Private Rogue

Chapter 22

Floyd woke to a mouth-watering sweet smell. He took a moment to orientate himself, and remembered he was on the floor in Christine and John’s mountain home in Kamdesh. They’d given him horsehair cushions and a set of colorful blankets, and told him to bed down in an area in the far corner of the open-plan living space, away from the window and partition that marked out their sleeping quarters. Floyd had slept in some unusual places, but there was something odd about sharing a couple’s home while they slept a few yards away, separated by nothing more than a woven drape and some screens. Christine — or Chris as she preferred to be called — had explained over dinner that the Kom people had a communal approach to life and many generations of the same family would share a space like this. Floyd didn’t consider himself a prude, but the idea of sharing such an intimate space with others didn’t appeal to him. He had thought about insisting on sleeping in the stable on the ground level.

When he sat up, Floyd was very glad he hadn’t. The stable didn’t have any windows, and sleeping there would have deprived him of one of the most breath-taking views of his life. The snow-covered rooftops of Kamdesh were laid out before him like powdered steps, and beyond were wispy clouds of mist, an expansive valley, and the cedar-packed slope of a high mountain peak. It was a truly beautiful scene and Floyd understood why John and Chris had positioned their sleeping area near the window, even though it couldn’t have been the warmest place in the house.

“Morning,” John said.

He was standing over the stove in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, stirring something in a small cast-iron pot.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Floyd replied.

“We’re going to be stuck here a while.” John nodded toward the window. “That mist is the edge of a storm front that’s rolling in.”

Floyd was itching to get started. He needed to reach a phone or an Internet connection. “Can’t we beat it?”

John shook his head. “Radio forecast says two but I reckon we’ve only got an hour before it hits. It will be a complete white-out.”

Floyd sighed.

“Forecast says it should be OK by the end of tomorrow,” John said, by way of consolation.

“It will be gone by nightfall,” Chris said, appearing from behind the drape that demarcated the sleeping area. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings and a black vest top.

John shrugged. “I’ve learned never to bet against her ability to read the sky.”

“We can spend today preparing supplies and packing. Aim to leave first thing in the morning,” she said.

John took the pan off the stove and put it on a black warming plate that hung over the open fire. He spooned white meal into three earthenware bowls and carried them to the table.

“Get it while it’s hot.”

Floyd got to his feet and joined the couple.

“What is it?” he asked, taking a seat at the table and lowering his head to breathe in the scent of the steam coming off his bowl.

“Juvór,” Chris replied, as she sat down opposite him. “It’s a maize porridge.”

“I like it with cinnamon and honey,” John added.

“Too much honey,” Chris remarked.

“How did an American and a Brit end up here?” Floyd asked.

He took his first mouthful. It was heavier than oat porridge and required more chewing, but he could tell it was good mountain fuel.

“Sometimes life takes strange turns,” John said. “I found this place five years ago while on assignment. I was a journalist covering the war.”

“And you fell in love with the place?” Floyd asked.

“Sort of. I realized it was a good spot to get lost,” John replied. “Off the beaten track. World doesn’t change much up here.”

“Doesn’t change much at all,” Chris agreed. “Makes you realize what’s important.”

She took John’s hand and squeezed it.

Floyd ate his breakfast and resisted the obvious question. If these two wanted him to know why they needed to disappear, they would have already told him. He didn’t want to alienate the people who’d saved his life and offered to guide him home, simply to satisfy his own curiosity.

“This is good,” he said instead.

“Don’t compliment his cooking,” Chris cautioned. “It goes straight to his head.”

“Ignore her. Compliment away! And when you’re finished we’ll see about getting you some less conspicuous clothes. And supplies for the journey.”

“Thanks,” Floyd replied as he looked toward the window. The first flakes of snow were already falling.