The Watchman

Sixty-Five

I checked inside and underneath the cab in case he’d heard a noise and ducked under the only cover available. No dice.

I began searching the area around the truck, gradually widening the circle and hoping to pick up a trail. I kept telling myself that he couldn’t have gone far. Even if he was confused by shock and pain, he’d looked too done in to go anywhere without falling over.

Ten paces out from the truck, I found the Vektor.

It was nose down in the dirt, showing a glimpse of starlight off the barrel. I brushed it off and stowed it away. A little further on I found a scrape in the dirt where Tober must have stumbled and dragged his injured leg. At least I was on the right track.

Another fifty paces out and I heard a low snuffling sound in the night somewhere ahead. Instinct told me it wasn’t human, but I couldn’t identify it for certain. I should have paid more attention to the National Geographic channel.

It came again, this time followed by a bunch of squeaks and squeals, and my neck bristled. I knew what it was now, and it wasn’t good news. If Tober had stumbled on them, he was in grave danger.

It was a warthog with young. Warthogs tend to avoid contact with humans, but when they have young with them, which this one did, and felt threatened, they’d attack anything that moved without hesitation.

I stood very still and waited for the noises to be repeated so I could pinpoint their position. Neither the Vektor nor the AK were any defence against a charging adult warthog, especially in the dark. They could move with devastating speed and a hog’s tusks were a formidable weapon against soft human skin.

Eventually I heard a crackling noise and a series of low grunts, gradually moving away.

Then silence.

It took me another ten minutes to locate Tober. He’d fallen into a small hollow, and lay almost hidden in shadow. I reached down and checked his pulse. It was there but weak.

He was a lot worse than I thought.

I risked using the flashlight. The side of his shirt was dark with fresh blood. He was leaking again. I shook him gently and he eventually lifted his head and looked up at me. He moved as if he were drunk. I couldn’t tell if that was because of the pain or exhaustion, but I was guessing falling into the hollow hadn’t helped.

I eased him on to his feet and got him back to the pickup, where I propped him against the cab. If he went down again, I wasn’t sure I could lift him another time.

‘Stay with me, Doug. We’ve got to go.’ I gave his cheek a gentle slap. It was rough on him in his condition, but I needed him mobile and focussed for at least the next twenty minutes, otherwise we were done for.

‘OK, OK,’ he mumbled and swatted my hand away. It was a good sign.

I collected the trauma kit and put it in my backpack and slung Tober’s AK over my shoulder, then pointed him towards the coast. I intended taking the most direct route I could find. It would place us uncomfortably close to the villa, but with Tober getting noticeably weaker and in no condition for a lengthy route march, I had no choice.

We approached well away from the area where I’d seen the guard, but he’d changed his patrol route. The first indication I had was hearing a faint cough and a spit right where I thought would be clear space. Then I saw him. He was walking along the track, still looking fully alert, a rifle slung over his shoulder and head turning to listen over the noises of the night bugs. I froze and held on to Tober. Fortunately he got the message and went still.

Getting us both across the track without being seen was going to be tough. It was wide here and Tober couldn’t move fast or stealthy any longer. And we didn’t have the time or energy to circle round.

There was nothing for it. I let Tober sink slowly to the ground and put the AK down beside him.

I didn’t want to have to do this, but it was the guard or us. I took out the Ka-Bar and moved forward, then waited for the guard to come back along the track.

It didn’t take long. I heard the soft slap of his sandals on the hard earth. He was probably walking briskly to keep himself awake.

I waited until he was almost past me, then stepped out behind him. He sensed my presence and began to turn, but too late. I slapped my free hand over his mouth from behind and thrust the knife into his ribs.

He struggled momentarily, then stiffened and went still. I eased him down and dragged him off the track for some twenty paces, dumping the body into a dip in the earth. I took his spare AK magazine and stuffed it in my pocket, then hauled Tober back to his feet and we scuttled across the track into the bush.

After that it was a relentless shuffling of one foot in front of the other until we hit the slope above the beach. I paused for a moment, out of breath and feeling nauseous. I hadn’t eaten enough to keep up my energy levels, and my arm around Tober was aching with the strain of holding him up. I checked our surroundings. I couldn’t see the villa guard from here due to the lay of the land, even though there was way more light than on my earlier trip.

Great timing; just as we were going to have to walk right across the open beach to the water.

Still, we had what we had. It was time to move.

The trip across the sands seemed never-ending, and I was expecting to be challenged every step of the way. With the cloud cover shifting and exposing us, we would have looked an odd shape if anybody had been keeping an eye on the boats. I kept up a whispered commentary all the way to keep Tober in touch, letting him know how close we were. He didn’t respond but his legs kept moving, so I figured he was still in there somewhere, doing his bit.

We passed the first boat with the stripped-down engine, the water slapping gently off the hull. I steered Tober towards the middle vessel. Maybe it was the familiar noise or the smell of the sea, but suddenly his feeling for boats seemed to kick in. He lifted his head and looked around at the long dark shapes and gave a nod of approval.

‘You picked a good one?’ he asked, his words slurred. At least he remembered what he’d said to me earlier. Another good sign. His mental faculties were still in working order.

‘Two,’ I said. ‘Neither of them are dogs but you’ll have to check the engines and get one started. Can you do that?’

He grunted and shoved me away. ‘Do it with my eyes closed, pal. Just watch. Don’t reckon I’ll be able to push, though.’

He was looking down as he said this, and my gut went cold. I hadn’t noticed that the hull of the nearest boat was further up the sand than it had been earlier. It meant we’d have to move it by muscle-power alone.

Tober wasn’t waiting; he clambered into the other boat which wasn’t as far aground, and I heard him humming slightly as he traced the engine casing with his fingers, patting it like you would a pet dog and mumbling in approval.

‘S’right to go, baby,’ he said, and waved at me. ‘C’mon, Portman, y’fuckin’ Yank landlubber. Time to go sailing.’

I placed the backpack and rifles on board, then put my shoulder behind the boat and heaved. Nothing happened. It was firmly grounded.

‘Shit.’ Tober swore and almost fell out of the boat. He crouched down alongside me and put his shoulder against the stern, alongside the twin engines. ‘Nice,’ he muttered dreamily, patting the nearest casing, and I realized he was on automatic pilot, his mind taking over as a fever gradually took hold of him. ‘Go like shit off a shovel, these things.’

‘Push,’ I said, ‘or we’re going nowhere.’

Then we heard a shout from near the top of the beach, followed by a shot being fired.

We had outstayed our welcome; it was time to run.