Emma continued her efforts to give Parker water, but it was next to impossible to get him to swallow. What he needed was to be put on a drip, but who could say where the nearest medical facility might be?
He’s not going to make it, is he? George asked Jill a few hours later, when they were alone for a moment.
We’ll keep doing what we can for him, she replied. That’s as much as we can ask of ourselves.
When the sunset was past and the earth became colder and darker, Parker started to shake again. They did their best to keep him warm, piling the spare clothing on him, but then he would start to struggle as if he was too hot.
They suffered through a long night; and in the morning Andrew Parker was gone.
They had all felt so upset when Michael and Kriegman had died; and burying the guide had been so traumatic; that now they felt guilty about their own lack of emotion. They were numb; and it wasn’t anything to do with what they thought of Parker. Something inside them had changed and they understood that the conditions of their own lives were now very different to that earlier time.
No-one said much. Simon and George took turns with the spade to excavate a hole that was deep enough to be decent. They lowered the body into it without ceremony and began shovelling the earth back almost without pause. Andrew’s remaining water was shared out between the rest of them and Jill went through his pack to recover and redistribute what they could usefully take. She took the chance to get rid of some of the surplus that they had all been carrying. The remaining contents and the pack itself were left on the grave, without much hope that they’d be left undisturbed for long. Jill photographed the grave and the location from different angles so that it might be possible for someone to find the place later on.
Then it was time to move on. They had filled their water containers and they’d had some rest, but still they were getting weaker not stronger with every day that passed. This was not a place where they could stay. They were still involved in a race against time to reach safety before their reserves were exhausted.
Mr. Johnson asked to speak privately to Jill for a moment.
You don’t need to ask permission to talk to me sir, she protested.
This is important and serious; and you probably won’t like what I’m going to say.
Jill waited.
Me and the missus can’t go on any more, he told her.
We stay together. No one left behind. That’s not even an argument, Jill insisted.
You’re not thinking clearly when you say that, he told her. Let me explain it to you.
Johnson said that his wife’s heart murmur was getting worse. If they tried to keep pace with the others, her heart wouldn’t take the strain and she’d die.
We’ve been together almost ten years, he said.
I thought it would have been longer.
We were both involved with other people before: but these ten years have been the best for me; old as I am. I’m not leaving the woman behind.
Johnson explained that he didn’t plan on sitting on the ground to wait for the end. The two of them would keep going, following the rest at their own pace. They couldn’t travel quickly but they didn’t use up so much of everything as the young folk either. He’d be obliged if they’d mark the way from time to time with a pile of stones or some such, particularly if they came to a place again where there was water.
He had it all worked out and there wasn’t anything anyone could say to persuade him it was wrong. In the end they couldn’t stay around arguing. The truth was that even before he’d spoken, Jill had been fighting to suppress the thought that the rest of them would never be able to walk out from here while the old people were holding them back. Mr. Johnson coming out and saying what she had been thinking made her feel as wretched and guilty as if she had been planning to abandon the couple to their fate.
We can leave markers easily enough, Simon said to her later; but do you think there’s any point, really?
I think they’ve asked us to keep leaving a trail just to make it easier for us, Jill replied.
Chapter fourteen - Day Thirteen
Julian had been hiking for four days; one day longer than he’d allowed. He’d become bored with walking and the delay made him irritable. Nevertheless, tedium was the only thing that clouded his satisfaction. Once again he’d proved to himself how much cleverer he was than the rest of the world and everything he had planned was working out beautifully.
But it was more difficult to travel alone on foot in this country than he had imagined. There had been moments when a lesser man might have doubted himself, panicked even. Apart from the heat and the unchanging landscape; and the need to keep track of your water, the animals were his main concern. He’d never liked animals much, he realized now: couldn’t see the point of keeping a pet, for example. And the animals were always there, even when you couldn’t see them. They weren’t very much afraid of a lone hiker and they were bolder still once the sun went down. Julian had been careful to keep a fire burning through the night, but he didn’t want to risk a blaze that might be visible for miles. The last thing he wanted to do was to be rescued in a location that would help the emergency services find the others, even though he was sure they’d already be dead by now. This crossing had been difficult enough for him and he had water and a map.
But he was being careful about that too; that was why he’d decided to swing round and approach Tsodilo from the north. There’d be more risk of meeting people as he came closer to the hills and if necessary he’d direct rescuers north, away from Kriegman’s truck. Afterwards, no one would blame a lucky survivor for being confused about direction. It would just be one more twist in a tragic series of events. In any case that was a worst case scenario and he had no intention of being rescued by anyone. He would make his own way out of this place and everyone would think that Jonathan Bloom had perished with the rest of them.
That thought cheered him, but still the extra miles of walking and the time it was taking were a fag. He drank some more water. It was warm and disgusting but that hardly bothered him. At least now he could see the hills clearly; rising from the plain, more like the hunched backs of three gigantic living creatures than mountains of stone. There were no foothills, just these ancient enduring cores of extinct volcanoes that time and weather had stripped bare. The hills were impossible to miss and he would reach them in a few hours time. On the far side he would find a visitor centre and a campsite and maybe some people who would be surprised to see him if he didn’t have a good explanation ready.
Julian didn’t worry too much about that just now. He had always believed that it was a mistake to think too far ahead. He knew that he would come in from the high ground, without being seen. That way he could study the camp for a while before deciding his next move. The map suggested that the road leading away from the site was not so difficult to drive and he’d noticed that no one in this country worried too much about security. If he could steal a car without being seen, he reckoned that no one would think to blame a missing white man for the theft. Once he saw the lie of the land, he was confident he’d know what to do.
Then it was late afternoon and Julian was looking down from the heights as the air cooled and evening approached. He was keeping out of sight, using the binoculars. Earlier on there’d been a party of tourists out walking on the hill, led by a guide, but they hadn’t approached anywhere near his place. Now they and the converted lorry they’d arrived in were gone. There’d been a couple of private vehicles too; camper conversions of all-wheel drive pickups that looked like they were on hire from somewhere. In any case, all of them had moved out in time to be somewhere else by dusk.
Julian guessed that the visitor centre was closed and that there wasn’t anyone around other than the chickens and stringy dogs that lived here: maybe some natives that he didn’t count. Apart from one old beaten up truck and a couple of black Africans who seemed to be the owners of it. He’d been watching them for some time.
r /> The men were working on a traditional style building that Julian supposed had only been put up here for the tourists. It was one of those simple circular structures about five metres across, with walls that he remembered were made of rushes and termite mud. The roof was a wooden frame on which the men were replacing the grass thatch, carefully layering the new grass and cutting it to make a thick cover over the frame. It was slow work and Julian watched their progress with mild interest as he allowed his mind to develop a thought.
The vehicle looked in poor condition. On the other hand it must be serviceable enough for the men to use it in their business. Probably it was one of those ruined old vehicles that only the owner can make function. But he could show himself to these people, he thought. They wouldn’t question his story and there was no reason to suppose that anyone would ever ask them about a stranger who’d needed a lift one day and paid them well for their help.
Self-confidence persuaded Julian that he would be safe. When he judged that the men must be approaching the end of their working day and he was fully satisfied that there was nobody else around just then, nor likely to be; he decided it was time to make his appearance. They would be simple people, he supposed, used to doing as they were told.
The two men were surprised to see him of course. Probably he was a ragged sight, but still he could carry himself and address them as a superior person of undoubted authority. The manner had served him well in his adventures in merchant banking and life in general and he saw no reason to doubt its effectiveness here.
The appearance of the workers was not much better than his own; they were dressed in stained jeans and t-shirts. One of them, the skinny one with very black skin, was much younger than the heavy one who was clearly the boss. Julian spoke only to the older man.
My car broke down out there; he waved as vaguely as he could. It’s a hire car. I don’t know anything about motors, but I need to get to Maun this evening.
The older man looked at him cautiously and Julian thought that maybe his English was not very good.
Walked a long way, the man suggested finally. Roof is finished, come inside. We can talk about it. Take weight off your feet.
Julian followed him into the hut. Inside there was only beaten earth to sit on. Julian slipped his pack off and squatted down. The younger man stayed in the doorway, as if waiting in case he was needed to do anything.
I’ll make it simple, Julian told the other: he was resisting a rising impatience. I’m in a hurry. I suppose you’ve got food. Have your boy here get me something to eat and drink. Then you drive me to Maun. Some poolas for you and no more questions.
His host looked doubtful. The two blacks exchanged glances that seemed to signify some sort of understanding; who could say what expressions meant with these people. Finally the old man nodded and the younger one stepped inside to take Julian’s pack. The empty water containers and the dusty sleeping bag strapped to it made the burden unwieldy. Julian realized that he should have got rid of anything that might suggest that he was anything other than a casual stranded motorist. Well, he could do that later on: these two didn’t really count as contact.
Asics puts your bag in the bus and bring something to eat while you tell me the story, the older man told him, smiling. His name is Asics, I’m Levi. Pleased to meet you.
He offered a large calloused hand and Julian shook it.
***
The dinner was revolting, so far as Julian was concerned, but then he didn’t normally eat meals that didn’t contain meat. He was hungrier than he’d realized and in the end the other two simply sat back and watched Julian consume the food. He’d not told the older man much and the younger had been busy outside with cooking and tidying away the last of the working tools. Time was passing and already outside there was more light from the cooking fire than from the sun.
We are heading towards Maun, Levi conceded finally. But it is too late to travel back to my village now. Tonight we stay here. We have our blankets on the truck and you have your sleeping bag.
He gestured to the pack that Asics had brought back into the hut when he delivered the food.
That’s no good. I have places to be.
It’s dangerous travelling in the night.
I offered to pay you.
Again the pause and the exchanged glances between the two blacks.
No need to pay. We are going in that direction and you have problem. But tomorrow.
I see.
Julian reached over and tugged the backpack towards him. He opened the top and rummaged in the contents for a moment. The zippered leather bag came easily into his hand. There was still enough light inside for Levi to see the little pistol that Julian’s hand was holding when it came out of the bag.
I think you should reconsider your position, Julian told him.
It is still too dangerous to drive on these roads at night.
That was the first time that Asics, had spoken. His English was very precise and clear; much better than the older man’s. But in any case, they clearly needed some encouragement. Julian transferred his attention to Asics
Can Levi drive the truck? He asked, just to be sure.
Asics nodded.
Unlucky for you then.
Julian pointed the Glock at Asics and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Julian tried again. Still nothing. Asics reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the clip from the pistol, which he showed to Julian.
It needs this, he said. Also you had a bullet in the chamber, which is very dangerous, so I took it out for you.
Julian looked at Levi.
Asics is the boss here , Levi told him. Me and the other men work for him.
Asics put the gun back in the backpack and closed the top of the pack. He put the clip back in his pocket.
Sorry to go through your things man, he told Julian. But you didn’t look right to me. You keep your little gun. It’s no use here. In my house in the village I have a real gun; a rifle in case the lions come. But you are no lion. The road for Maun is that way. You should go now but don’t leave it too late to camp; and don’t come back here to bother us.
Later on, after he’d been walking for a while, Julian checked that Asics hadn’t found the spare clip that he’d transferred to his toiletries bag some time before. It was still there. Julian was burning with so much rage that he wanted to march back up the track as soon as the brief twilight was over to make an end of both of the blacks with the pistol. They were just village clowns and they could ruin everything. But something made him hold back and he didn’t even know what it was.
Julian wasn’t confident about the gun. He didn’t know anything about weapons and he’d never fired this one. But one thing he was sure of as he looked for a safe place to rest for the night. He would remember the self satisfied look on the face of the black kid who sent him on his way and one way or another he would have revenge.
He didn’t sleep at all that night. He was still too angry at the turn of events to set up any kind of camp. In the dark, by the light of his head torch, he made a small fire at the side of the track and there he sat, in his sleeping bag with his back to a tree; brooding and sipping at the fresh water with which Asics had refilled his canteen.
He had water and he’d managed to get to the road. It wasn’t a road like he’d expected from the map, more like a defined track that was passable to vehicles with care, but he was sure to meet someone on it before he travelled much further.
The first contact had been a disaster. He’d made a fool of himself and now the two blacks would remember his face. That wouldn’t matter so much because to the world he was Jonathan Bloom; the crazy man who would disappear forever without a trace shortly after seeing them. Only now it was more important than ever that his original travelling partners should not come out of the bush alive. Now no-one would believe that there’d simply been an accident; and if there was a proper investigation, and if there were any survivors to be shown old photograp
hs of Bloom: well, that couldn’t happen.
He couldn’t seriously picture any of that rabble stumbling through to this point. The walk had been testing enough for him. But for the first time, because now he’d been frustrated once, he began to feel faint stirrings of doubt. What if by some miracle one of them did make it to Tsodilo?
As usual, Julian didn’t feel sorry for himself for long. His way forward was clear when he thought about it and today hadn’t damaged the plan so much as he’d first imagined. His cheeks still burned when he thought about the two roofers; and he knew that at some stage he’d catch up with them and show them what it meant to mess with him. He’d go back to the camp later, but if they weren’t there just then, it didn’t really matter. Then he’d go on to check that there were no survivors from the wreck of the safari truck. For this project, he’d need transport. If he was driving a car, he supposed that a white man could show up in any place with few questions asked, whereas walking he was an object of curiosity. But in order to get hold of a car out here, he’d have to take it from somebody else.
For some reason that detail didn’t disturb Julian at all. In fact, as he sat looking out across the fire into the starlit African night, imagining what must have already happened to his fellow tourists, a thin smile finally stole across his face.
***
Following the tracks of the crash survivors, Green had come to two conclusions: the first was that whoever was out there was not at home in this country. According to his map, there were quicker ways to reach civilization than the path they were following. In fact it wasn’t a path at all. Either they were lost or they had some good reason to head out further into the wilderness than they needed to. The only reason he could think of was if they were chasing after something or someone. As a for example, if there had been a falling out over the money and then one party took off with it, the others might follow in pursuit.