When they had finally negotiated the few hundred metres between their camp and the truck, there was another shock waiting. Simon and George went straight to the trailer to break out the shovels. The burial needed to be done and they wanted to get it over with. The others stood back. No one of them wanted to be the first to go to the front of the truck and look at Michael. But one of them had to do it. Seeing that no-one else was moving, Jill took a deep breath and crossed to the driver’s side door.
Nothing there: only some dried dark stains on the floor of the cab and more blotches, like old spilled wine but stickier, in the sand and scrub around the side of the truck where the ground had been disturbed.
Jill’s first absurd reaction was relief that she didn’t have to look at the results of Bloom’s butchery again. Then she felt a rush of panic stricken certainty that Bloom must have come back in the night. How else could Michael have disappeared? Understanding that the body must have been claimed by the animals of the night was something that her rational brain struggled to get the rest of her to accept. She saw the same reaction in the faces of the others when she told them. After that they separated and spent twenty fruitless minutes looking for signs of the body in the scrub and dry grass around the truck; each of them more frightened than hopeful in case they should be the one to find something.
Eventually Jill realized that the search was futile and they were just wandering around pointlessly because it was easier than moving on to what they needed to do next. She knew that they couldn’t afford to keep wasting time like this. She sought out Andrew Parker, who was sitting on the ground beside the trailer. He’d retrieved his backpack and taken out the contents, spreading them out in front of him. He´d started to sort his belongings into two piles, but now he seemed to be looking at them without purpose, occasionally shifting items from one pile to the other or taking up something only to set it down again.
Jill watched for a while, trying to understand what state Parker was in. It wasn’t actually shock; she thought. You could see the effects of that in the faces of the Johnsons, who seemed to have become even older and more frail overnight. The couple were incapable of responding to anything more than the most basic instructions. With Andrew, it seemed more like panic; as if he couldn’t organize his thoughts to decide what to do next.
But he was the only one of them who did know; or at least he had more knowledge than the rest. They needed him to be the leader now. Jill suppressed feelings of anger that she told herself were irrational. She squatted down next to Parker.
We have to decide what we are going to do, she said.
Take an inventory. List our assets. What we need, what we don´t need.
Parker didn’t look at her. He could have been talking to some other unseen person, or dreaming. His voice held no expression.
That sounds reasonable. Then what?
Must be sure to use our skills, he spoke at the dust. Most people who don’t make it. They don’t use the training they have, even if they know what to do. Morale. Simple things. Preparation.
That’s what I’m talking to you about, Jill urged him gently. But what should we prepare to do? Do we stay or do we go? That’s the most important question just now.
Better to stay with the vehicle: people come looking, Parker said. But if no-one comes, you die. If no-one knows we are gone or where we might be. Then you have to move. Could be better to stay here, or to go.
The old people are going to struggle if we move on.
Parker finally looked at her and then cast his eyes over to where the Johnsons, shrunken and hunched, were huddled against the side of the truck as if they were suffering in cold weather, though the sun had already taken any chill out of the night air. Parker looked back at Jill.
I don’t think you should expect that everyone will come out of this, whether we stay or go, he said. Probably they die either way.
***
Jill looked around her. Most of the others were still stumbling about in the bush, continuing the futile search, she supposed. The items that Bloom had discarded from the emergency pack and the other items that he´d tossed out of the ransacked trailer lay scattered across the ground in front of her. Among them Jill saw a simple whistle. She picked it up and wiped sand from it then blew three short blasts, waving one arm above her head to signal that they should come together.
We need to move together and with some idea of a plan, she said, when everyone had gathered. Andrew is the expert and he has some ideas, but there´s a choice we all need to make. In the end we either stay here or start walking. For now let’s assume that no-one knows where we are and no-one will come looking for us; so we should get ready to move out.
She paused to let that sink in. It needed a moment even though she supposed they had all been thinking about the same thing.
We start by checking what we have left. She could have said, what Bloom left behind, but she was reluctant to speak that name. Water most important; anything else that we can drink; food; something to burn; clothing or bedding; medicines if we have any. And anything that might tell us where we are or help to make contact with someone.
Everyone get your own pack out of the trailer and take out all your stuff like Andrew has done. Get rid of anything we won’t absolutely need. Mr. Johnson; you see that tent bag over there? Do you think you and your wife could put the tent up and then we’ll use it to store any of the personal stuff that we would leave behind? Emma and George, you’re in charge of scavenging whatever you can find that might be useful in the truck. Check everywhere: it’s important. Simon; can you and Andrew finish the grave for Mr. Kriegman? I’m sorry but someone has to do it.
Simon nodded. All of them started the tasks they had been allotted; moving slowly, dumbly at first, but perhaps relieved to have a purpose again. Jill moved between them, helping the Johnsons with the flexible poles that clumsily sprung apart as they tried to thread them into the tent frame, or suggesting possible items that George and Emma might have overlooked. She was worried about Emma. The girl was crying; silently but steadily. Every so often she’d stop what she was doing and cover her face with her hands. George was the best person to be with her, but there wasn’t much he could do apart from putting a hand on her shoulder now and then or holding her when she started to sob.
Simon had looked for a spot where the sandy ground wouldn’t fill in any hole as fast as he and Andrew Parker could dig it; but it wasn’t easy and there was more digging needed than he would have imagined. He didn’t complain; but when Jill stopped him for a moment, she saw the blisters forming on hands that weren’t used to manual work. Beside him, Andrew Parker kept shoveling, mechanical and steady; more comfortable when he didn’t have to think. The grave wasn’t nearly as deep as it should have been, knowing what they did about the animals, but the men were using up too much energy and they were all losing time.
That will have to do, she told them.
Everyone gathered round as the two men moved Kriegman’s body across to the hole, still lying on the camp mattress. There should have been some sort of ceremony, but the clumsiness and physical difficulty of it all took away the solemnity and made the grim task just another hard chore.
Jill had imagined they would lower the body on the mattress into the grave, but that wasn’t possible: the hole wasn’t deep enough and the body was too hard to manage. When they got too close to the side of the hole, sand started to cave in at the sides. In the end they had to roll the body off the mat and into the grave, but then they realized that since Kriegman was not lying flat and the limbs were so stiff, either a leg or arm would be sticking up too much. Simon tried to twist the body around, but short of getting into the grave himself, it was next to impossible to improve things.
Jill called a halt: they’d done the best they could and now it was time to think about the living. Someone ought to say a few words, but no-one had any. She thought for a moment and then walked back to the truck, returning with the camera she had left there the
day before. She photographed the grave looking down at Kriegman; and then again from further off with the truck in the background. She knew that now she would have to keep the camera with her.
So that someone will be able to find the place, she explained. In case we don’t make it, she thought to herself.
Simon and Andrew began shoveling earth back over the dead man and the rest of them walked back to the truck.
The Johnsons had finally managed to erect a tent. Most of the belongings that were now spread out on a plastic sheet in front it seemed completely useless and pathetic in their current situation, although a day earlier they’d all have considered life impossible without them. The extra clothes and most of the toiletries were easy. They needed to be able to keep warm in the night, but after a few hours walking in the day they would stink and changing one t-shirt for another wouldn’t make much difference. There was no compass and the only map they found was a large scale road atlas with more empty spaces than roads. It might have been more useful if they´d been able to agree just where they were right now.
They had more left to drink than Jill had feared, although she knew that what they had would be used up soon enough: some bottled water; cartons of fruit juice; a half filled jerry can that Bloom had missed; a few warm beers and a half bottle of whisky. Jill wasn’t sure about the alcohol as she thought that maybe it caused dehydration, but they would keep it for now.
There was plenty of food. It was just a question of deciding how much they could carry and what would be the easiest to prepare. The firewood would be their heaviest load. The trailer was well supplied with spars of timber and they must have fire. They could split the wood between each pack; but how many spars; and what might they expect to pick up along the way?
Andrew Parker had checked the engine of the truck and confirmed that it was useless. It would have been stupid only to rely on what Bloom told them about it, but no one was surprised by the news.
Simon had sorted through the camping gear, assuming that they would need to take at least one of the tents. He showed Jill how he thought he could sling the carrying straps of the bag over his shoulders to improvise a backpack. Jill could see right away that it wasn’t going to work: the tents were strong, sturdy and durable: perfect if you could carry them on a truck but impossibly heavy if you were walking. Each of them would have to carry a heavy enough pack as it was.
She looked around and noticed the canopy of the Land Cruiser: it was made of tough nylon with reinforced eyelets all round where bungee cord was used to attach it to the frame.
We could all fit under that, she pointed. If we take some of the pegs and poles out of a tent bag we can secure it and make a space underneath.
Do you want us to take it down now? Simon asked her. It means there’ll be no shade left in the truck. That’s okay if we really are leaving, I suppose.
Even if we were to stay here, it’s too hot to be in the truck in the daytime, with all that metal soaking up the sun. Maybe we could unbolt the frame and rip some of the seats out to make a shelter on the ground. I don’t know.
Jill noticed that Andrew Parker had shuffled to the front of the vehicle and seemed to be trying to twist one of the wing mirrors of its mounting.
What are you doing Andrew? She asked.
We need to be able to signal. In case there’s someone in the distance; or an aeroplane. Reflected sunlight.
Good thinking, Jill nodded.
She went to help him, but realized that the wing mirrors were solidly attached. It was easier for her to step inside the cab and tap the dash mirror out of its plastic ball joint. The glass cracked a little but didn’t splinter. Jill thought that in a day or two none of them would mind if they couldn’t see their own reflections clearly.
See, that’s good, she told the others, holding up the mirror. We all have to use our brains and work together.
Does that mean we are leaving the truck and starting to walk? Emma asked.
That’s what we still have to decide, Jill replied.
We should put it to the vote, George suggested
My vote is that we should stay here and wait for help. We can hold out for days, I guess, Mr. Johnson had started to recover from his stupor.
It’s would be stupid to have a vote, Simon objected. Andrew should decide. He knows more about the conditions out here than the rest of us and he’s obviously read a lot about survival. We need a leader here: we all have to do the same thing and it doesn’t help if we start off by disagreeing with each other.
Jill was inclined to think the same way, if only Andrew would say something, but George had a different view.
Maybe we should vote even so, he said. Perhaps in a situation like this there’s no right or wrong and you just have to choose one way or the other like flipping a coin. Then it’s best that everybody has a say. Not fair to Andrew to ask him to make a choice like that for us.
Andrew, Jill said sharply. Tell us something.
Andrew Parker stood up and began to pace; without knowing that he was doing it. He started to rub his spiky red hair and sunburned cheeks with a fist that seemed too small for his heavy arms. His face was a study of indecision.
I don’t know, he spoke aloud, but as if to himself only. What should we do? They say stay where you are if you can, but. Wait, I just remembered something: a way of signaling.
Without saying anything more, he seemed to have reached some kind of decision. He walked quickly to the back of the stricken Land Cruiser and picked up one of the fuel cans that Bloom had emptied into the sand. Shaking it to check that there was still some diesel inside; he pulled a lighter from his pocket.
Careful, Jill shouted. There’s gas poured out all over the ground around you.
Everyone else stayed back.
It’s all evaporated by now, Parker laughed.
He splashed a little of the diesel over the spare tyre that was bolted to the right rear side of the truck; and held a flame to it. The flame didn’t take immediately. When it did there was a short whoosh and then it seemed to die; but something still was flickering and then they started to smell the burning of rubber and see dark smoke rising from the side of the truck.
You see, Andrew Parker smiled. The smoke will be visible for miles and anyone who sees knows what it means.
In no time there was a dense dark plume pouring upwards off the spare wheel as the tyre started to burn properly. You could imagine the heat even from where the others were standing. The smell was disgusting. But Andrew Parker didn’t seem to mind. He stayed close to the truck, his face blackening in the smoke. He took a childish delight in the blaze, as if he had discovered in the smoke the answer to all their problems.
Jill worried that he wasn’t thinking straight. Surely it would have been better to take the wheel off the truck first. What if the heat set the rest of the vehicle on fire? What if the fuel tank had been punctured in the crash?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang. When she looked again, there was still some smoke but the blazing tyre was extinguished. In fact there was no tyre anymore: all that remained of it were strips of charred rubber hanging off steel wires still attached to the rim. Parker had forgotten to deflate the tyre before he tried to make a beacon of it and the air inside had first expanded in the heat and then blown the tyre apart.
There didn’t seem to be any damage other than to the tyre and Parker himself. He was lying on the ground groaning. Some blood was coming down the side of his face, but the bleeding didn’t look serious. He didn’t seem to have enough awareness of where he was to be able to stand up just at that moment. Some of the others rushed forward to help him.
Alright, Jill said. Somebody else has to decide then, so this is what we do. If no-one comes to answer that signal in one hour, it means there was no-one to see it. Then we start to make our own way out. There’s a lot to be got ready in that time so let’s patch up Andrew and set to work.
***
The Fat Man looked at Smit
h with distaste that he hardly bothered to hide. We seldom love the instruments of our misdeeds, he told himself. He´d sat through most of the tedious, self-serving account that Smith had to give of what had gone wrong on that last job with Green. It was clear that one Green was worth three of Smith, but that wasn´t the point. He´d really only needed to hear enough from Smith to be sure that there was still bad blood between them. Now it was time to cut the young fool short.
Green has become old, he told Smith. He was a good man once. There was a time when I almost trusted him.
And these days I don´t trust anyone, he might have added.
It´s his own fault that he didn´t retire when he had the chance then, Smith replied. This is a young man´s game.
So you have already advised me.
The Fat Man broke off for a moment to check on some figures that had flashed up on his laptop. He was sprawled in his customary position. His office looked the same as always.
I happen to agree with you, he told Smith. And I do understand your feelings about Mr. Green, but right now I have a more pressing difficulty and I need to be sure that I can count on you. Mr. Green is in Africa right now, trying to locate a rather large sum of money for me. After he took on this job, I looked into my heart; and I find that I do not trust Mr. Stephen Green with my money. I fear that he may get his hands on it and then tell me it was nowhere to be found. It was another of his breed who caused me this difficulty in the first place. The money itself is not the most important thing you understand. This is a question of trust.
Even Smith knew enough about the Fat Man and how he felt about his money to find this last comment amusing, but he kept his reaction hidden. Smith knew that he must maintain concentration on what the Fat Man was saying: and not only what he was saying, but what he meant by it. The Fat Man didn´t always come out with what he intended to tell you, but Smith had the distinct impression that he was being offered a big opportunity.
No one laughs at me; the Fat Man continued in a more direct tone. Green is away chasing this money. He has a number that he will call to leave a message when he knows whether his mission has been successful. The message will sound quite innocent but the meaning will be clear to us. If it has not been successful and I judge that Green has not been entirely honest with me, I want you to be there and ready to move on my instruction. Do you think that you could do that?
the Disappearance of Jonathan Bloom Page 11