Recoil

6

The inside of the tent stank of shit and antiseptic, but at least the ground was marginally less wet. Chaos spread as confused old men tried to get off the ground and old women wailed as they tried to gather up what belongings they had with them. Those who could walk enough to reach him swarmed round Tim to ask him what was going on. This was going to take for ever.

There were a couple of rapid bursts of gunfire in the distance, audible even over the racket around me, then a really long, sustained one. They were out there, and they were getting closer.

I joined Silky, who was with two other guys dressed off the same rack. The three were trying to help an old man gather together a few rags and a cooking pot. I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘You and I have to go. Let this lot follow. Everybody knows where they’re going. All they’ve got to do is follow the river.’

She didn’t look up at me, just continued helping the old man. She seemed so different with her hair wet and greasy after the long walk in and her nails grimed with mud. That faded lemony smell had been replaced by the stink of wet clothing and sweat. ‘Nick, I’m staying until we get these people moving.’

I stood there in frustration as people ripped off what little covering they had over their igloos and bundled it under their arms. Fuck them, they could sort themselves out. I just wanted to drag her away, get her back to the mine, collect the other two and go for it.

I pulled one of the kids to his feet so hard I nearly threw him into the air. I grabbed bundles of clothes and shoved them at him. ‘Allez, allez, allez! Let’s go!’

At last some of the walking wounded were up and moving. They didn’t need to be told twice about getting to safety. ‘Faster! Go! Go!’

They shuffled through the mud towards the river, by which time I was almost pushing the confused and frightened kids out of the tent.

Tim rushed around, getting anyone who seemed remotely healthy to grab a bag of rice or anything useful.

There was another long burst, a fraction louder. It wasn’t a trick of the terrain: they were getting closer. ‘Tim, let’s get a move on! Let’s go!’

It was another twenty minutes before the last patient was on their feet and the confusion had died down. Finally everybody knew what was going on, and everybody was being helped. Some kids were too fucked to move on their own, even though they weren’t injured, really skinny bodies, swollen bellies, but somehow they were all gathered up in cloth wraps or in people’s arms along with the odd scrawny chicken and a handful of other prized possessions.

I wanted to grab Silky’s hand and drag her to the front of the column, but she was too busy helping everybody else. Fuck ’em. Why didn’t she and Tim just make their own way now? Why couldn’t they be happy that everybody was moving towards the mine and leave them to it?

I stood there feeling very pissed off with her as these people stumbled past. Why had she put herself in so much danger, and made me come out here to drag her back? What the fuck had been going through her mind? And why had she just left like that? Weren’t we supposed to be together?

And why was I feeling the way I did? I was starting to get myself really revved up, when surely I should have been relieved that I’d found her . . .

Gunfire cracked off again. It was still on the other side of the river, but definitely closer; probably the poor shits crossing the bridge were getting zapped. It made me cut away from the other stuff.

Fuck her, fuck the situation.

I moved off the track, scrambling through the foliage, trying to get to the front. Being aggressive about this was the only thing that would make me feel better – and it was the only way I’d keep them pushing to the mine. If the price I had to pay for showing her this side of me was going to be that I was history, then fine. At least she’d be alive to bin me.