the Disappearance of Jonathan Bloom

by Martin Sowery

  The money was further up the road and not with these two walking corpses: that much was obvious.

  ***

  Julian Bowen’s mood was no better than Green’s. In fact he was so angry that it was difficult for him to think clearly.

  Just when it seemed that his plan was close to fruition; now everything was suddenly going wrong for him. He would have been speechless with rage if there’d been anyone to talk to. He’d done all the hard work and now right at the end of things, these bloody natives were causing him problems.

  There was blood in the truck from the hole he’d put in the head of the interfering park ranger, or policeman; whatever he was. The bullet must have passed through the open window: at any rate it had clearly gone right through the policeman’s skull and out at the other side. Julian couldn’t see a shell or bullet hole inside the cab. That was an impressive amount of force, even at such close range. The pistol must more powerful than it looked. At least now he knew that it worked and how to use it.

  But he had all sorts of new problem. The olive green vehicle had official markings that would stand out anywhere and he couldn’t afford to be seen driving it. Probably his base wouldn’t be alarmed at not hearing from the driver for a while, unless he had a wife somewhere to kick up a fuss. They might think that his radio was broken or that he was busy with private business. But even if no-one was looking for the truck they’d know there should be a ranger driving when they saw it. He couldn’t change clothes with the dead man to pose as an official because the uniform was soaked in blood; and anyway he didn’t suppose there were too many white faced rangers. All the guides and the rangers seemed to know each other, if what that idiot had been telling him was true. The truck and its driver would be familiar to almost anyone he might meet on this road.

  And when the truck was found, there’d be a search for a killer. Policeman didn’t usually shoot themselves in the head: or when they did, there was an empty whisky bottle and a note left behind. Julian had considered using the gun as a threat, forcing the man to climb into the boot where he could be tied up for later disposal, somewhere the animals would get rid of the evidence. But there was no boot in this vehicle and anyway that way of doing things seemed dangerously complicated unless you were a professional at this kind of business.

  Julian regarded himself more as a gifted amateur, but even with his sketchy knowledge of modern forensic investigation methods, he was quite certain that a skull that had been punctured by a bullet wound would be quite easy to distinguish from the other kind.

  All of this was postponing his disappearance still further; though he was far from feeling defeated. In the end, the plan would still be a success provided he could get clear of this area as soon as he’d made sure that all the people he’d left behind in the bush were now dead. But his sense of mastery was gone. Before he’d felt so confident and untouchable. This country had seemed like a place where everything was possible. He’d easily be able to execute his scheme and slip away without being noticed. Now he was starting to feel like a fugitive trapped in hostile territory. He didn’t belong here and he was conspicuous. For a few minutes he fought against the sensation that he had begun to lose control of the situation. His breathing was becoming too rapid and he felt dizzy.

  The biggest and most immediate problem was the vehicle. Unless he could make it magically disappear, the authorities would soon discover that a crime had been committed and an investigation would begin. If he was still in the area when that happened then it would become almost impossible for him to slip back into civilization unnoticed. Therefore it was essential that before things unravelled completely, he should be off the scene, in some place where he could remain anonymous; a place where he could rely on the extra false papers he’d brought with him until it was safe to leave the country with a new identity.

  His anger wouldn’t go away, and now it was seeking a cause. Before coming to Africa, Julian had never paused to consider whether he might be a bigot. People who got worked up about the colour of someone’s skin or how they talked were just wasting their own time in a comical way. Julian had always felt so comfortably superior to other people of all races that it didn’t occur to him to be prejudiced about one or other of them. But now he cursed all blacks and he cursed Africa and he cursed anyone else who had ever stood between him and all of the good things he needed or wanted and deserved.

  Julian knew well that if his plans and desires and all the rest of his comfortable world fell away, there would be nothing left of him apart from cold rage. But anger was pure, of this he was sure. It had been with him always, like the hidden truth of his nature; and it was something to believe in if everything else failed. But for now, still, there was time to save himself.

  With no driver to guide it, the patrol truck had coasted to a halt in the heavy sand of the trail. The double imprint of passing vehicles had left an impression so deep that the car had steered itself as if it had been on rails. Julian wouldn’t need to dig it out before it was useable; but from now on, he’d have to stay away from the roads, where there might be people. The next few hours would provide a crash course in off-road driving skills.

  That was alright though. No-one would challenge a ranger’s vehicle being away from the main route provided they didn’t have a clear view of who was driving it. And Julian had always been a fast learner.

  Before long, his habitual self-confidence started to reassert itself, as he considered his next moves. Blind rage subsided until it was no longer in control of him. he’d compacted the anger into a tiny compressed ball of fury that held just as much energy but could be contained for the moment. In a way he was even more dangerous while he remained in that state.

  He opened the driver’s side door and dragged the body out of the vehicle and over the rough ground for a few yards to a place in the trees where it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to anyone passing by. The track left by the body didn’t stand out much so far as he could see. It wasn’t worth wasting time in trying to hide the corpse properly. He found a cloth in the cab and used it to wipe the thickest of the blood off the inside of the door. Fortunately the seat didn’t feel wet. He would not have to sit on anything unpleasant. He walked back to the body and stuffed the used cloth into the open top of the ranger’s shirt. He resisted an urge to kick out at the body. The man was past hurting unfortunately and it would be a childish gesture. And now Julian was ready to leave.

  There was an automatic rifle in the cab that would be noisy but effective if he could get it to work. It seemed quite complicated and he imagined it would be easy to shoot your own feet or spray bullets across the sky if you didn’t know what you were doing. He’d need to practice first if he was going to rely on it. That would be a concern for the future perhaps. Right now he needed to concentrate on driving if he was going to reach Tsodilo without destroying this wretched vehicle.

  ***

  Of the ten people who’d set off together from Victoria Falls, Four were now left. They felt alone and helpless; worse, they felt like criminals who had abandoned the Johnson’s to their fate.

  The survivors didn’t seem to progress much quicker than they had with the old couple holding them back: they were too tired, too much aching in every joint, too despondent.

  Gradually, the landscape they were hiking through began to change, although they hardly noticed as they plodded on, heads down, with barely a word exchanged.

  The vegetation was becoming richer. There were bushes and trees growing in clumps where before there’d only been the lonely half-dead ghosts of trees, or acres of those dried-up, natural orchards of thin saplings, that grew spaced apart, not because they’d been planted but due to harsh realities of survival and what the poor ground could support.

  Where the trees could grow closer together, there were areas of grassland where the thick yellow straw grew taller than waist high and so dense that you couldn’t see into it. They started to see kudu and impala; at first here and there a solitary ani
mal, later on family groups. The animals were all but indifferent to them, as if they were gradually fading into the landscape. Soon there’d be no trace left of any of them.

  Jill tried to stay alert to the animals. She was watching for a water buck, or some other creature that would mean there were reeds and fresh water nearby, although she knew that this was a forlorn hope.

  The kudu and impala stayed near to the dense grasses from necessity. Antelope had to eat, but there were other animals around that needed to eat antelope and the grass provided perfect cover for them. It seemed strange that they had been seeking out those creatures just a few days earlier. Now Jill reminded Simon to keep them as far away from these areas so far as their route allowed.

  She didn’t see any trace of a spring; but where there was life there must be water. Their spirits should have been lifted by that thought. Instead what thoughts they had were with the old couple who they’d left behind with just a few bits and pieces, because as Mr. Johnson had pointed out, they couldn’t carry much. Every time they paused to leave a marker of piled stones or scratch a mark into a tree, Jill felt sick to her stomach.

  Eventually there was no more to think even about that. Jill fought to remind herself that this was depression; and it needed to be resisted as much as the other dangers they faced. When you were depressed, you became indifferent; and when you were indifferent you would miss things that were important; even the most obvious ones. She’d make herself take notice of her surroundings for a while and then later she’d come to and realize that she had slipped into the same mechanical gait as the rest of them; head bowed and mouth open.

  She awoke with a start. Simon had halted suddenly. He raised his arm as a signal for them to stop. Before they could ask why, Simon put one finger to his lips and pointed his other hand, without extending the arm. It was a gesture that they’d all used a thousand times when they were in the back of the Land Cruiser, seeking out good animal photographs while being careful not to disturb the subjects.

  The lions were resting in the shade under some bushes about thirty metres away from where they were standing, directly on the course that the group had been following. They would have marched right up to the predators if nobody had looked up. Jill could see four full grown females stretched out on the ground and some cubs moving about fitfully between them.

  The animals seemed completely at peace. Jill had been closer to lions, but from the safety of a truck. Supposedly, they couldn’t distinguish between a vehicle and its occupants and so they didn’t see passengers as food. Still, it had not felt safe. Even from the back of a truck you could not ignore the casual majesty of these creatures that gave the lie to their lazy appearance. Now they were just four humans, on foot, with no means of escape. They were looking at creatures that had the power of life and death over them.

  Logically, Jill knew that the lions would have eaten already that day and they might only be really dangerous if they should feel challenged or annoyed, for example by someone blundering in too close to their resting place. Unfortunately, she was not sure how much distance would count as not being too close. One thing she could be sure of: if they could see the lions, then the lions already knew they were there, even if the presence of humans seemed not to concern them for the moment.

  What do we do? Jill whispered.

  They all stood as still as they were able. No-one offered a reply. Emma was shaking so much it seemed that her teeth would start to chatter in a moment. Simon put his arm round her and held her to him. It was strange to see him do that so naturally, where before he’d seemed to shrink back from touching or being touched by anyone.

  Jill considered their options. They could retreat the way they had come and hope that the lions would not take this as a sign weakness. They could go onward, adjusting their course to take the widest possible arc around these bushes; or they could remain quietly where they were and wait for the lions to move on. There was a risk that any movement might arouse the curiosity and protectiveness of the mothers. On the other hand if they stayed put, the lions might doze for hours. The worst thing Jill could imagine would be to be trapped here at dusk when the lionesses rose to stretch and pad out into the grasslands to begin the night’s hunting.

  Head for the tree over there, she told the others. Walk slowly, not a sound.

  Words of caution were unnecessary. They could not actually walk on tiptoe over the rough ground, but they did their best. When they reached the tree Jill had indicated, they waited for a moment. Jill watched the shapes under the bushes intently, expecting to see a yawning tawny head raised to look at the strange smelling clumsy animal that might be good to eat. But still the lions seemed to have no interest in them. She allowed herself to breathe normally for a moment. Then she nodded to indicate a second tree and they made their way towards that one in silence.

  In this way they worked around the place where the lions were resting. It might have taken them fifteen minutes, but perception stretched those minutes out to hours. Even much later, when conscious thought told them that the predators were left far behind, they walked on with the sense that something must be following them still. They would never know until it was too late. And they had to contend with the knowledge that where there was one lion there would be others. At any moment they could stumble on another member of the pride; maybe even a lone male.

  It was better if they didn’t relax, Jill thought. Not paying attention could have killed them. The signs were clear enough. There was hyena dung all around; white with the calcium of crushed bones which was why other creatures ate it to supplement their diet. Where there were hyenas, there were always going to be other predators. They just couldn’t afford not to notice everything around them. It wasn’t only the animals. They might have stumbled past water or indications of a settlement.

  But at least their depression was lifted. It was strange that you could sink into an apathy so deep that it risked killing you and then discover in a moment that you were not really indifferent to what happened to you. Now they were living in the moment once more, not worrying about things that had already happened and couldn’t be changed. Holding on to that feeling might just give them a hope of survival even now when it seemed that they were close to the end of things.

  ***

  That night they built up a big fire and set aside plenty of dry wood to keep it going through the night. They agreed to take turns so that someone would be keeping watch throughout the hours of darkness. George took the first shift, but Jill found it impossible to rest, let alone sleep.

  She managed to lie still enough until she was sure that Simon and Emma had drifted off, but after that she crawled out of her bag and slipped her jacket and shoes on. She’d been fully dressed otherwise. Then she crept next to the fire to sit with George.

  George shifted a little to make room for her nearer the fire, but apart from that they were content to sit for a long time watching the flames without speaking or acknowledging each other’s presence. Eventually a whispered conversation of sorts began, with much space between the words. Neither of them wanted to talk about the events of the day or what they might do next day or anything else practical. Night time was their only respite from the stress of being constantly aware of their peril.

  After a while, George started to tell her something about his work: nothing about what he did there, but only where it was and what the people were like. He said that he was a financial controller for the company, making that sound like an admission of guilt.

  I knew it, Jill whispered. And I’m just a section head. You outrank me. You should be the one in charge.

  George laughed softly.

  It hardly makes a difference in this place. Believe me, you’d hardly call me a controller, whatever my job title says.

  He claimed that in his ordinary life, at work and home, he was afflicted by a compulsion for neatness. He couldn’t leave his desk if the pens were not arranged in an ordered way. And of course, he was the same about
numbers. It might be a good thing in terms of his work, but it was an exhausting and pointless condition. Sometimes he wondered if it might be connected with his being as he was.

  I don’t think you can blame excessive tidiness on being gay, Jill said. Half the accounts department at my place have exactly the same compulsions and they´re mostly straight so far as I know. It’s just a personality type that has nothing to do with whether you like men or women

  Maybe. In any case, my coming to this place was a break from that affliction. In Africa, there is order of a kind, but you can’t impose it. You just have to be open to your surroundings and go with the flow, so your business suit stays at home. Part of the reason I like coming here is it gives me a holiday from myself. It’s good for me.

  Jill couldn’t help but laugh.

  Are you sure about that right now – this is good for you?

  George joined in the laughter.

  Well. The stars are beautiful. The fire is warm. The conversation is good. Alright no, I’d rather be back at my desk just now with a long report to put together and an impossible deadline to meet. But at least I’m losing some weight. That’s good.

  They had all visibly lost weight. They hadn’t eaten properly for days and they’d stopped feeling hungry long ago. It was one thing to say that the body could survive a long time without food, but fasting had its effects. They had adjusted to a survival mode. It was like living in a wooden house where you had to keep the fire burning to stay alive. You smash up the furniture and rip up the floors to keep the blaze alight. Save the important stuff for last, but eventually there’ll be nothing else left. Fat was the first to go. After that the body started to burn up muscle and anything else it could live without. Meanwhile the level of energy they had available was going down all the time. Their thoughts and actions became sluggish without any blood sugars to fuel the mind or body. Only the slow breakdown of fats and proteins kept them going, as their bodies gradually consumed themselves.