Maybe if I can get across to those crags, I can clamber down.
At last, the moment came. A burst of sunlight triggered her move. She felt her pulse thumping as she reached for the last tree on the ledge, steadied herself, moved her foot over to a narrow foothold, tested it, and moved her weight.
One at a time, came the soft, coaxing voices of Rory and Caleb in her mind. Test each one.
She moved her hand to a crevice. Good. Now the other foot, fine. Her face was only a hand span from the rock, looking for another handhold. There, now, let go of the tree. She was on her way.
Hand by foot, hand by foot, she slowly moved over the rock-face, edging slowly downward, but mainly to her left. Her confidence grew with each move. Her concentration was intense. Never had she examined rocks at such close quarters. Her rib was okay, so long as she didn’t hang too long on her right hand.
Take the weight on the left and use the legs. Agh! Her reflexes kicked in as she hung on tightly, her left foot swinging, searching wildly for a hold, as the rock under it crumbled away. Her pulse rate shot up, pounding in her ears, her heart thumping. She levered herself up with both arms, to allow her foot to reach a new hold.
Luckily, new holds appeared. She began to relax a little and rest, putting her weight back onto her feet, steadying with her hands. Her rib was hurting again now—that panicked heave must have overstressed it.
She took stock. Carefully, she looked across and down the rock-face. About six metres down, there was a good ledge about ten centimetres wide that ran across the face.
If I can get to that, I can really move, she thought. But her muscles were starting to protest; they kept going into that quivering state of overstress.
Slowly, she moved each limb. Holds were not hard to find, but after that one panic, she was leery of every one, and tested it thoroughly.
At last she reached the ledge, and was able to traverse quickly. At the other end, the rocks were much less vertical, and she soon reached a safe, almost level, area. She collapsed in a heap, totally exhausted, physically and mentally.
It was nearly dark when she awoke. It took a few moments for her to realize where she was—that she was free. She looked back up the cliff and shuddered. She burst into tears. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. That had been the greatest ordeal in her life, and she had overcome, she had won. They were tears of relief, but they did not stop easily.
At last, she wiped her face with her sleeve and took in her new surroundings as the light dimmed. The rocks fell away gradually, down to the river about a hundred metres below. Trees were gathered in clumps. The last light in the sky glinted on the river a little way upstream, silhouetting something angular in the water.
Dana found a hollow in the rocks with some moss and small bushes, and nestled down for the night—free once again.
Having slept for so long after her climb down the cliff, she did not need sleep now that it was dark. But she knew she could not move. She listened to the wind in the trees, a gentle wind now, rustling the leaves. Occasionally, she heard the call of a night-bird, an eerie call, unnerving at first.
In the darkness, her mind began to race. Now that she was free from the prison of the ledge, she had her life ahead to plan. How should she set about finding her way back to real safety, to the Base?
She knew the general geography of the region—the river was flowing basically south-westward. So if she could follow this gorge downstream, she would eventually reach the plain, and so-called friendly territory. But that was too far—she couldn’t last that long—not without some relief, some food and shelter.
No, there has to be some point to break off and make for Betsevac Base, overland, and just hope that none of the rebels are around. She remembered her map, feeling inside her pockets for it. Not there. She puzzled for a moment, but could not remember why it was missing.
Daybreak came. Dana roused, and was soon down at the water’s edge. She remembered that dark silhouette from the night before, and eased her way upstream along the shoreline, sometimes rocky, sometimes pebbly. She stumbled over boulders, slipping on greasy vegetation, until there she was, gazing in horror at the source of the silhouette.
There at the edge of the river lay a mangled, blackened mass of tortured metal, blasted open by explosion and fire. Trees on the riverbank were burnt and scorched—there was an overpowering smell of damp ashes and burnt oil. Emotion overwhelmed her, tore at her heart—it was her vehicle, the Coyote. There was the number, scorched, but just readable.
Her legs weakened, and she fell to her knees. Oh God, no—No! Jacob, Randy, Schooner, you poor guys! Tears were streaming down her face as she stood up, trembling, and edged a few steps along the shore, along the broken rock at this place.
Suddenly, her attention was drawn to something lying in the shallow water. As she approached, her stomach retched at the sight—the remains of an arm, badly burnt, with bits of blackened cloth.
In horror, she turned away, not wanting, yet wanting, to find more. Despairing, she slumped down on a rock.
My guys, are they all gone? What did happen? How did I escape? Why can’t I remember?
She stumbled through bushes into a clearing. Ahead was a trail, and beyond that, an old gate. At last, at last; signs of people at last. She collapsed on the soft grass.
Dana was close to her limit. How far she had walked and stumbled, first along the river, then cross-country—how many days since her escape from the cliff-face—she did not know. Apart from a few berries here and there that she had dared to eat, and the few squares of chocolate, she had not eaten for many days, now. She was very weak, bruised, scratched, and sore. Her feet were blistered from being continually wet inside her boots. Her hair was matted and tangled. Her combats were torn, and plastered in mud.
She did not know how long she lay there, nor did she care. At last she had found some sign of people. Please God, let them be friendly, she thought. Slowly she raised herself up, and painfully limped along the trail toward the gate …
Dana opened her eyes—and tensed in surprise. Her body went into reflex fight mode, and her right arm came up quickly. She tried to sit up, but her strength was not there.
A face, an old face, was close to her left side. It smiled. A hand came over her forehead and gently stroked her hair.
Where was she? What was going on? She tried to lift her head and body. Another hand came up to the face and put its forefinger on the lips, as if to say ‘be still’. The lips were smiling.
Dana relaxed back down. The face turned and spoke—a woman’s voice, old and wavering, the sounds unintelligible. A deeper voice responded. Dana sensed a shadow come over her.
Her eyes moved as she began to take in her surroundings. The face took form as part of a body. Behind stood another body, its face old and furrowed, its eyes smiling. Gradually, a corner of a wall, of a room, took form. A crucifix hung on the wall. She turned her head to see the couple more clearly. The woman took her hand and squeezed it gently, all the while stroking her hair.
The man offered her a mug. Dana raised herself slightly and took it gratefully. The warm, sweet liquid was like nectar as it trickled down her throat. She smiled a thank-you.
The man and the woman smiled and nodded their heads. Dana felt reassured, in spite of having no idea where she was. Am I in safe hands, or is this a trap? Whatever, I need the food and drink.
Gradually, she felt strength returning as she drank the welcome drink. She tried to sit up. The woman helped her turn to sit on the side of the simple low bed.
They were an old couple, both backs were stooped, the woman with white hair, the man’s still dark. Their clothes were sombre brown and black. It was a simple room, with a stove and table and chairs, a low ceiling, and small window, typical of some of the small farmers’ homes she had seen while on patrol.
The woman spoke to her in words she did not recognize. Dana smiled and shook her head. The woman grinned and repeated the words, making signs of eating with her hands.
Dana realized at once and nodded her head vigorously.
Gently, the man helped her stand, and led her to a chair at the table. The woman placed a bowl of soup in front of her. The man placed some bread at her side. Only then did Dana really appreciate just how hungry she was.
“Thank-you,” she mouthed as she began to eat. The couple nodded their heads again, all the while smiling at her.
When she had finished the bowl of soup laced with vegetables, the man placed some thin slices of meat before her, and some vegetables she did not recognize. No matter. She ate them all—and then more of the sweet nectar.
As they sat watching her, she signed that she was full, and again mouthed a thank-you. The woman smiled and clapped her hands. The man nodded his head in agreement and stood up.
He moved to Dana’s side and touched her Canada flag patch. Surprised—and rather concerned—she turned her head, watching him cautiously.
He walked over to a small shelf on the wall, and took down a picture in a frame. He brought it back to the table. The main picture was a faded photograph of a man, probably in his twenties, she thought, and stuck into the bottom left corner was a small cameo photo of a little girl, maybe ten or so.
In the bottom right corner was a small decal, showing the CN tower in Toronto backed by the maple leaf emblem.
Dana pointed to the decal and up to her Canada flag emblem, then back to the man and girl and then to the couple. She looked quizzically at the couple as they nodded vigorously. She understood—they had a Canada connection.
The man brought out a piece of paper and an old-fashioned pen and laid them on the table. He produced a small bottle of dark liquid.
Ink, realized Dana, how quaint. He flattened the paper, dipped the pen into the ink, and began to draw a map. Dana watched intently.
First, he drew a rough rectangle near the centre of the left side. Nearby, he drew a long sinuous line down the page, passing the rectangle to the left, and then doubled it.
Dana looked at him quizzically. He leaned back in his chair, pointed to the rectangle, and signed with his arms, pointing to the walls. This house, realized Dana.
She pointed to the double line, and looked at him. He made billowing wave motions with his hands. Of course, the river. Dana nodded her head.
The man continued, drawing a long, winding line from the house across the page. Then he began another line from near the top, crossing the first line, continuing on down. At the crossing, he drew a rough, small circle, and wrote a word. Dana did not understand it.
He drew another line from near the river at the top, slanting across the other lines and ending near the bottom left corner. There, he drew another rough circle. Dana saw that these lines must be roads.
Carefully, the man was drawing something in the last circle. Dana was puzzled. She was, in reality, drained, mentally, physically, emotionally. Her mind was not at its best; she couldn’t catch his point.
He smiled, pointed to his last drawing, and pointed to her flag patch. Of course, of course, he’d drawn a maple leaf, difficult at the best of times. Dana laughed. The man and the woman laughed, too.
The man picked up the pen again, and by the side of the maple leaf, he wrote something. Dana looked at it carefully. It was difficult, but then it clicked. Betsevac. That’s what it said. Our base!
She pointed to it and then to herself. The woman clapped her hands, and the man nodded his head. Then he drew another line, sweeping across from the top left of the map, curving under the first crossroads, between them and Betsevac, and across to the river. Right across the map, above that line, he wrote. Dana watched closely.
A-n-j-a-s-t-a-s. Anjastas. Oh, no. The rebels. She looked at the couple. Their faces were downcast as the man swept his hand slowly over the map indicating the sweep of the Anjastas. Dana’s heart sank.
Her face obviously showed her feeling, for the woman took her hand and led her to the small window, pointing. It was dark outside. The woman made the sleeping sign with her hands, and pointed to herself, the man, and Dana. She raised six fingers, one by one, and repeated the sleep sign, followed by a wide sweeping action with her arms over her head.
Dana nodded vigorously. Yes, we sleep for six hours and then morning. The man motioned her back to the map. He pointed to all three of them and then passed his finger on the map from the house along the road through the first crossroads with the circle—maybe that’s a town, thought Dana—onward to the next crossroads, and down to the Betsevac base. Dana understood.
The woman took Dana’s arm and motioned her to come with her. She gently led Dana outside into the darkness. Dana felt a soft breeze against her face. Across a small courtyard was a little cabin. The woman smiled and offered Dana to proceed.
Of course, the privy. It was dark, smelly, and awkward. The woman was waiting, and led Dana back. Inside, the man had spread out some bedding in one corner. The woman led Dana to the bed where she had first wakened.
Dana made motions of protest, querying what the man and woman would do for sleeping. The woman reassured her that they would use the bedding in the corner. Dana was their guest, and she would have the bed. Soon the light was out, and very quickly Dana was asleep.
It was light when Dana awoke. She sat up at once. The man was sitting at the table. Smiling, he turned toward her and, holding out his hand, beckoned her to the table to eat. She obliged, and sat down.
The door opened and in came the woman, carrying a pail of water. On the table were bread, cheese, milk, and some hard-boiled eggs.
Dana broke off a piece of the crusty bread, took an egg, and a piece of cheese. They tasted so good. The woman came over to the table with another mug, giving it to Dana. Dana nodded her thanks and poured some milk. She sipped it. So different—so smooth, and warm, creamy—it must be very fresh.
After the meal was over, the woman went to a big closet in the far corner and brought out a black garment, a cloak. She put it over Dana’s shoulders, wrapping it around and pulling it straight. Then she brought a dark headscarf and, signing for Dana to kneel down, bound up the scarf around Dana’s head, covering her hair, with the scarf ends hanging down over her neck.
The man brought over an old, chipped mirror for Dana to see herself. Dana nodded in agreement and smiled—she looked like a peasant girl. Fortunately, the cloak was so long it covered her legs and hid her booted feet.
The woman then began what Dana thought was close to a charade. First, she touched Dana’s arm to gain her attention, and pointed first at Dana and then at herself. She began to rub her stomach and groan, her knees sinking, as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, where she lay curled, groaning. The man joined in, pointing first at his wife and then at Dana.
At first, Dana was at a loss, but at last it dawned on her. They wanted her to act as if she were ill. Okay. She groaned, sighed, rubbed her stomach, fell to the ground, the works.
The woman clapped her hands, nodding her head and smiling. Dana relaxed and sat up. The man helped her to stand but, continuing the act, put Dana’s arm up around his neck. The woman came to her other side, as if to help bear her weight.
As a trio, they moved to the door. Outside, the act continued. They led her across the courtyard, which Dana could now see was part of a small farmyard. A few chickens scratched over by a low stone building, and a pile of straw lay by a low, crumbling wall.
They were making their way toward an old, battered car. There were only two doors, so it was a struggle for Dana to clamber into the backseat. The man indicated for her to lie down across the seat.
The car pulled out onto a bumpy road—at least, Dana assumed that was so. All she could do was try to interpret the sounds of the engine, the grinding gearbox, the bumps on the road that seemed to be transmitted directly to her bones, and the swaying as the car rounded an endless sequence of bends. She recalled how winding the man had made that road on the map last night.
The journey seemed endless, but at last she sensed by the frequent stopping, turning
, and starting, that they were meeting other roads. But then the car stopped, and the man turned off the engine.
Dana tensed. What was going on? A door opened, and the woman got out. Dana peered up to try to see. The man was turning to her, his finger on his lips, the other hand telling her to stay low.
Dana could hear voices outside—some seemed excited. Carefully, she peeked out from under her scarf. She could see the stone wall of a building, a window, and the edge of a red tile roof …
Then, the back of someone darkened her view, someone with a gun slung on his shoulder. She retreated under the scarf. She could hear agitated voices.
Suddenly, the door opened, and the woman climbed in. The engine started, and they were moving. Carefully, Dana moved aside the scarf.
The woman was watching her, and burst into a grin, waving a large, corked bottle in her hand. She made signs of pouring some of the dark liquid inside onto a spoon and offering it to Dana, pointing to her stomach. Dana relaxed and smiled. This couple really were putting a lot at stake for her.
Abruptly, the car stopped again, and the engine turned off. What now? she thought. There was shouting from outside and responses shouted from inside; the windows were open. The driver, the old man, got out, shutting the door.
Suddenly, the door was wrenched open and something hard thrust into the backseat, into her; she stifled a sound. She could feel it—the business end of a rifle.
The old woman was now yelling, clearly cursing, though Dana understood not a word. The gun was retracted. A driver, the old man Dana prayed, got in, the engine started, and they were on their way again. She felt the old woman reach back and pat her leg. Dana moved aside the scarf, and her eyes met the kindly gaze of the old woman.
The journey continued. The road was better now, and the drone of the engine made Dana feel sleepy, but she knew she must stay alert—who knew what might happen next.
She felt something poking her and looked up. The woman was offering her some bread. She took it gratefully. She sensed that the car was going more slowly, and became aware of an unpleasant odour.
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