would’ve sued and possibly eaten the estate agent, because their home waters
were anything but fresh, but the crocs didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they
seemed to have grown fat on whatever Soliman had ejected from his pipes and
judging from the looks on their craggy faces, they weren’t quite full yet.
I struck out for the nearest bank as the
waters across the lake churned against the force of eager swimmers.
“Come on, give me a break!” I implored,
kicking and clawing for the rocks just twenty feet beyond the brown geyser.
I fought the urge to suck in my limbs and
instead beat them with all of my might until my fingers struck mud. I glanced
over my shoulder just in time to see a rake of jaws flash by the back of my
neck and tumbled clear to snatch my Colt from its holster. A blur of pink
exploded into red as I punched two bullets into its epicentre and then emptied
the clip into the rest of his colleagues. By the time I was done there was more
than enough fresh meat to go around and only two crocodiles left to squabble
over it, so I scrambled away to leave them to their bounty and sought a vantage
point from which to get my bearings.
The summit of the volcano was billowing
smoke and a dozen vents and pipes along the eastern ridge were spewing flames.
Dunbar hadn’t been messing about when he’d set the charges. Nothing could’ve
survived that inferno. Nothing. Not a computer chip, a lens refractor, not even
a man hiding near a Coke machine. At least with any luck this was what Dunbar
thought, though I’d probably used up my quota of luck for the day, if not the
decade, so I took nothing for granted.
Instead, I emptied my shoes, threw away
my handkerchief and started walking for home.
Whichever way that was.
6.
LUCK IS NOT ENOUGH
After only a mile or two of parched scrubland, the remorseless African sun had
baked me – and whatever had left the pipe with me – to a golden
crust. I couldn’t decide if this was better or worse, but either way I wasn’t
getting in the Ritz any time soon.
I trundled on for a couple of miles
choking on the dust of my former colleagues’ dinners until I found what passed
for a road in these parts. It was wide, dusty and rutted with gaping potholes,
but a road nonetheless. But a road to where? I didn’t know. That was the thing
about this job. It took me to far-flung and exotic locations, but I never
actually got to see them. Most bases were self-contained: bed, board,
recreation time and work, but as far as the surrounding countryside was
concerned, I could have been anywhere.
One of the guys had told me that the
local people around this way were Nguni, like my friend stick boy, but I didn’t
know where the Nguni were from. Nguniland would’ve been my best guess so I
flipped a coin, ignored how it came down and headed south whatever.
At first, I ducked off the road and hid
whenever a car came along but after four hours of murdering my feet, I decided
to risk it and see if I could hitch a ride. After a few more minutes a shimmer
of dust appeared on the horizon so I tucked my Colt into the back of my
trousers and stuck out my thumb.
The shimmer neared.
My thirst was my most pressing concern.
If I didn’t manage to negotiate a lift, or at least wangle a bottle of water,
I’d be dead by nightfall. Of course I could always hijack whoever was coming
along. A quick shot to the temple and thanks very much, but that sort of Karma
always caught a man up in the end. No good ever came of no-good deeds. If a
lifetime of Affiliating had taught me anything, it had taught me that.
Within the shimmer, a windscreen caught
the sun and glinted with solastic brilliance. Victor would’ve been very happy.
The glinting flickered and grew until I
realised the windscreen was too large for a simple car. It was a truck that was
coming my way. This changed things for the stickier but it was too late to
slide off the road. Whoever was driving had already seen me and was hooting
were anything but fresh, but the crocs didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they
seemed to have grown fat on whatever Soliman had ejected from his pipes and
judging from the looks on their craggy faces, they weren’t quite full yet.
I struck out for the nearest bank as the
waters across the lake churned against the force of eager swimmers.
“Come on, give me a break!” I implored,
kicking and clawing for the rocks just twenty feet beyond the brown geyser.
I fought the urge to suck in my limbs and
instead beat them with all of my might until my fingers struck mud. I glanced
over my shoulder just in time to see a rake of jaws flash by the back of my
neck and tumbled clear to snatch my Colt from its holster. A blur of pink
exploded into red as I punched two bullets into its epicentre and then emptied
the clip into the rest of his colleagues. By the time I was done there was more
than enough fresh meat to go around and only two crocodiles left to squabble
over it, so I scrambled away to leave them to their bounty and sought a vantage
point from which to get my bearings.
The summit of the volcano was billowing
smoke and a dozen vents and pipes along the eastern ridge were spewing flames.
Dunbar hadn’t been messing about when he’d set the charges. Nothing could’ve
survived that inferno. Nothing. Not a computer chip, a lens refractor, not even
a man hiding near a Coke machine. At least with any luck this was what Dunbar
thought, though I’d probably used up my quota of luck for the day, if not the
decade, so I took nothing for granted.
Instead, I emptied my shoes, threw away
my handkerchief and started walking for home.
Whichever way that was.
6.
LUCK IS NOT ENOUGH
After only a mile or two of parched scrubland, the remorseless African sun had
baked me – and whatever had left the pipe with me – to a golden
crust. I couldn’t decide if this was better or worse, but either way I wasn’t
getting in the Ritz any time soon.
I trundled on for a couple of miles
choking on the dust of my former colleagues’ dinners until I found what passed
for a road in these parts. It was wide, dusty and rutted with gaping potholes,
but a road nonetheless. But a road to where? I didn’t know. That was the thing
about this job. It took me to far-flung and exotic locations, but I never
actually got to see them. Most bases were self-contained: bed, board,
recreation time and work, but as far as the surrounding countryside was
concerned, I could have been anywhere.
One of the guys had told me that the
local people around this way were Nguni, like my friend stick boy, but I didn’t
know where the Nguni were from. Nguniland would’ve been my best guess so I
flipped a coin, ignored how it came down and headed south whatever.
At first, I ducked off the road and hid
whenever a car came along but after four hours of murdering my feet, I decided
to risk it and see if I could hitch a ride. After a few more minutes a shimmer
of dust appeared on the horizon so I tucked my Colt into the back of my
trousers and stuck out my thumb.
The shimmer neared.
My thirst was my most pressing concern.
If I didn’t manage to negotiate a lift, or at least wangle a bottle of water,
I’d be dead by nightfall. Of course I could always hijack whoever was coming
along. A quick shot to the temple and thanks very much, but that sort of Karma
always caught a man up in the end. No good ever came of no-good deeds. If a
lifetime of Affiliating had taught me anything, it had taught me that.
Within the shimmer, a windscreen caught
the sun and glinted with solastic brilliance. Victor would’ve been very happy.
The glinting flickered and grew until I
realised the windscreen was too large for a simple car. It was a truck that was
coming my way. This changed things for the stickier but it was too late to
slide off the road. Whoever was driving had already seen me and was hooting
Similar Books
