Finding Linda

by Ron Sewell

  Finding Linda

  Ron A. Sewell

  When you are going through hell-keep going.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or

  mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner

  ISBN 1545117497 - ISBN 9781545117491 .Finding Linda is a work of fiction. All characters are the products of Ron A Sewell’s imagination. Finding Linda is the copyright of the author Ron A Sewell 2017.

  The cover is designed by Berni Stevens Design. All rights are reserved.

  Published by Appolonia Books.

  Contact

  ras@cytanet.com.cy

  With Thanks To

  My Wife Sheila

  The fresh eyes and minds of Marlene Lavell and Bev Fisher.

  Also by Ron A Sewell

  A Basketful of Sleepers

  The Angel Makers

  You Can’t Hide Forever

  The Collectors Book One

  The Collectors Book Two

  (Full Circle)

  The Collectors Book Three

  (Tower 34)

  The Collectors Book Four

  (Diamonds and Sand)

  The Collectors Book Five

  (Finders Keepers)

  The Collectors Book Six

  (Black Gold)

  And The Point Is Part One

  Linda 1

  The Indian Ocean.

  Linda Liu broke the surface of the water and gulped the salt-laden air. She trod water and gazed around to establish her bearings. Nothing made her mood any better and her whole body ached. In the distance, the receding stern light of the crude oil tanker Leviathan faded into the dark.

  She raised her right fist and shook it. “You bastards.”

  The minutes dragged, and the hours became never ending while she floated or swam. To the east, a thin line of light brightened the dark horizon. Sunrise approached and with it the burning sun. With no shade or drinking water, she wondered how long she might survive. As the sky brightened, she scanned the sea for any vessel large or small. There was no sign of her attack craft or the men who operated them. She accepted she was a lone survivor.

  A black and white gull circled and appeared to strut on the surface. She shook her head and looked again. The shock of realisation made her spirits rise. The bird squawked and flew away as she swam towards a wooden pallet. Driven by the instinct to survive, she seized and hauled herself on top of the rough slats. For a few moments she rested, grateful for the respite. The raft with her slight weight floated under the surface. She knelt, removed her black leather belt and strapped her right foot to the struts.

  Weary, she looked at her watch but it had gone. With the sun rising, she guessed it was before midday. In the vastness of the Indian Ocean, it was easy to lose hope. Linda sat cross-legged and scanned the horizon. In every direction, the blue sky formed a straight line where it met the sea. The calm sea and the warm wind would increase her chances of survival. At the mercy of the current, she found the night far kinder than the day. Then she reconsidered, a passing ship could not see her. The sun reached its high point and its intensity stronger and harder to ignore. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Her eyes blurred when she spat on her fingers and tried to remove the salt from her eyes

  Though it was less than twenty-four hours since she had entered the sea, the sweltering temperature and a lack of water shaped her thoughts. Nothing made sense. Last night, she controlled a crack team of villains. She shook her head. The crew of the super tanker Leviathan were ready and waiting for her attack. Trained men, armed with RPGs destroyed her assault craft. Despite this, she had made it on-board. Why had that stupid man dragged her over the side? She stared at the sky and was thankful her clothes covered most of her skin. After one day, her face scorched by the sun added to her predicament. There was no protection from nature’s furnace until the dark arrived.

  She assumed the lotus position, shut both eyes and meditated to conserve energy. The waves became her ticking clock. With each passing minute, any hope of rescue faded. A slight breeze blew, making her mouth drier. Linda had never been thirsty in her life. Now a glass of plain water could save her life. The urge to drink dominated her thoughts. How long could she survive, two, three days, she did not know. Her parched throat tormented her until she could think of nothing more than fresh water. Her head throbbed as dehydration advanced.

  The cool of the night gave relief from the burning sun. With the morning light, she raised her head and stretched her numb and aching limbs. As the waves lapped over the wooden slats, she remained unmoving. She moistened her lips with salt water and tried to forget her thirst. With her mind confused, she rolled onto her back and slipped into the sea. A mouthful of water stirred her brain into survival mode. Why was her head under water and her feet warm? Her thoughts came together when she remembered her belt. With much effort, she hauled her body back onto the raft and checked the belt fastening was tight. Once more, her eyes scanned the sea. With her ability to see less than a mile her hope of rescue diminished. Gulls wheeled overhead carried on the breeze. She fell back onto the slats and with her right arm shielded her eyes.

  Throughout the afternoon rain clouds gathered, and it did rain. She raised her face to the sky and washed the salt away. Although refreshed, and the salt on her face gone, little had entered her mouth. With the clouds distant, the fiery sun blistered her skin and her hunger pangs vanished. The screeching of gulls that dived into a shoal of fish made her hope she was drifting towards land. Two dark fins approached, circled and made her heart race. If they were hungry, she was helpless. She curled into a ball shielding her face and prayed for the night.

  The sun dropped below the horizon. A cloudless sky and the full moon gave her hope. The lack of water gave her a headache, and weakness robbed her of the will to continue. I can slip into the water and those beasts of the sea will end it, she thought. For Linda time stood still, each minute the same as the one before. Throughout the night, waves washed over the sodden pallet. By dawn, the sea subsided and the temperature started to rise.

  Time no longer mattered as the drifting pallet continued its path. The sky remained blue and the sun merciless. Her spirits rose when she heard a plane but it was high and why would it be looking for her?

  Towards the evening, she thought she could see land. At first she did not believe it but the thin, dark line on the horizon was still there at sunset.

  ***

  For three days, the pallet drifted with Linda clinging to it. In the bright sunlight, the coastline appeared blurred. From memory, she understood this was a deserted stretch of coast close to the Somalia border. During the heat of the day, she splashed water over her body. It gave a brief respite but when the blazing sun baked her salt-caked coverall, it made things worse.

  The moon had long set, but the sky was bright with stars. Something had changed; she could not believe it, waves breaking on a beach not far away.

  At sunrise, she watched a line of broken surf pound the shore. The desolate coastline stretched left and right until it was lost in a haze. She stretched and massaged her muscles but the lack of water had taken its toll. The waves doubled in size as the pallet drifted towards the shore. Surf raced as a speeding train towards the beach, crashed with a roar and retreated. Blown spray filled the air as the pallet tossed and pitched.

  She released her belt and made ready to jump. A monster wave lifted her high and hurled her into the sea. Gasping for air, she surfaced, but the undertow pulled her into rough water and hauled her along the seabed. She dug her fingers and knees into the shingle and stopped. With the last of her strength, she
pushed. Her head found air as the sea surged around her. Though weak, she swam as best she could until she dragged herself onto the beach. For a time she remained at the water’s edge. She tried to stand but fell face down onto the sand.

  Not ready to give in, she dragged her aching body into the shade of a dune. She slept and waited for the burning sun to vanish. Water was her priority as with blood-shot eyes she scanned the dunes. As far as she could see in both directions, nothing changed. This world was alien to her. With effort she stood and staggered to a heap of driftwood. The bare branch of a tree suited her needs for a support. From its sheath, she removed her double-edged blade and hacked one end into a point. She looked left and right as she trudged in a straight line from the beach over the dunes. Without shoes, her progress was slow and painful. After a time she returned despondent to the beach.

  The night arrived and with it the sounds of wild animals. With her back to a large rock, she sat holding a stick in one hand, and her knife in the other. Insects buzzed, hummed, and droned around her head. She drifted into sleep, which lasted long after sunrise. Her slumber was restless, troubled by dreadful dreams and insect bites. She panicked when her eyes would not open. The mosquitoes had feasted on her face and feet. She strained against the swelling to squint.

  Panic surged through her mind. Her fear of sharks while on the pallet was nothing compared to now. She thought that maybe it would have been better had she drowned. At least her nightmare would end. She chose to stay on the beach and head south. Half-blind, she began her journey. She discovered that walking on wet sand, was easier on her feet. In the heat of the day, she needed water to stem the dehydration that sapped her strength.

  The sun rose high and beat down with unrelenting cruelty. Her steps became shorter and her vision blurred. In a daze, her sense of direction failed. She staggered into the dunes, tripped and fell. With a croaked curse, she rubbed her hand across her face. Thinking was too much of an effort as a warm liquid wet her cheek. The realisation she had found water took time to register. The stream was narrow and wound through the dunes to the sea. She drank and washed her face. For a time she rested, drinking her fill often. As the liquid worked its magic, she started to think of food. At that moment, another thought entered her head; wild animals needed to eat and drink. Again, she drank her fill. By evening, she had eaten plum-like fruits from a large tree. She had seen a troop of monkeys eating them and guessed it was fit to eat.

  For a while, she collected fruit from the ground and drank from the stream. To avoid the midday heat she rested in the shade and pondered her predicament. She was in poor shape and her feet cut and swollen. If she was lucky, she might walk ten kilometres a day. Now, she had food and water but staying in one place was stupid. The monkeys screamed and ran around forcing her to check out the area. She sat still; to her surprise a family of wild pigs arrived and feasted on fallen fruit.

  She chose to return to the beach where she thought it might be safer and the next morning, start her trek south. That night she used driftwood from the beach to form a crude shelter. Again, she slept with her sharpened stick close. Apart from the mosquitoes feasting on her bare skin, nothing larger appeared.

  At dawn the next day, she drank from the stream and ate the remaining soft fruit. Ready and using her spear for support, she hobbled south. Later, as she rested in the shade, a plume of smoke rose into the distant sky. When the sun dropped, she continued into the night. She stopped and rested inside a group of large boulders.

  The next morning she awoke at sunrise. “I’ll make it,” she shouted into the air. Stiff she used the stick to help her stand. She wanted to scream as the pain from her swollen and bleeding feet erupted. One-step at a time and with gritted teeth she headed south. In the distance, a plume of smoke spiralled into the air. The thought that others were in the area excited her.

  Her progress was slow and the source of the smoke remained distant. Worn-out, she dropped to her knees. On the far side of a dune, half a dozen palms grew, drawing water from deep underground. She crawled into their shade, closed her eyes and slept.

  2

  Dusk had given way to the night when Linda woke. The mosquitoes no longer bothered her as she snuggled into the sand. She rolled onto her back. The sounds of hyenas barking and fighting filled the night, but she no longer cared. Then she heard men talking and smelt cigarette smoke.

  She tried to shout but her voice rasped like a weak old woman. With all her strength, she banged her stick on nearby rocks. When three armed men appeared, she wanted to laugh, cry and rage at the world.

  She prayed these men were Kenyan and not Somali rebels as each carried a weapon. Time seemed to stand still as a tall dark shape came towards her.

  Unable to understand what they were saying, Linda tried to speak.

  The man turned to his comrades and barked an order. Five minutes later the roar of a diesel engine filled the air. The vehicle stopped, its headlights illuminating Linda and the man beside her.

  The uniformed soldier had the posture of a doctor. Every action he took was precise and purposeful. He talked to the others as he checked her pulse and inspected her face and feet. After a few minutes, he lifted her from the sand and carried her into the rear of an armoured personnel carrier. Here he laid her on the steel floor and rested her head on a seat cushion.

  She heard the doors slam shut and the engine start. The tall man remained with her.

  Not designed for comfort, the APC shuddered and bounced, rolled and twisted as it progressed through the dunes.

  For Linda its engine was a comforting sound, and she was safe. She tried to talk to her rescuer, but he was uncommunicative. After several attempts, she gave up and lapsed into silence.

  When the engine stopped, she stirred. The rear doors opened and men shouted as they peered into the APC.

  Two men lifted her out onto a stretcher and carried her to a large tent. A slim, bearded white man wearing a uniform peered down at her while he checked her pulse. “English or American.”

  She croaked in English. “My father was English; my mother Chinese.”

  He cleaned her face with surgical spirit. His dark eyes bounded by laughter lines examined the festering bites. “That’s why the mosquitoes loved feasting on your blood. But before I do anything, you need a bath which gives me a problem.”

  She squinted at his shape.

  “No bath. The men use a make shift shower and I have antiseptic soap. You must wash yourself.”

  She nodded.

  He lifted a pair of scissors from a metal bowl. “I need to cut these clothes off. I’ll give you a hospital gown.”

  She tried to sit up. The doctor held her arm and helped. With her feet dangling over the edge of the table, he cut and removed the top of her coverall. “This,” he held up the cloth, “saved you from a lot of pain. Now I'll remove the rest.” When he found the leather sheath strapped to her leg, he said nothing as he removed it and placed it inside a drawer. “You will have trouble walking for a few days. Your feet are a mess of cuts and bites.” He handed her a green gown. “Follow me and I’ll stand guard while you shower.” He lifted a plastic chair in one hand and supported her with the other. “Right, best foot forward. You must walk thirty metres.”

  She glanced up at his cheerful face. “Are you enjoying this?”

  His grip tightened as her steps faltered. “Yes. You are my first real patient for a month. Being stuck out here while the men hunt Somali rebels is boring.”

  They reached the shower, and he placed the chair inside. “Sit and scrub.” He handed her a bar of soap, a rough army towel and sat her on the chair before closing the canvas curtain.

  He waited as the water cascaded from its bucket. Fifteen minutes later and holding the structure with one hand, she opened the curtain. “You look the same but smell better. Now it’s back to my tent for treatment.”

  Inside the medical tent, he became the professional. “You need rest and fluids.” He pointed. “You will sleep in my be
d. I’ll use a camp bed.”

  She nodded as he held her arm and guided her.

  “I’ll give you antibiotics and a pain killer for the face, hands and feet and a sedative to make you sleep. While you’re under, I’ll insert a needle into a vein. This will enable fluids to enter your bloodstream. You’ll feel one hundred percent better in the morning.”

  She frowned.

  “Don’t worry.” He could see in her eyes that she had left him as he gave her the injection. “I’ll be right here. Relax and sleep.”

  She lay there staring at the lights shifting from left to right as trucks drove past the tent. The last thing she thought of before plummeting into the dark of sleep was a ship disappearing into the night.

  ***

  The next morning Linda awoke to find her thoughts locked into a kaleidoscope. Fragments and glimpses of past actions came and went. Where was she? She slipped out of the bed and swayed as she gripped the metal bars that formed the frame.

  In uniform, the doctor entered. “Get back into bed.”

  She opened her mouth to say something but her brain failed to function. “Who are you? Where am I?” she croaked.

  “I’m the man who treated your mosquito nightmare. At least your eyes are opening this morning. Take a look at yourself in the mirror on the post to your right.”

  She turned and gazed at a face she did not recognise.

  “The swelling has reduced.” He handed her a plastic cup filled with a light brown liquid. “Drink that. It’s a potion of mine for rectifying dehydration. Tastes awful, but it works. Tomorrow your systems will be back to normal.”

  She slid beneath the sheets, and studied the tall, muscular man standing at the side of the bed. She took the cup in both hands and sipped.

  He sat on the end of the bed. “I have to write a report for my senior officer. This morning you can rest. Time to answer questions this afternoon.”

  She nodded and handed back the empty cup. ***

  The constant movement of vehicles disturbed her, but she considered that a good thing. It meant she was recovering.