m listening.’
David glanced at him sharply, then turned to concentrate on his arm. It was securely trapped, pinched between two tree trunks and a broken off stump that was the only thing preventing the upper trunk from completely crushing the wrist. A long gash had been opened up on the inside of Inga’s forearm. The bleeding wasn’t bad, but it was enough to cause concern.
‘All right,’ David said calmly, as he reached for Inga’s trousers and began unbuckling his belt to use it as a tourniquet. ‘No problem.’
‘No problem?’ Inga echoed in strained mock con
cern. ‘Easy for you to say …’
He gasped as David tightened the belt round his arm.
‘Where else do you hurt?’ David asked, as he began to feel behind Inga’s head and down his neck. ‘Are you in any pain?’
Inga groaned as David slid his hands over his shoulders. ‘There?’ David asked.
Inga shook his head. ‘Everywhere,’ he muttered.
David grunted but continued with the examination. Inga probably was hurting everywhere, but other than the trapped arm and a number of smaller grazes and bruises there was no other major injury that he could find.
‘All right then,’ David said as he checked the tourniquet once more and stood up. ‘Keep still,’ he told Inga, ‘I’ll get you out.’
Inga grunted.
David looked up at the overhanging logs that seemed to press in on them, and tried to work out how he was going to extract Inga from the pile-up. Their situation was dangerous, the possibility of a second fall a reality that David preferred not to imagine. Inga could still lose his arm, or even worse, if the stump gave way he would be crushed. David had to find something thin enough to get under the stump, but strong enough to lift the weight off Inga’s arm.
The shotgun.
David glanced around for it. Inga had been carrying it, had been holding it as he faced the fall.
Where was it now?
A groan of wood on wood.
A gasp of pain from Inga.
David searched frantically for the gun.
He found it five paces away, tangled in a dense mess of twigs and branches that had been swept into a gap between two logs like driftwood at high tide. He wrestled it out and scrambled back to Inga with the weapon clutched at his side.
Another groan from the log balancing above Inga.
David clambered over the Zulu trying to find the best angle for the barrel. If this went wrong they would both be crushed, it would be over for both of them. He told Inga to get his head down, to hold on as he slid the barrel alongside his arm.
He tried to push up, but the angle was wrong and the weight of the tree was too much.
He cursed and shuffled into a new position. The cramped space was awkward, the angle impossible.
‘Damn it,’ he breathed, and then went down on one knee to try and get under the weight.
He pushed on the barrel again, straining upward with all his might. Still not enough leverage. He had to get himself lower, had to get Inga lower as well so that he could work under the log.
‘Can you twist round?’ he asked him.
It wasn’t easy, the movement causing Inga even more pain, but it seemed to work a little.
But only a little.
David was able to get a creak out of the trunk as he strained on the gun.
Inga cried out at the slight movement. ‘Wait …!’ he gasped.
As David eased back on the barrel his knee slipped.
It was pure reflex, he grasped for something to stop himself toppling onto Inga and causing him more pain, and as he did so his hand closed on the unguarded triggers.
The blast was phenomenal, both barrels going off at the same time. The recoil of the explosion literally jerked the trunk from its nest against the stump, bouncing it an inch off its perch, and the entire tree rolled once and began to slide down the length of the log beneath it …
Straight for David and Inga.
There was barely enough time to duck, barely enough time for David to throw himself against Inga and force the man down as the log swept over them as if it was on rails. It crashed to the ground to bounce once, and then come to a sliding stop several metres away.
David straightened up slowly and looked at Inga. The top of the stump where Inga’s arm had been trapped was pulp, the shotgun bent at almost a ten degree angle.
But Inga was alive, his arm intact.
Inga looked up at David. ‘Eish …’ he whispered.
He looked at his arm, then up at the shotgun, then back at David.
He started to laugh.
He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks.
David couldn’t help but join him, the sheer euphoria at their survival making him weak at the knees.
Twenty-Three
❄
‘It serves you right,’ David said as he wound the bandage around the gash on Inga’s inner arm.
Inga grunted and hissed and swore at David as he pulled the makeshift bandage tight enough to stop the bleeding.
‘How does that feel?’ David asked as Inga held the arm to his chest.
‘It hurts.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ David said.
He looked at Inga who grimaced.
‘You could have been killed,’ he told him.
Inga nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to keep telling me.’
David eased back on his haunches. ‘Then I don’t have to tell you we’d better get going?’
Inga shook his head. ‘I don’t think I can.’
But David already had his hand under Inga’s good arm and was pulling him up. ‘I’m not leaving you here,’ he said. ‘And besides, it’s your arm that’s hurt, there’s nothing wrong with your legs.’ David grinned as he took Inga around the waist and began guiding him out of the hollow. ‘We’re not far away,’ he said as he helped Inga over a log. ‘It’s another ten minutes or so.’
He was wrong. It was a gruelling half-hour fraught with many stops and several careful detours around more pile-ups. David led the way once more, breaking a path through the snow and leading Inga along the easiest route he could find.
Towards the end of the walk, as they got to the bottom of the slope and made their way through the fringes of the forest, David had to take Inga’s arm across his shoulders and help him along.
He was clearly in pain and was struggling to keep up.
‘Keep going,’ David said. He was also struggling, the exhaustion and fatigue from the night before setting in. ‘We’re nearly there.’
It was the same lie he had used on May when they were struggling through the snow, trying to find their way to Elandskrans, the same lie he had told to keep her walking.
Only this time there was more truth in it.
They crested a small hill which lay at the foot of the wooded slope and stood looking down at the house. Below, in a broad, neatly drawn strip, was the path of the grader.
They were too late.
The plough had been and gone, leaving only a large doughnut-shaped circle in front of the house where it turned to go back out of the front gate.
They had stayed long enough to get what they wanted.
Who they wanted.
David felt the sweat break out as he pictured what they had done to those he had left behind.
He started down, leaving Inga to manage on his own.
‘David …’ Inga called out as he made his way down into the paddocks behind the stables. ‘Wait …’
David didn’t listen as he waded towards the stables at the back of the house. He noted one of the stable doors was open, the stable empty, noted the other horses watching him and nickering hungrily as if no one had fed them that morning.
He had done it the previous morning, he remembered.
Anri should have done it this morning …
He carried on past the stables to the back of the house, urgently searching the back stoep for any sign of movement or life.
He stopped abruptly.
The back door stood open as if someone had forgotten to shut it.
Not forgotten.
Anri wouldn’t have forgotten.
He stood for a moment longer, looking at the confused footprints in the snow outside the back door. There were a lot of them, leading between the stables and back door. It seemed as if many people had come or gone, or a few people had trampled in and out many times.
David turned back to the kitchen.
There was no choice but to go in and see for himself.
The wooden steps leading up to the st
oep creaked as he eased his way up them. The back door protested as he pushed it wider to peer into the darkened kitchen.
It was a mess.
The floor was covered in snow from the open back door, and a wooden breadbox had been thrown to the floor and shattered. As had a glass bowl and a tin of rusks – the tin trampled in the scuffed snow. Why? David wondered. By whom?
Had someone destroyed the kitchen on purpose? Was there a fight? A struggle?
David could hardly breathe.
A sudden thump … a clatter of noise.
David jerked back.
The noise came from the pantry, a small room leading from the kitchen.
David froze at the sudden movement. A shadow was coming straight for him, a rush of darkness barrelling out of the door right at him …
❄
David stumbled back as a horse shot past him, barging its way out of the back door and onto the stoep, its ears back and its tail high as it leapt down the steps and bolted into the snow. It was the black horse from the first stable.
He cursed the animal as it came to a stiff-necked stop facing him. It must have escaped its stall and found its way into the house. He had been wrong. It wasn’t a struggle that had caused the mess, it was the horse foraging.
He turned back to the chaos in the kitchen. Please, just let there not be anything worse, he said to himself, as he stepped over the buckled tin and the remains of the breadbox and went to the door to the passage.
His prayers were answered.
They were gone.
All of them.
Even the boy.
Nothing. No one.
‘Where are they?’ Inga asked, having finally made his way into the house.
David turned on him with a set face. ‘They’ve taken them,’ he told Inga.
‘Why?’ Inga asked. He was holding his arm tightly to his stomach, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.
‘They didn’t want to leave anyone behind as a witness,’ David muttered. ‘They’re taking them back to the club so that they can get rid of everyone together.’
It would be neater. Everyone in the same building meant no loose ends. After all, Kyle and Jake would have to make things look as though David had done it. And why would David come all the way back out here to get rid of Anri Werner and two other women and a child. No, they would take them back to Boston so they could get rid of everyone at the same time.