The Dead of Night (16 page)

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"Why'd I know you were going to say that?"

"Well are you?"'

"I don't know." Then, trying for that mental toughness Homer talked about sometimes, I said, "Yes, I am. Just give me a sec."

I took about three, then said "OK, help me up." I stood but I was a bit wobbly. It wasn't so much the knee, just that I'd given myself a shock when I fell.

"Take it easy," Homer said.

"How can I? Let's go."

We ran and limped for twenty paces, then stopped again, abruptly. This time it was the sound of gunfire that brought us to a halt. It was some distance away,
but there was the frightening yammering of machine guns, and in the background the dull thuds of shotguns. Homer and I stared at each other wildly. I wondered if he and I and Chris would end up living together in Hell for the rest of our lives. It seemed horrible, gruesome. What if none of us got back and Chris was left there on his own forever? Neither of us seemed able to think of anything to say. I could see Homer's mouth trembling as he tried to come up with some brilliant suggestion. I opened my own mouth, not sure what would come out.

"Let's go to the tree?"

"The tree? What tree?"

"The tree we came down the cliff on, from Hell. Our ladder."

"Can you find it?"

"Yes, if we just go up to the cliffs and work our way around. That's where they'll go, surely."

"OK."

We knew there was nothing we could do at the campsite now that the soldiers were there. We had no weapons. Bare hands don't stop bullets.

We hurried on. I was still leading, travelling fairly well. I figured if I kept the knee hot it mightn't be too bad, and although it gave me the occasional sharp sudden pain, it was bearable. We kept going uphill, gaining ground all the time, to pass well above the campsite and strike the cliffs. There were still occasional bursts of gunfire, punctuated, now that we were closer to the camp, by screams and hoarse shouts. I had no trouble keeping my knee hot; I was hot all over and sweating frantically. We were back in dense trees and running soon became impossible, but I ploughed on.
The combination of dark, tiredness, panic, and thick bush made every metre a misery. I was hitting things, crying out in pain and frustration, banging my knee again and again. I got to a point where I came to another fallen tree and couldn't get over it—I had no energy left—and I just stood there making stupid little crying noises like a three-year-old.

"Come on," Homer said, stumbling up behind me and giving me a prod in the back, not very sympathetically. I think he was too tired himself to be sympathetic.

I came on and climbed over the log, which wasn't even a big one, and kept going.

It was another half-hour before we hit the cliffs. I'd got to the point where I was convinced that we'd missed them, even though that was geographically impossible. But I hadn't realised how slowly we'd been travelling. I greeted the cliff like an old friend, leaning against it for a moment, feeling the cool stone on my cheek. Then I slowly, wearily, stood again, like an old lady, and pushed on. It was hard going still, as in a lot of places the trees grew right to the face of the cliff. But at least we knew we were on track for a definite target; the knowledge gave us some sense of purpose, even though there mightn't be anyone at the end of the journey.

At about I am we came to the old white tree, gleaming like a ghost in the thin moonlight. There was no one there. I sat on one side of it, leaning against it; Homer sat on the other side. We didn't say a word, just waited.

There was a hint of light in the eastern sky. Or was it my imagination? I'd looked for dawn so many times already, but with no satisfaction. Homer was asleep on my left, mouth open, snoring slightly. My eyes felt heavy and dull; as though they would look glazed and opaque to anyone staring into them. Luckily no one was staring into them. I looked around listlessly. A faint breeze tickled the leaves of the trees, made them move and whisper and play around. In the bush ahead of me a branch cracked and fell. It sounded surprisingly loud, though I didn't hear it hit the ground. A large bird, a white owl I think, flapped across the top of the cliff.

Then came the unmistakable sound of human footsteps. Only a cow sounds as heavy and purposeful as a human, and there wouldn't be cows in this dense bush. I felt sick with fear and hope. I grabbed Homer by the shoulder. As he stirred into life, I leant over further and clamped my hand on his mouth. He gurgled a bit, then, as I could tell by the sudden tenseness of his body, he woke.

We both sat there waiting, paralysed. We couldn't move without making a lot of noise. And the footsteps kept coming. They were accelerating. I stood, crouching, to be ready. I could see a figure weaving through
the trees. It was Fi. I held out my arms but she didn't even look at me. "They're following me," she said.

There was a horrible sick pause, then Homer asked quickly, "How many?"

"I don't know. It might only be one. I'm sorry."

We turned our ears back to the bush and immediately heard the footsteps, lighter than Fi's, less certain, less purposeful.

"I'm sorry," said Fi again. "I've been trying for ages."

Her voice sounded thick and dead, with no emotion. She was all in. I squeezed her arm, quickly. Homer had picked up a hunk of wood. I wished now that he had his sawn-off shotgun. I looked around for a weapon. There weren't a lot of choices. I got a rock, about the size of a baseball, and gave it to Fi, but I don't think she registered what it was for. She just held it loosely, without lifting her arm. I got myself a rock too. None of us was sure what to do; we were just acting instinctively, but instinctively we looked for weapons. We could have scattered and run, but with the cliff behind us and thick bush in front, there weren't many options. And one look at Fi made it clear we'd have to stand and fight. She was leaning against the tree, the one we would be using as our ladder back up to Hell. Fi's head was down, but she kept holding the rock. As I glanced at her she suddenly retched and vomited. The sound attracted her pursuer: I heard the footsteps accelerate a little. Whoever it was came straight at us now, with more confidence. I looked for Homer but he had vanished, though I could guess which tree he was behind. I ducked behind another one. I saw the shadowy figure of a soldier slipping between the trees, just ten metres
from me. Only one soldier; I couldn't see or hear any others. He had seen Fi and was going straight for her. His rifle was over his shoulder still. It must have been obvious that Fi wasn't going to give him a fight. And I think he had more on his mind than just capturing her. He moved in quickly, like a fox on a lambing ewe. He wasn't a big man; a boy really, probably about our age, and with Chris's slim build. He was hatless and dressed in light uniform, summer gear rather than autumn or winter. He didn't seem to have anything with him but his rifle. As he went eagerly towards Fi, I came out from my tree and followed him. I felt full of wild terror and still didn't know what I was going to do; couldn't believe what I was going to do. I was gripping my rock but I noticed that Fi's had fallen to the ground. The man was only ten steps from Fi. I was right behind him, but I couldn't bring myself to act. It was as though I was waiting for something to trigger me off, something to force me to do more than follow him helplessly.

Then he provided the trigger himself. He must have heard me because he suddenly started swinging round, raising his hand as he did so. I saw his eyes starting to widen with terror, and I felt my eves reflect his. I raised my arm and, as though in a dream, began to bring it down on his head. I had a strange quick memory flash: a horror story I'd been told, about how a murder victim retains the image of his murderer on his retina. To look into a corpse's eyes was like looking at a photo of its killer. I was bringing my arm down, thinking about that, then realised I wasn't hitting with enough force and at the last moment struck harder. The soldier got his arm up enough to deflect and soften the blow, but the rock
still hit him pretty hard on the side of the head. My arm jarred badly, but luckily I didn't drop the rock. The man took a swing at me and I ducked, but got a stinging smack on the side of the head, which made me go a bit numb. I saw his dark sweaty face. His eyes looked half closed and I wasn't sure why, but I thought maybe I'd hurt him more than I'd realised. I poked at his face with the hand holding the rock, but he pushed my hand away. Then there was a rush of feet behind him. For the second or so that we'd been fighting I'd completely forgotten about Homer, amazingly. The man swung around fast and swerved his head away. Homer was taking an almighty swing at him with his branch but missed his head and got him on the shoulder instead. The man staggered at the knees and lost his balance. At that moment I lifted the rock with both hands and brought it down on his head, hard. There was a terrible dull thud, like hitting a tree with the back of an axe. The man's eyes rolled up in his head, and with a funny little snoring noise he dropped to the ground as though praying: kneeling, with his head bowed. Then he fell to the ground, sideways, and lay there.

I gazed at him, horrified, for a moment, before throwing the rock away as though it were contaminated. I ran to Fi and grabbed her by the shoulders. I don't know what I wanted from her, but I didn't get it. She just stared into my eyes like she couldn't remember who I was. Then I realised the man could wake up again at any moment. I shook my head hard, to try to get some sense back into it, and went back to him! Homer had his back turned and his face pressed into a tree,
having his own private meeting with the devil. I bent over the soldier, not knowing whether to hope he was dead or hope he was alive. He was alive, breathing very slowly, with deep shuddering groans. There was a long pause between each breath. He sounded terrible. I realised then that it would have been better for us if he was dead, though I was shocked at myself for thinking that. I pulled his rifle off him and threw it a few metres away.

Almost immediately I heard another lot of footsteps coming through the trees, quite brisk and sure. I slid across the ground and grabbed the rifle again, trying to cock it, but it was an automatic one, too complicated to work out. I held it up desperately, as though pointing it at someone would magically protect me. But it was Robyn who was walking towards me, looking as calm as ever—until she saw the weapon.

"Ellie! Don't shoot me!"

I lowered it.

"Where'd you get that thing?"

"Over there," I said, pointing, getting the shakes a bit, but putting the rifle down carefully. Robyn seemed so controlled, and I felt like I was on the brink of completely losing control.

Robyn lost her smile suddenly; she ran to the soldier and knelt beside him.

"What happened? Did you shoot him?"

"Hit him. With a rock. And a branch."

"God, I think he's pretty bad."

"He has to die, Robyn," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "If he doesn't, he'll get his friends and
they'll come looking for us. And the first thing they'll do is to climb that tree. They could track us right home, into Hell."

She didn't answer, but left the soldier and went to Fi.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Fi stared at her too for a moment, as she had at me. Then she nodded. I was relieved that she was at least functioning that much again.

"Has anyone seen Lee?"

"No," Fi said.

I explained how Homer and I had gone back to the firebreak but hadn't spent time searching the bush for him.

"I'm rapt to find you," Robyn said. "It was just a sudden brainwave to come here. If you hadn't been here ... I don't know what I would have done. I didn't have any other ideas." She paused for a few seconds, as if thinking of something. Then she took charge.

"Come on guys," she said. "You can have your nervous breakdowns later. Like I'm going to have mine, for calling out at the men on the road. But you can't have them now. I'm not being funny about this. We simply have to keep ourselves together, if we're going to make it."

"What happened back at the camp?" I asked.

As Robyn was talking we'd gradually moved in together, into a huddle around the unconscious young soldier, who was still lying on the ground, breathing his slow breaths.

"It was a disaster," she said. "Fi and I just didn't get there in time. We'd been lost for nearly an hour. Then we saw them at last, through the trees. We were so
close to it. We could actually see the tents. I still can't believe how it happened. Then this firing suddenly started all around us. It was so loud, like standing in the middle of a whole lot of construction workers with jack-hammers. A soldier stood up right in front of us and started firing. We could have taken one step forward and touched him. It's a miracle he didn't hear us, hey Fi?" Fi just nodded, dumbly. Robyn was trying to humour her into talking again but I think she was too physically exhausted, if nothing else.

"Well," Robyn went on, staring at her boots, "what can I say? It was horrible, disgusting. Some of the bullets and shells they used were like fireworks; they glowed, they were so bright. And then they chucked in a flare or something. The people ... they were running in different directions. They didn't know which way to go. It was a massacre. I was backing out fast so I didn't see much. At least it was so noisy that they couldn't hear me. Not just the gunfire, but the screams. I don't know how many people I've seen killed today." She blinked furiously. Her face seemed to crumble for a moment. Her lips twisted and she put her knuckle to her mouth, struggling to keep control, until gradually she was able to speak again. But all she said was, "Anyway, I tried to find Fi, and there was no sign of her." She looked at Fi, inviting her to take over. I think she wanted the spotlight off her for a few minutes.

"I just ran," Fi whispered. "I'm sorry Robyn. I lost my head and ran. After a while I realised someone was following me. I hoped it was you but it didn't sound like you. I called out but there was no answer. They kept coming, so I kept running. I tried to lead them away
from here and then lose them, but I couldn't. After a while I crawled under some blackberries and hid. I waited for hours, until finally I thought they must have gone. I hadn't heard them go but I thought no one could have just sat there waiting in the darkness for all that time. So I came crawling out again. And as soon as I did someone came running at me. I screamed and ran off. I just kept running around the bush. After a while I got so tired. Then I hit the cliffs again. I thought I'd better come here. I hoped there might be someone here. But I'm sorry. I made it so dangerous for you, doing that. I shouldn't have done that."