Thunderbolt by Wilbur Smith (reading strategies book .txt) 📕

He leaped out of the gully and his growl burst into full-blooded barking.

52.

The dog’s barking didn’t scare the goatherd away. Far from it. His goats were rattled by the noise so he raised his head from his phone screen and headed over to investigate. Mo and I ducked down. I hoped in vain that the dog would ease up, but his barking just got louder.

The other kids were waking, confused by the noise, asking questions. Mo hushed them. I hissed an explanation to Xander and Amelia. The dog’s bellowing went up another notch. There could only be one reason: the goatherd had to be coming closer.

And he was. He was advancing all the way to the trench. I rummaged in my bag for the empty revolver. If he got as far as poking his head over the lip, I could at least wave the gun at him.

Mo held a finger to his lips. We all stayed stock still. And eventually the dog quietened, leaving just the wind noise laced with goat-bells. I let out a breath, inched my eyes above the embankment, and said, ‘What the …?!’

The dog was still right there. But so was the goatherd. He was squatting next to the hound, stroking him. Noticing me, the goatherd stood up. I swear the dog looked at me sheepishly.

The goatherd’s face was all creases, his eyes weathered slits. They’d seen everything now. He came towards me, right to the edge of the embankment, and loomed above us all with his hands on his hips.

Mo started talking to the guy but he did not reply, just surveyed us without emotion. Mo tried again, in a different dialect I think, and got exactly the same response. He simply looked us over in turn. As his gaze took me in I realised I was still holding the revolver. He noticed but didn’t linger on it particularly. His expression said he came upon bunches of kids – including foreigners armed with ancient handguns – hidden away in the wind-ravaged scrubland most days.

Mo tried talking to the goatherd again, this time handing up a water bottle as he spoke. The guy tilted his head, declining the offer. He seemed to reach a conclusion. Whatever it was, it entailed him simply turning around and walking back to his goats.

We watched him go in silence. The dog looked from him to us and back to him again, and decided tagging along with the goatherd was the better bet. Given how at ease the man was in the environment compared to us, I reckon the dog made a good decision, but I was still sorry to see him go.

‘Phew,’ said Xander eventually. ‘Near miss.’

‘What do you mean?’ Amelia replied. ‘I’d call it a direct hit. He had a very good look at us.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t seem interested.’

Amelia jerked her thumb Mo’s way. He was looking worried. Amelia went on, ‘Mo reckons General Sir is known to everyone in these parts. That guy may have looked unbothered but he’s probably on the phone to him as we speak.’

It occurred to me, too late, that I could have taken his phone from him. I had a gun, after all. I could have used his phone to call for help. Who I’d have called exactly, other than Mum, I don’t know. The thought of speaking to her made my throat knot up. The guy’s phone obviously had a signal. How had I let the opportunity go? Should I run after him and make him hand it over?

Xander seemed to read my thoughts. ‘We’re not muggers,’ he said.

‘I know, not normally. But we’re desperate.’

‘If we’d stolen his phone, he’d have wanted revenge,’ Xander said. ‘He’d definitely have reported us then.’

‘Not if we’d tied him up.’

‘Making us worse than muggers,’ Mo said. ‘I spun him a story, told him we were out here on patrol.’

‘Think he believed you?’ asked Xander.

Mo looked away.

‘Thought not,’ I said.

Xander said, ‘He’s bound to tell someone he’s seen us.’

‘Making the only logical plan obvious,’ said Amelia with a sigh.

I could see where she was going. ‘We can’t make him un-see us, but we can make where he saw us history.’

‘Yes,’ said Mo. ‘We can’t stay here any longer.’

Beside me, Xander’s shoulders sank. As brightly as I could I said, ‘We’ve had a bit of rest. The sooner we get to safety, the better. Agreed?’

Xander nodded, but I knew he was exhausted. Setting off again so soon was the last thing he wanted to do. I felt the same way. Now that the adrenaline sparked by the goatherd’s visit had evaporated, I felt giddy with tiredness. Also, my leg was pulsing with heat again. I didn’t want to look at it, much less walk on it, but I had to. Like the other boys in the trench we gathered up our things at Mo’s instruction.

The goatherd had been heading north. We set off to the south-west, following the dried-up stream bed again, at a tangent to the dirt road. I brought up the rear, and I don’t mind admitting it was a struggle. The wind had swung round so that we were heading straight into it, and if anything it had intensified.

Combined with the heaviness of my leg, it felt like I was wading through treacle to keep up. The giddiness got worse too. I began to worry it was something more than tiredness, and I couldn’t shift the thought of poison running through my veins. We’d been going for about an hour and the sun, a white blur behind the clouds, was high in the sky, but the cloud layer was thick and black, so the landscape was bathed in a weird flat light. Everything looked as dead as I felt inside.

The wind grew more hellish still. It buzzed with heavy static, full of grit scoured from the great emptiness ahead. I kept my face lowered and my eyes half shut, squinting at Amelia’s heels ahead of me, forcing myself to