paralysed with horror, staring into the gloomy cavern of the shed.
Vicky saw the old German doctor run to meet the Galla wave, with his
arms spread in a gesture of appeal, trying to prevent the slaughter. He
took the thrust of a broadsword full in the centre of his chest, and a
foot of the blade appeared magically from between his
shoulder-blades.
She saw a Galla, armed with a magazine-loaded rifle, run down a line of
wounded, pausing to fire a single shot at pointblank range into each
head.
She saw another with a long dagger in his hand, not bothering even to
slit the throat of the Harari wounded, before he jerked aside the
covering of coarse jute bags and his dagger swept in a single cutting
stroke across the exposed lower belly.
She saw the shed filled with frenzied figures, their sword-arms rising
and falling, their gunfire crashing into the supine bodies, and the
screams of their victims ringing against the high roof, blending with
the high excited laughter and the wild cries of the Galla.
Sara dragged Vicky away, pulling her back behind the sheltering wall of
the shed. It broke the spell of horror which had mesmerized
Vicky and she ran beside the girl on flying feet.
The car,' she panted. 'If we can reach the car.' Miss Wobbly was
parked beyond the station buildings under the lean-to of the loco shed
where it was protected from the rain. Running side by side, Vicky
and
Sara turned the corner of the shed and ran almost into the arms of a
dozen Gallas coming at a run in the opposite direction.
Vicky had a glimpse of their dark faces, shining with rain and sweat,
of the open mouths and flashing wolf-like teeth, the mad staring eyes,
and she smelt them, the hot excited animal smell of their sweat.
Then she was twisting away, like a hare jinking out of the track of a
hound. A hand clutched at her shoulder, and she felt her blouse tear,
then she was free and running, but she could hear the pounding of their
feet close behind her, and the crazy loolooing of excitement as they
chased.
Sara ran with her, drawing slightly ahead as they reached the corner of
the station building. There was the flash and the crack of a
rifle-shot out on their left, and the bullet slammed into the wall
beside them. From the corner of her eye Vicky saw other running
Gallas,
racing in from the main road of the village, their long shammas
flapping about them as they ran to head them off.
Sara was drawing away from her. The girl ran with the grace and speed
of a gazelle, and Vicky could not keep pace with her. She rounded the
corner of the station building ten paces ahead of Vicky, and stopped
abruptly.
Under the lean-to shelter, the angular shape of Miss Wobbly was
wreathed in furious petals of crimson flame, and the black oily smoke
poured from her hatches. The Gallas had reached her first. She had
clearly been one of their first targets, and dozens of them pranced
