Around me I sensed more than saw that the poachers, as I thought of them (for want of a better description), had reacted swiftly to the sound. It stopped right outside the cab and now there was some sort of long-distance, shouted exchange going on. Silently, I willed the man to check the flatbed, trying to alert him by the power of thought alone, but even I knew it was a pretty forlorn hope. Until I heard the guard shouting to someone in the language as familiar to me as my own.
âHaraka, haraka. Watu mpega kifungua.â (1) It only took a few seconds before I heard the sound of running feet and, with a screeching shudder, the door was dragged abruptly open, allowing the early morning light to flood into the crowded wagon.
Two disembodied faces, each topped off by the traditional and instantly recognisable tasselled red fez, appeared at floor level, the operational ends of their casually shouldered guns sticking uselessly skywards behind them. The look of consternation and surprise at the sight of two large ivory tusks lying across the entrance with several armed men standing behind them would have been comical in any other circumstances, but I already knew there was nothing funny about this lot. Probably the last thing the taller of the two Askaris (2) remembered was the sharp detonation of a rifle being fired straight at him. To his left, the shorter one watched in horror as his companion acquired a third eye in the centre of his forehead before collapsing gracefully backwards like a swimmer pushing gently away from the pool wall. With a startled grunt and acutely aware of the wind generated by the incoming round, the remaining policeman stumbled frantically backwards, snatching wildly at the too tight rifle sling, trying to extricate himself in time to swing the long rifle into action. With one smooth movement, the man I already recognised as the boss stepped forward, crouched and casually sighted along my rifle at the retreating guard. And still hopelessly pinned to the floor, my ears were battered by the pressure of a second shot let loose in the confined area. So I almost, but not quite, missed the final thud of a falling body as it skidded to its end.
âYou, Stephano, Mick, get them in here, quick. See if thereâs anyone else around.â Two athletic, tanned young men swung quickly out through the door and disappeared. Seconds later, a body landed on the flatbed with a sodden thump and two others stepped forward from the shadows to drag the dead man by his khaki webbing strap to where I lay forgotten in the melee. The sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the ballast preceded the airborne arrival of a second body and shortly thereafter, I found myself almost buried beneath two heavy, reeking corpses, blood slowly leaking over me and staining the floor beneath us. Within seconds Stephano and Mick had vaulted back over the sill, sliding the door closed behind them with a solid thump. For long moments there was no movement in the cab until the continuing silence assured them all that no one had reacted to the rifle shots.
Chapter 12
Unusually, the long freight train pulled out more or less on time and with its gathering momentum, the wagons began to snub and sway to a familiar and oddly soothing pattern. Around me, the men relaxed visibly. There wouldnât be another halt until the driver needed to take on water â probably at the depot just before the long haul up from the floor of the Rift Valley â a part of the journey that would take us at least six hours. However, with a growing brightness now streaming through the many holes in the wooden walls, I was beginning to see more clearly and what I saw gave little cause for comfort. There were eight of them in all, dressed more or less the same in stained khaki bush shirts and shorts. Several had wide-brimmed leather hats hanging from long, sweat-blackened cords, a style favoured by cattle ranchers the world over. Every one of them
âHaraka, haraka. Watu mpega kifungua.â (1) It only took a few seconds before I heard the sound of running feet and, with a screeching shudder, the door was dragged abruptly open, allowing the early morning light to flood into the crowded wagon.
Two disembodied faces, each topped off by the traditional and instantly recognisable tasselled red fez, appeared at floor level, the operational ends of their casually shouldered guns sticking uselessly skywards behind them. The look of consternation and surprise at the sight of two large ivory tusks lying across the entrance with several armed men standing behind them would have been comical in any other circumstances, but I already knew there was nothing funny about this lot. Probably the last thing the taller of the two Askaris (2) remembered was the sharp detonation of a rifle being fired straight at him. To his left, the shorter one watched in horror as his companion acquired a third eye in the centre of his forehead before collapsing gracefully backwards like a swimmer pushing gently away from the pool wall. With a startled grunt and acutely aware of the wind generated by the incoming round, the remaining policeman stumbled frantically backwards, snatching wildly at the too tight rifle sling, trying to extricate himself in time to swing the long rifle into action. With one smooth movement, the man I already recognised as the boss stepped forward, crouched and casually sighted along my rifle at the retreating guard. And still hopelessly pinned to the floor, my ears were battered by the pressure of a second shot let loose in the confined area. So I almost, but not quite, missed the final thud of a falling body as it skidded to its end.
âYou, Stephano, Mick, get them in here, quick. See if thereâs anyone else around.â Two athletic, tanned young men swung quickly out through the door and disappeared. Seconds later, a body landed on the flatbed with a sodden thump and two others stepped forward from the shadows to drag the dead man by his khaki webbing strap to where I lay forgotten in the melee. The sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the ballast preceded the airborne arrival of a second body and shortly thereafter, I found myself almost buried beneath two heavy, reeking corpses, blood slowly leaking over me and staining the floor beneath us. Within seconds Stephano and Mick had vaulted back over the sill, sliding the door closed behind them with a solid thump. For long moments there was no movement in the cab until the continuing silence assured them all that no one had reacted to the rifle shots.
Chapter 12
Unusually, the long freight train pulled out more or less on time and with its gathering momentum, the wagons began to snub and sway to a familiar and oddly soothing pattern. Around me, the men relaxed visibly. There wouldnât be another halt until the driver needed to take on water â probably at the depot just before the long haul up from the floor of the Rift Valley â a part of the journey that would take us at least six hours. However, with a growing brightness now streaming through the many holes in the wooden walls, I was beginning to see more clearly and what I saw gave little cause for comfort. There were eight of them in all, dressed more or less the same in stained khaki bush shirts and shorts. Several had wide-brimmed leather hats hanging from long, sweat-blackened cords, a style favoured by cattle ranchers the world over. Every one of them
Similar Books
