He took the water and the gun, Jill told him.
She was trying to work out how they would move Kriegman, or whether it was safe to try. They could hardly leave him lying on the trail like this.
He poured out the rest of the water, she continued; and the fuel. Then he walked off telling us if we followed he would shoot us. I think he has a map and a compass. The Land Cruiser is wrecked.
Crazy bastard, Kriegman grunted. I wonder what he was after. He won’t find it as easy to walk out of here as he thinks.
Another spasm of pain made him pause.
Don’t worry, he said to Jill. Michael will get you home. He can find water as well as a mongoose, and he´ll sniff out the best path. Where is the lazy kaffir anyway?
There was no easy way to say it.
He’s dead, Jill told him. Bloom cut his throat and then opened up his insides to attract the animals.
Some of the life that was left in Kriegman seemed to depart at that point.
Stupid, silly bugger. Getting himself killed by a man like Bloom, was all he would say.
The others were just standing around leaving Jill to talk to the wounded man and doing nothing. Jill stood up and spoke loudly; so that the rest of them could hear
We have to get you moved, she told Kriegman. It’s getting late. The boys will go back to the Cruiser and get a couple of tents and something to start a fire. And some T-shirts to get you bandaged up. We should stay here overnight: over in that spot where it’s a little sheltered. In the morning we can sort out what we have left and decide what we should do. Emma and I will stay with you now and see if we can’t make you more comfortable.
It wasn’t exactly an order, but everyone was still dazed and Kriegman, who was supposed to be their leader, didn’t make any response. The rest of the party shuffled to follow Jill’s instructions. Kriegman only looked away from them, with eyes that seemed to be full of tears.
When he was left alone with the two women, there came a moment when he seemed to find it difficult to breathe. He choked out two heavy sobs that could have been pain or anguish. The effect of them transmitted a shock through his broken body that made him cry out.
Jill could not see how they were going to move him at all. His voice, when it came again, was much softer than before.
I wanted Michael to take over this business after me, he told Jill. It was all I have to pass on to anybody. I was going to give it to him and he knew, I hope. There was no other reason for him to stay with an old fool like me. But I never told him and he never asked.
The words came slowly with pauses at odd moments.
He could have left me years ago and done better for himself. Got a good job with one of the regular firms. You know. When they are like him, they are the best. Better than us by a long way.
You should save your strength Mr. Kriegman, Emma whispered. It’s hurting you to talk.
Doesn’t matter, Kriegman replied, but for a time after that he said no more.
The others brought back a canteen of water from under the benches that had been overlooked by Bloom, as well as two of the tent bags and one of the folding mattresses that George said they should try to move Mr. Kriegman onto. That seemed an impossible task at first, but in the end they managed to slide the mattress under him. The guide was barely conscious by this stage, but it was obvious that he suffered from even a small movement. They abandoned the idea of dragging the mattress further up the slope to a better camping spot, but at least they were able to get him to level ground.
By the time the tents were put up light was beginning to fade. George and Emma tried to persuade Kriegman to drink some water, while Jill attempted to start a fire.
She had expected Andrew Parker to take control of the situation, but ever since the attack he had been distracted and barely sensible. Probably he was in shock; as the Johnsons clearly were. The old couple were making odd, disjointed movements; staring wild-eyed around them all the time and clinging to each other as if they expected Bloom to return at any moment.
Simon and Emma were in better shape but they both seemed incapable of doing anything until someone told them what to do. She wasn’t sure about the condition of George. He seemed to focus on whatever small task needed doing next, as if he was avoiding thinking about their general situation. Probably that wasn’t such a bad way to be just now.
Jill didn’t want to examine her own mental state. She tried to concentrate on remembering how the camp fire had been set up when she’d seen it on other nights. There were the two longer spars that you set on the ground parallel to each other, with a little space between; and then between and across them you put the smaller pieces and kindling. She borrowed George’s lighter and soon had a flame going. It was easier than she’d thought, but then she realized she’d piled on too much wood. They would have a blaze instead of the small flame they would need to feed just enough to keep it burning through the night.
George came across to her: he’d brought one of the kettles from the trailer and a carton of milk.
I thought we might use this to heat some of the water, he said, and there was this milk in the cold store that probably won’t be any good by tomorrow.
He tugged at his jacket pockets and pulled out a tin mug from each.
No one will mind sharing, he said.
You should have brought some of the tea, Jill told him.
George reached into the breast pocket and produced a handful of tea bags. They both smiled for the first time in what seemed a long time.
Nothing can be quite so bad if we have a cup of tea, Jill laughed bitterly.
In the night, they took turns to rest in the tents, but no one slept. One or other of them always stayed with Mr. Kriegman, on the far side of the campfire. Jill thought it couldn’t be a good sign when he began to shift around on the bed, considering the pain each movement must cause. He said things from time to time but nothing that made any sense to them. He seemed to think he was in a different place and time, speaking to people who weren’t there and getting answers from them.
Jill could only hope that he would recover enough to tell them what to do. She listened to the rambling words for hours, waiting for something lucid to come out. Should they stay with the vehicle or move on? How could they move anyway, with Kriegman in this condition and the Johnsons being so frail? But to split the party and send some of them off for help seemed like a worse idea than all staying put. She had tried to talk to Andrew Parker about it, but from him she got only muttered comments that were contradictory in themselves, or didn´t make any sense at all. His brain was still muddled. Perhaps in the morning he would be himself again.
The night seemed to go on forever. Jill kept alternating between wishing that Charles was here with her and dismissing that thought because it was selfish to wish anyone else into this position, least of all Charles.
At least he would know what they should do, she imagined; he always did. Then she reminded herself that she had to stop thinking of Charles in that way. But the darkness wore on and she realized that already she was not sure that any of them were going to survive this situation. Her thoughts returned to Charles whether she wanted them to or not.
They´d met at a photography club. Jill had sworn off going out with anyone else from work and there weren´t many other ways she was going to get to know someone. In fact they were more or less thrown together. The others seemed to be interested in the same things; familiar objects shot from odd angles, sunsets, black and white portraits of old people and children, local beauty spots. Jill mostly took pictures of animals and birds, especially the ones she came across while travelling, which was what she did with all the free time she had. Charles was a climber, whose photos reflected the vertiginous perspectives of an adrenalin seeker.
He was old for a climber. He seemed to have outgrown the complacent self-centredness that often spoiled the characters of those who were only half alive except when some intense experience was firing their synapses. And th
e photographs suggested he´d seen more than his own reflection in those dizzy ascents.
Jill was cautious. Charles didn´t push. Somehow coffee together away from the group seemed natural, but coffee turned to dinner and dinner meant dropping Jill off at her flat afterwards. Him coming inside quickly meant more than it had seemed to suggest. It wasn´t until afterwards that Charles told her he was married.
He claimed he´d not said anything because he´d never expected that what had happened would happen; and Jill believed him. Charles told her he was unhappy at home; lonely. He´d thought the two of them could be friends. He and his wife were only staying together for the children.
Children. Looking back, Jill knew that she should have ended it right there; but it was a moment when emotions were running high and for a time they caught glimpses of a better future together; like two mountaineers roped together in the mist who can half see the sun from time to time as a gale whips clouds across the sky.
He could see what he needed to do now, he told her. Susan would understand that it was better for everybody. It would be hard, but living as they were was not living at all. Jill held her breath. She listened to Charles talking without knowing what was the right thing to say in reply.
Now they were a year further on and she´d heard the words too many times. Nothing had changed. Charles, who she admired so much for his decisiveness, who decided what they should do, who always had the answer; had lost the ability to go forward or back on this particular rock face. He was held frozen on the sheer wall without a handhold or foothold in any direction that he could see.
Jill knew that it was her fault. She should never have allowed the situation to develop. Every now and then she still felt the pull of that half seen vision of a life with Charles, maybe even the two of them with the children that she´d never seen except in family snaps. It was a dream that she couldn´t take seriously any more, but still it was hard to give up.
With Charles she´d slipped into a routine quickly, because the times when they could meet were limited and predictable. The time together was poisoned by being in that allotted space, as if they were moving to a bus timetable. Sometimes the gaps between their meetings were the worst and sometimes it was the other way around. In any case it was horrible for Jill to sense that rising expectation within herself that started when they were due to see each other. Her emotions could still deceive her into believing that maybe this time Charles would have something new to say, even if it was only goodbye.
The trip to Africa alone was going to be a break from that routine. In this respect at least it had been a great success. She supposed that she´d known, finally, that Charles was not going to make any decision and that it would be up to her; but the only decision she´d been able to make was to run away in order to buy time to think about her life.
How unimportant and trivial all of that seemed to her right now.
Some time before the light came, Mr. Kriegman suffered a sort of crisis. Minutes later when they checked for breathing there was none. He’d never recovered consciousness properly and maybe that was a blessing for him, if not for the rest of them.
The morning leaked slowly into the sky, bringing no sense of relief. The survivors were stiff, cold and frightened and this was the moment they had been dreading through the long night; when the question of what they should do next demanded to be answered.
Chapter Eleven - Day Ten
Green was sick of waiting for Bloom’s party to return to Victoria Falls, even though he knew they weren’t due back for another ten days. Now he was reviewing his options.
There hadn´t been much order to the records stored on the Wilderness Tours computer. Directories had been set up, but they´d been used or not used. The accounts information was hopelessly out of date, which explained the paper invoices stacked all about the office. Eventually, Green had found email confirmations of bookings for the places the tour party would be staying at. Once he´d checked these against the route drawn on the map that he´d found, Green could be reasonably confident that this route was the one they intended to follow.
Maybe the copy left on the table was a rudimentary sort of safety precaution; so that if anything went wrong out in the wild, someone might discover where to look for them. It didn´t seem as if anyone ever came here normally though. Green took the map out of his pocket once more and jotted down all the contact details for the planned stops he´d discovered next to the location names on his map.
He’d returned to the computer and checked the names and what details he could find about the other members of Bloom´s party. There were seven, plus Bloom himself, but none of them had the sort of profile he was looking for. He had half an idea that maybe Bloom was out there to meet up with an accomplice of sorts, but none of these people seemed to fit the bill.
The map was all he took with him when he left. When he got back to town, the first thing that he did was to find a car hire firm. With luck he´d still be able to wait for Bloom to come back to him, but now he wanted to be prepared for different eventualities. So far as he could judge the terrain by looking at the map, he thought he´d need a fairly rugged type of four wheel drive vehicle. He found that trucks were available as a two door cab or a four door, with camping equipment included.
Green had opted for the smaller model. He’d felt bemused as he checked out the fittings that came with it. The refrigerator would be useful obviously; and the containers for water and extra fuel would be needed. There was a tent as well, which he thought must be added as a joke. Green was sure that if he needed to go out into the wild, he would be sleeping in the cab, with the windows wound up and the door locked. He wasn´t so crazy that he´d spend the hours of darkness with just canvas between himself and the creatures that roamed the African night.
He parked the vehicle in the hotel car park and when he stood back to examine it once more, he was reasonably satisfied with his choice. The truck was nice and solid, though he was still hopeful that he wouldn´t need to use it. No need to worry about his choice of transportation.
There was something about the large map he´d noticed pinned to the wall of the tour company hut that had been praying on his mind ever since. Thinking about where the tour party was supposed to go, he´d realized that it wouldn´t be too much of a diversion to cross Namibia and maybe make your way to the resorts of the Skeleton Coast. If he got that far, Bloom would become just another anonymous stranger, difficult to track. There was no reason to suppose that this was his plan, but the thought that maybe he didn´t have Bloom´s lines of escape completely covered had made it a little harder for Green to sleep easily in his hotel room.
He checked the map and the contact details that he´d jotted down one more time. The spaces between the bookings he’d found suggested that the group wouldn´t be using official campsites much of the time; but now Green realized that a few days ago, they should have been staying at a site where he had two telephone numbers listed.
The first number he tried got no reply. When he called the second, a woman answered. He told her he was trying to make contact with one of the Wilderness Tours party. It wasn´t desperately urgent but if it was at all possible he´d like to speak to someone. They´d have arrived the day before yesterday, if she could remember or just check.
You mean Mr. Kriegman´s party, she told him. I know Don well enough. He let me down this time, though. Made the reservation and never showed up. He shouldn´t do that, but it’s just like him. He’ not reliable. We could have been busy and I made room for him specially. Is this about something urgent?
Green told her not to worry, thanked her for her help and hung up. This was a problem. He really didn´t know how it worked with these tour companies. Perhaps they made arrangements all the time that they didn´t stick to, but that didn´t seem likely. You´d want other people to know where you were supposed to be. Even so, there could be any number of innocent explanations for a failure to show.
Or so he could tell himself, but some part
of Stephen Green that he had learned to take notice of told him that the situation was off. When it felt wrong, it was wrong. He already knew that as soon as he´d loaded up the truck he’d be setting off into the bush to find Jonathan Bloom wherever he might be.
***
Kriegman’s face was white and stiff looking. All trace of life had gone out from it. No one had wanted to cover that face over in the night. To do that would be too final; an acknowledgement that it was pointless watching for any more signs of life. The guide wasn´t going to splutter back to consciousness and tell them what they needed to do. Jill checked again and again for breathing or a heartbeat; but there was nothing; and the coldness of the body when she touched it came as a shock.
They hadn’t been able to get Kriegman into a sleeping bag because of the pain any movement caused. Instead, they had covered him with coats and the thickest of the spare clothing that they had. It was all piled on top of a single blanket. Eventually it was Mr. Johnson who gently unfolded the top of the blanket and laid it over the dead face and the cold stiff hands. Somehow after that it was possible to accept that Kriegman was gone.
We’ll need to bury him in the morning, Johnson said. And Michael too, Jill thought, but didn’t say.
The fire died out around four in the morning, but as it became fully light, they managed to get a meagre flame started from the embers; enough to let them warm the last of the milk. There wasn’t much and it had already started to turn, but the milk was better than nothing
After that, they moved the guide’s body back to the wreck of the Land Cruiser. It was hard work, half-carrying, half-dragging the dead weight. It would have been easier to fetch the spades from the trailer and bury him where he´d fallen, but that wasn´t even discussed. There was an understanding that the man’s grave should have some kind of marker even if it was no more than a smashed up safari truck.
They’d tried again to get Kriegman´s body into a sleeping bag, since they couldn’t hurt him now, but the corpse was too stiff. They would have needed to break some bones to shift it into a posture of repose. None of them wanted to think about that, even though it was awful to see the twisted shape of the body´s final agonies. Instead they moved him as he was, tied onto the thin camp mattress that they dragged after them like the burden of a ragged and bizarre funeral procession.
the Disappearance of Jonathan Bloom Page 10