They had left the hut at first light and initially it had been fairly easy going with ready-made paths scything through light forest. But as the day had gone on the jungle had closed in and wrapped itself around them in a stifling cloak of darkness. Jennings had lost complete track of time and didn’t know whether it was noon or early evening. What he did know was that his stomach was rumbling and if he didn’t eat soon then he was going to collapse. Drinking water was keeping him on his feet, but he needed something solid if he was going to go any further.
“Are you hungry?” he asked Oggi, who was directly in front.
“Fucking starving,” moaned Oggi. “I don’t know how these buggers expect us to go on with nothing but water inside us. I haven’t even got time to reach into my rucksack for a snack the speed they’re keeping us at. If we don’t stop soon I’m going to say something.”
Tali, who was rearguard, overheard them and said, “Do not worry, we will be stopping for some lunch soon. Another half an hour through this and we will reach a clearing where we can sit and eat.”
The knowledge of impending sustenance spurred Jennings’ energy, and his slashing took on a renewed vigour. He tried to blank out the thought that he had at least another two weeks of jungle misery ahead.
After slightly longer than the estimated thirty minutes they finally arrived at a clearing. Everyone, bar Jimi and Tali, was exhausted. They each found a tree and slumped against it. Jennings drank half of his remaining water and poured the rest over his head.
“No! No!” shouted Tali. “You must not waste the water! It is for drinking not bathing.”
“Sorry,” said Jennings. “But I’m boiling over here. We’ve got more haven’t we?”
“Yes, but we must ration it. It is quite far to the next safe stream.”
Jimi seemed quite unflustered by the long march and, if anything, had been energized by it. While the others sat head-in-knees, he and his brother collected wood and lit a small fire to boil water for the ration packs.
“Don’t you two get tired?” asked Oggi.
“Of course,” said Jimi. “But we are used to the heat remember. We were brought up in the jungle. After a couple of weeks you will perhaps acclimatize.”
“Thank you,” said Oggi. “That’s a great comfort.” He sipped from his canteen and mopped his brow.
If Jennings and Oggi were weakened by the withering weather, then Stratton was positively poleaxed. He lay against a tree with closed eyes and shallow breath. His face was pale and sweat teemed down his brow. Titan sat next to him licking his hand. Stella lifted herself up and went to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, taking hold of his other hand.
He opened his eyes and smiled. “Yeah, of course, I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to the heat, that’s all. Isn’t anyone else tired?”
“Of course we are,” she said. “But you seem to be the worst. Are you sure you want to carry on? Because we can take the box for you. That’s unless you don’t trust us?”
“Of course I trust you. But I set out to do something and I’m going to do it. I probably look worse than I actually feel anyway. Once we’ve had a bit of lunch and a rest I’ll be fine.”
Stella glanced away. She wanted to believe him, but in all the time she’d known him she’d never seen him look so bad. She also knew, however, that there was no way he was going to quit the task in hand; not while there was a single breath left in his body.
She stayed with him throughout lunch, making sure that he ate all his food and took on enough water. He struggled at times to keep things down, but her persistence paid off and by the time they were ready to start up again he looked human once more.
The foliage thinned out and Jimi led them through the early afternoon at a quicker pace. Stella positioned herself behind Stratton, ready to help him along if required. But her fears were unfounded and he strode along robustly, the food and rest having worked the oracle on his failing body.
Jennings had moved up the line to walk behind Jimi. It gave him a much better view of the path ahead, and he felt a lot safer being near an experienced ‘bushman’. He figured that any rogue wildlife would be dealt with swiftly by Jimi’s huge scimitar of a knife, thus preventing any unfortunate bites or stings.
“We seem to be making good headway,” he said to Jimi, as they bustled along through a patch of dripping fern.
“Yes, we are doing well. But I still want to move a bit faster. We have many miles to go yet before sundown.”
“What’s the hurry?” asked Jennings. “The temple isn’t going anywhere is it?”
“No, of course not,” said Jimi. “But we can easily be followed. Once we are further in it will be more difficult for anyone to track us. And when we get to the heart of the jungle it will be impossible.”
“So you think we’re being followed then?”
“I do not know for sure,” said Jimi. “In all probability we may not be. But you have to assume the worst case scenario and base your strategy around that. This makes sense, yes?”
“Of course it does,” said Jennings, embarrassed at having to have fundamental strategy explained. “I’m just not thinking properly in this heat.”
“It is difficult,” Jimi agreed. “But like I said, you will get used to it. Today and tomorrow will be the hardest marches, after that we can probably take it a bit easier.”
As the afternoon drew on they left the trees and found themselves walking along the side of a wide gorge. Below them, at least three hundred feet down, ran a raging river. Jennings, after having taken an initial curious peek, kept his eyes firmly ahead and away from the vertiginous view. He’d had it all today: snakes, spiders, and now heights. It was as if he was one prolonged tropical therapy session.
“How long do we stay on this path?” he asked Jimi.
“Not long,” Jimi replied. “Not long at all. The bridge is only another mile away.”
“Bridge?” said Jennings casually, attempting to keep a lid on his feelings.
“Yes, a bridge. But do not worry it is perfectly safe – Tali and I built it ourselves.”
Jennings smiled politely but didn’t find the provenance of the crossing in any way reassuring. It wouldn’t have mattered if Isambard Kingdom Brunel himself had built it from titanium alloy, there was still no way he would feel safe hundreds of feet up with nothing but air between him and the jagged rocks below.
At the back of the line Oggi was becoming increasingly irritated by the mass of mosquitoes that seemed to have taken out a personal vendetta against him. Rivers of repellent had done little to dissuade the blood-hungry devils, and every sweep and slap of his hand appeared to do nothing but encourage them.
“They like you, yes?” said Tali, grinning.
“Apparently,” said Oggi. “I won’t have any blood left if they carry on going at this rate. How come they’re not going for you?”
“Some people are tasty, some are not.”
“Well, I’m glad to be good for something. I just hope these malaria tablets do their job properly.”
To Jennings the journey to the bridge took no time at all. One minute it was a speck in the distance, the next he was standing at the edge, staring across to the other side sixty yards away. He’d been in many difficult situations throughout his life, but nothing compared to the sheer bowel-squeezing terror that grabbed hold as he watched the flimsy rope bridge sway in the wind.
“Are you sure this is safe?” he asked Jimi.
“Yes, yes. It could hold one hundred men. Just grab on tightly to the sides and you will be over it in no time. Come, follow my lead. And remember – do not look down.”
Jennings had no intention of looking down. He stuck to Jimi like a needy girlfriend, shadowing his every move and replicating it to the millimetre. It was like this that he made it over halfway across without any mishap. But just as he was getting to grips with his fear, an unannounced gust of wind shot across the gorge. Jennings stumbled sideways and held on tight as the swinging
bridge buckled his knees. His head joggled sideways and he found himself staring down at the river below. A wave of terror passed from the pit of his stomach, up through his chest, and silently out of his mouth. Then, in stark contrast, an irresistible urge to let go of the rope and float into oblivion overtook him. The world fell silent and beautiful. Gravity opened up her loving arms and beckoned him to join her in an everlasting peace.
“Do not look down!” screamed Jimi, piercing the moment. He grabbed Jennings by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Never, ever, look down,” he reiterated, almost glaring into Jennings’ eyes.
Jennings pulled himself together and tracked Jimi across the remainder of the bridge, concentrating on each step and forgetting about the call of the river. When they finally reached the other side he threw off his backpack and sat down far from the edge. He watched Jimi signal for another two to cross.
“I thought you said that the bridge could hold a hundred men,” he said to Jimi.
“A slight exaggeration on my part I am afraid,” said Jimi with a grin. “It could probably hold ten at a push, but it is a lot safer with just two. I am sorry for lying, but you seemed in need of the reassurance.”
Jennings lay back and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he said. “I feel we’re forming a real bond of trust here.”
Stratton and Stella made it across without any drama. Then Titan followed in a perfectly balanced trot wondering what all the fuss was about.
Last to go were Oggi and Tali. After a brief argument it was decided that Oggi would follow the guide. Tali had wanted to bring up the rear, as was his job, but Oggi insisted that he needed someone in front to show him the way. They set off at a slow pace, Oggi gripping the sides with whitened joints and singing Let it Be to take his mind off the walk.
Apart from a couple of brief flurries the wind behaved itself and they made solid, unfussy progress, which is why when it happened everyone was taken by surprise.
A couple of yards from the end of the bridge Oggi let out a loud roar of pain. His right arm dropped from the support rope and his left shot up and grabbed his right shoulder. The bridge wobbled as he arched backwards and teetered helplessly on the brink of his balance. Then, in almost slow motion, he started to fall. Tali whipped round and got hold of his belt, but try as he might was unable to stop the man mountain from toppling.
Stratton watched in disbelief as Oggi somersaulted over the side of the bridge. But instead of falling, he flung out his left arm and somehow managed to hold on. And there he stayed, hanging precariously, his arm at its full elasticity.
“Get down!” screamed Jimi, from behind. “Everybody take cover!”
For a moment Stratton was disoriented, caught between Jimi’s cries and the sight of his best friend clinging on for dear life. Then he realized that they were being shot at from the trees across the ravine. Instinctively he dived down behind a rock, feeling a bullet whistle past his ear as he did so.
Back on the bridge Tali was crawling along to Oggi’s aid, ducking and shuffling to create a hard target. But just as he was about to grab the big man’s hand a bullet hit him square in the forehead and he slumped forwards, dead.
Stratton, no longer caring about the salvo of bullets, came out from behind the rock and threw himself at the bridge. Using Tali’s body as cover, he snaked his way to where Oggi hung.
“Throw me your other arm!” he shouted.
“I can’t!” screamed Oggi. “I can’t move the fucking thing! It’s no use mate, I’m fucked.”
“Just try!” shouted Stratton.
Oggi grimaced and attempted to fling his arm upwards. The response was negligible, however, and he continued to swing from his left limb. “It’s no use mate,” he groaned. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Stratton reached down, grabbed the strap of Oggi’s backpack, and tried to pull him upwards. But with no purchase the task proved impossible. And then, just as things looked hopeless, they got worse: a bullet hit Oggi in his left forearm and he yelled and let go of the bridge.
Stratton still had hold of the strap and struggled grimly, forcing every last nerve and sinew to keep his friend from falling.
Oggi looked up resignedly. “It’s over mate,” he said flatly. “It’s over.”
Stratton gritted his teeth. “It’s not over ‘til I say it is,” he gasped. “It’s not over ‘til I say it is.”
But Oggi was right. Digit by agonizing digit Stratton lost his grasp. At the last, all that stood between Oggi and the rocks was a little finger and a prayer; and it wasn’t enough. Stratton watched in disbelief as the distance between them grew, Oggi shrinking and shrinking and shrinking until he was a spot on the rocks below. This time there would be no magic, no rescue, no nothing. All sensation left his body. Time froze. Oggi was gone.
Chapter 112
Kamal waited patiently in the shadows of the trees opposite the house. The street was dimly lit and quiet. The silhouette of a woman hovered over a cooker behind the blinds. In a chair at the kitchen table a child sat with its back to the window. Outside on the front lawn a cat stood under the streetlamp casually licking its front paws. Everything appeared to be normal. Not a trace of foul play. The picture was like thousands of others up and down the country of an evening: a dutiful mother making supper; a child at the table, maybe drawing or playing a game; both waiting expectantly for the loving husband/father to return. It all seemed so perfect.
Kamal wondered if he had misread the situation completely. Perhaps Annie was not the revenge-crazed lunatic that he suspected. Maybe she had taken the money and run off to start a new life for herself, burying the past where it should be. These thoughts occurred to him, but each time he made up his mind to leave instinct told him to hold fire and wait a little bit longer. The sixth sense that had protected him all these years was rarely wrong, and he would always defer to it even when logic screamed otherwise. He found a cosy little spot beneath a young oak tree and settled himself in for a long watch.
Inside the house Annie put the finishing touches to her spaghetti Bolognese. She dished up two plates and placed one in front of the little dummy she’d made out of stuffed clothes. Then she sat down and ate, occasionally pulling a string to give the illusion of movement from her ‘child’. She had realized very early on in her stakeout that the street was full of ‘curtain twitchers’, and she’d had to make allowances accordingly. It was an inconvenience, but a necessary one.
She ate half her food then decided she’d had enough. Her appetite had waned to being almost non-existent, but in the back of her mind she knew that she had to keep her strength up for what was to come. She washed up and dried and then carried the dummy into the living room away from prying eyes.
After moving to the sofa she turned on the TV, flicking through the channels to find something that would be entertaining enough to keep her awake. It had been a long day and it was going to be an even longer night. Although she was happy enough that Stone wouldn’t try anything stupid, she wasn’t prepared to take the chance. If anybody entered the house she was going to be ready for them.
With the schedules filled with Saturday night fluff she had to search hard for something meaty to watch. Eventually she found a horror triple bill on one of the movie channels, and decided it would be perfect for her requirements. She made herself a strong coffee and settled herself in for an evening of blood and gore...
…It was three o’clock in the afternoon and Tracy stood outside the school gate along with the other children waiting to be picked up. She and her friend Tilly were playing pat-a-cake to pass the time. A couple of boys were pulling wheelies in the middle of the road, incurring the wrath of the headmaster Mr Creech. Tracy kept one eye on the end of the road watching the cars turn in, praying it would be the green Fiesta that came into view. The Fiesta meant that her mother had finished at the hospital and would take her home for a lovely tea.
But today it was not to be. Her heart sank as she saw the familiar shape of the charcoal-gre
y Scorpio round the corner.
“I wish my dad had a car like yours,” said Tilly. “It looks so big and comfy.”
Tracy didn’t comment. She looked over at her father who was waving cheerily from the window and, with a sigh, slowly made her way across to the car.
“How’s Daddy’s little angel? Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
She spent the journey home as she spent all journey’s home with her father: in silence; secretly hoping that they would be involved in a fatal crash. But he was too careful a driver for that. Too controlled and calculating to allow the needle a millimetre above thirty, let alone cause a mass pile-up.
When they arrived at the house her sister, Fiona, was already back from the big school. There was a time when Tracy would have welcomed her company, but not anymore. The days of sibling idolatry were long gone, replaced by a fearful, systemic hatred.
Tracy went straight to her room, hoping that she might be forgotten about. She unpacked her satchel and took out her copy of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was her favourite book and she had read it five times. Every day she checked the back of her own wardrobe in the vain hope that she might be transported to Narnia, and into the safe, protective paws of Aslan. But there was no magical portal in her bedroom furniture, just a flimsy white MFI backing with cracks in it where she’d attempted to force her way through.
A knock on the door dispelled any desire she had to be left alone. She closed the cupboard and sat down on her bed, awaiting the inevitable intrusion.
Fiona walked in. “Dad says you’re to come downstairs.”
“I don’t want to,” said Tracy. “I want to stay up here and read.”
Fear of the Fathers Page 37