by Sue Rabie
Phiwe yelled as a bone snapped in his hand. Jake’s forehead had taken the brunt of the impact.
Jake didn’t give Phiwe a chance to recover. He slammed his fist against Phiwe’s face, and as the man fell, followed up with a brutal kick.
He stood over Phiwe, grinning savagely. ‘You’ll pay for that, you bastard! You’ll pay for that.’
Twenty-Six
❄
The first thing David and Inga noticed was the silence.
The evening light was unearthly, the hushed atmosphere surreal. It accentuated the abandoned stillness of the village.
David kept Mowgli tightly in check as they made their way around the deserted tractor. The horses were jittery, even after the hour-long ride from the crossroads. David was just as wary. He put his hand on his horse’s sweating neck as it snorted softly. The door to Doctor Wilson’s clinic was hanging at an angle, and the horse shied as the deeper darkness seemed to spill out into the night.
The village seemed haunted, ghostly.
Had it happened already? Were they too late?
No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He had to believe they were still alive.
He nudged the horse forward, Inga and Fats following him down the path the grader had cleared.
He didn’t know what Kyle and Jake might be doing, but he knew where they would be.
It would be the only place left to deal with. The only place with witnesses.
He stopped his horse on the small rise to the right of the road that led to the club, Inga pulling Fats up beside him as they both looked across the graveyard at the buildings. The flat expanse of the snow-covered tennis courts was almost luminous as the moon appeared for the first time in a break in the clouds. But beyond that there was only darkness. There was no light from the cluster of buildings, was no low throb from the generator, which should have been audible even from where they stood.
Just silence and darkness.
And the grader.
David could see it drawn up at an odd angle, facing the corner of the club as if it had been abandoned, as if someone or something had interrupted its approach.
Kyle and Jake would have dragged their hostages in through the kitchen, David reasoned, before anyone inside even knew what was happening.
And then what had they done?
Had Kyle used his gun?
David didn’t think so. If Kyle wanted him to take the fall for all this they had to refrain from using bullets. They had to make it look like a crazed person rampaging with a knife.
A knife.
David felt the sweat down his back.
It wasn’t just fatigue; it was fear and panic. The plough might be parked outside the club, but Kyle and Jake could be anywhere … could be right behind him for all he knew.
Fear gripped him. He had to move, get closer to the club to find out what was happening. ‘Come on,’ he murmured to Inga.
He steered the horse through the graveyard, keeping Mowgli in the deeper shadows. Inga followed just as cautiously. They kept to the higher ground at the back of the buildings, edging the horses around the back of the tennis courts. David knew they would have to leave the horses somewhere, and continue on foot. He made for the sheds behind the club, guiding his mount to the long rows of wooden lean-tos that were used for cars and tractors and mowers.
David slipped off the horse and led Mowgli into one of the empty spaces, then beckoned Inga to do the same to Fats. ‘Stay here,’ David whispered to Inga as he dismounted. ‘Look after the horses until I get back.’
‘Get back from where?’ Inga muttered.
He was holding his arm again, the ride having taken its toll, the painkillers wearing off.
‘I’m going to look around a bit.’
Inga stood by his horse for a moment, holding onto the saddle as the animal snuffled at an old bale of hay. ‘Just make sure you come back,’ he said into the night.
❄
The club was downhill from the shed, and David made his way quickly down the slope, keeping to the shadows. He went for the side door on the left, the entrance leading directly into the veranda on that side of the club.
He smelt it even before he got there.
Diesel.
He touched his hand to the side of the building to be sure.
The walls were streaked with it, as if someone had gone around dousing the building.
And then David knew.
They weren’t going to leave anyone out in the cold to die, they weren’t going to slit their throats one by one, Kyle and Jake were going to lock them in the club when the helicopter landed and set fire to the building.
He hadn’t realised how brutal they were, how far they would go.
He had to do something. Fast.
There were windows along the wall, and it was to the first of these that David made his way.
He eased up to the window. It was the kitchen. It was in almost total darkness, and he had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he decided it was deserted.
He moved on to the next window, then immediately pulled back as he heard voices from within.
They were men’s voices, low and hushed.
He pressed his back up against the diesel-doused wall and tried to hear what was being said.
‘We wait,’ came a voice. ‘That’s all, we wait.’
It was Alex Kyle who spoke, presumably about the evacuation helicopter that was still to arrive. They would have to wait for it before they could do anything, would have to make everything appear normal until the helicopter landed.
‘And what do we do with him?’ David heard Jake ask.
Who were they talking about?
‘Nothing,’ Kyle said.
David eased around centimetre by centimetre, until he could see Kyle and Jake standing at the archway from the veranda to the hall, both men with their backs to him as they spoke over someone who lay unconscious on the ground.
Jake prodded the person with the toe of his boot as he spoke. ‘By the time he comes round it’ll be too late,’ he said.
He looked at his partner and grinned. Alex Kyle didn’t grin back and David looked at the subject of their conversation.
It was a large man clad in blue overalls and a large grey greatcoat.
Phiwe.
David swore quietly to himself as he looked for signs of life.
Yes, there was movement, a slight rising and falling of the chest.
They had overpowered him, had beaten him unconscious.
He peered further into the club, into the main hall where the others should be.
David could make out several people, sitting in a row in the darkness against the stage with their legs crossed and their hands held behind their heads.
Owen Dlamini was in the centre. Mr Mollard sat beside him. There were others, but David couldn’t make them out.
Where was Anri? Where was Mark?
Would they have put everybody there, made everyone sit with their hands behind their heads like that? Mark couldn’t have done that, nor could the boy, not in the condition he was in. And what about the others? How long could Miriam sit like that, the older men and women?
Until the helicopter came?
The skies had been clear enough since late afternoon to allow a helicopter to land without getting lost or putting the crew in danger from wind shears or ice build-up. So where were they? Were the emergency services so backed up that outlying areas only got attended to last? Had they forgotten? Were they coming at all?
He wished he had a radio, wished he had a phone.
A phone.
He suddenly remembered Michelle MacFarlane’s phone, and he grabbed at his pocket to retrieve it. He glanced up quickly at Kyle and Jake to make sure they hadn’t moved from their position.
Another movement caught his eye.
It was a mere shift in the shadows of the bar, an almost invisible stir of dark in the deeper gloom of one of the booths that lined the front wall.
Someone was
sitting on one of the benches.
It was a woman by the looks of it; the figure slight, the hair long around the shoulders.
He saw her more clearly as she leaned back against the padded seat of the booth, as she tilted her head back to rest it on the high back.
Michelle MacFarlane.
So they had taken her like he had predicted, they had singled her out.
David felt his anger grow.
What had they done to her?
He looked at her carefully, trying to make out if the hollow darkness on her face was bruising or merely shadow.
He saw her lift her head.
She was watching Kyle as he turned from Phiwe’s prone form and made his way back into the bar.
‘Watch them,’ Kyle ordered Jake over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got some catching up to do.’
He walked up to Michelle, grinning down at her as he stopped next to her seat.
David hardly heard him, could barely make out what he had said, but he saw the defiance and contempt on Michelle’s face.
She said something to him, and David felt his blood go cold as Kyle growled back an answer and then bent sharply towards her. The man bore down on her, Michelle curling her fists into the coat on his back as he forced her backwards onto the seat.
David turned from the sight.
He could not bear to witness it and could not do anything to stop it.
He had to think, had to find a way to get everyone out.
He looked down at the phone still in his hand. It had turned itself off, the battery having run down somewhere along the ride.
David swore silently.
All right then, he had to find a weapon, something big and powerful enough to stop both Kyle and Jake.
He stood there with his back to the wall of the club, holding the phone in his hand and looking out at the grader that had been parked only a few metres away.
And then he knew.
Twenty-Seven
❄
Inga started up sharply as he slipped back into the shed. ‘Eish, David!’ he hissed.
David ignored his objection and reached for Fats’s reins. ‘Come on,’ he said, pushing Inga towards his horse and helping him to mount.
‘What did you see?’ Inga asked. ‘Where are we going?’
David swung onto Mowgli and nudged the horse out of the lean-to. ‘We’ve got to get a few things,’ he answered over his shoulder. ‘Follow me.’
Inga followed without argument. It was all he could do to keep up, because as soon as David cleared the club and its buildings, he pushed Mowgli into a canter. The horse barrelled through the snow down the small slope and towards the main road, and Inga was forced to hurry Fats on after him. They made for the clinic. This time the horses didn’t shy at the shadows. Mowgli even allowed David to ride him directly up to the front door of the clinic, only snorting as they reached the darkness of the entrance.
David swung to the ground, indicating as he did so that Inga should remain mounted. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said, handing Inga his horse’s reins.
Then, without another word, he entered the rooms and made for the small operating theatre at the back of the clinic.
Inga was left in confused silence. ‘Well, at least hurry up,’ he said under his breath. ‘It’s cold out here.’
It was dark in the passage, and David bumped against a trolley before nearly tripping over a bedpan. He cursed as it clattered against the wall, and made for the glass-fronted cabinets that eerily reflected the moonlight coming in through the window.
He remembered seeing the things he needed in one of the cabinets when they had come for the antibiotics.
There they were, in the fourth cabinet.
He reached for the sliding doors only to discover the cabinets were locked.
Just break the glass, he thought, then decided against it.
Could he find the key?
No, he didn’t have enough time.
A credit card then?
He didn’t have his wallet.
Michelle’s wallet …
He dug for the wallet he had picked up in her car, then fished through the pockets for a firm plastic card.
A MasterCard.
Mrs M Roberts.
Was she divorced? Did she go under a different name now?
It didn’t matter. The card fitted into the gap in the door, and he lifted the catch inside. He chose the larger of the boxes he had been looking for, breaking the seal on one of the aluminium packs that nestled inside, and slipping a blade out carefully.
An operating scalpel.
It was razor sharp, and he was very careful tucking the blade into his back pocket. He took another of the scalpels, one of the large size threes with the curved blades that could do the most damage.
The inside of the thigh, the neck, the groin.
Those would be his targets, and the scalpels would be his weapons. He knew how to maim or disable in moments, he was a doctor after all, he knew just where the vulnerable points of the body were.
He just had to be close enough.
It was as he was tucking the third blade into his pocket that he heard the noise.
A double click. A harsh sound.
The sound of a gun being cocked.
❄
The sound was loud in the room.
David froze with his hand in his pocket.
He stopped breathing.
The sound had come from behind him, from the other side of the room.
‘Turn around.’ The voice was close enough to indicate a direct threat, but far enough away for David to be unable to do anything about it.
David took a breath and turned.
He knew exactly who stood in the doorway with a gun pointed at his back.
Constable Potgieter.
David cursed himself. He should have realised that the trolley and bedpan had been placed in the middle of the hallway as an early warning system.
‘What are you doing here?’ Potgieter hissed.
The constable was crouched in the shadows, his face in darkness but the revolver highlighted starkly by the reflected moonlight.
‘Potgieter …’ David began.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ the constable nearly shouted this time. His voice was high pitched, the hand with the gun in it shaking slightly.
‘Potgieter, put the gun down …’
‘I didn’t do it …’ Potgieter mewled.
David was taken aback. Potgieter was on the defensive, he was almost crying. The weapon wavered from David’s chest to his face.
‘It wasn’t me …’
David held up his hand in a calming gesture. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know it wasn’t you …’
‘They made me do it …’ Potgieter interrupted. ‘They tricked me …’
The gun shook violently, the barrel still pointed at David’s face.
‘Potgieter,’ David said. ‘I know everything.’
‘No!’ the man shouted.
He took a hesitant step forward, the light from the cupboards glancing off his face so that for the first time David could see him clearly.
His face was white, his eyes wild.
‘You don’t know everything! You don’t know what they can do!’
The gun shook even more violently. David put both hands up.
There was something wrong with Potgieter. He was sweating profusely, his face shining with it, even his thick padded jacket was damp under the armpits. He was out of control.
David kept as still as possible. ‘Listen, Potgieter,’ he tried again. ‘I understand you didn’t do it. I understand that they made you …’
‘Yes! They made me …’
‘Yes, they made you do it. They made me do something too. And now I have to stop them.’
‘Stop them?’
‘You have to help me, Potgieter,’ David told him. ‘You have to listen to me.’
‘Yes … we can stop them …’
David put his hand o
ut.
He needed that gun. He needed a weapon.
He took a slow step forward. ‘Potgieter,’ he said very carefully, ‘give me the gun.’
‘Stay the hell where you are!’
The revolver came up again, the sweat flicking off Potgieter’s pale face as he shouted. ‘Don’t you move! Do you hear me? Don’t you come one step closer!’
David held his hands up again, lowering his eyes and turning slightly away from Potgieter. He didn’t want to alarm him, or get himself shot. ‘Potgieter,’ he whispered. ‘I’m on your side. I’m not here to make trouble.’ He looked at him. ‘I just need your gun.’
Potgieter shook his head, his eyes glazing over as if too much had been asked of him.
David tried another tactic. ‘Potgieter,’ he said. ‘Come with me …’
Potgieter shook his head frantically. ‘I’m not going back there!’ he almost cried as he jabbed the gun at David. ‘You leave me alone. I’m not going back there again.’
He held the weapon with two hands now, the knuckles on both fists white around the gun.
‘All right,’ David said, nodding. He spoke slowly and carefully. ‘I won’t ask you to go back.’
‘You can’t make me!’ he shouted.
David flinched. ‘I won’t, Potgieter. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.’
‘That’s right! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do! I’m not going back!’ the constable sobbed.
It was a useless situation, and David knew it, but he couldn’t let the man keep him from what he had to do.
It was time to go.
‘Potgieter,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t have to go back, but I do. I need to leave now and help the others.’
Potgieter sucked air through his teeth and shook his head.
David turned to the door. ‘You stay here, Potgieter,’ David said as he took his first step. ‘You’ll be safe here.’
The gun shook, the barrel following David as he took another step.
Potgieter sobbed.
He’s going to kill me, David thought, he’s going to shoot.
David focused on the doorway as he slowly made his way out of the room. If he was going to get shot then he didn’t want to see it happen. Better to be shot in the back.
Just walk, he told himself, just keep going.