sugar. The radio was digging painfully into his flesh and he dragged it
out from under him.
Still lying in the sand he panted like a dog, blinded by sweat and he
fumbled the transmit button of the set.
David - he croaked thickly, I am in the bed of the stream, can you see
me? The aircraft was arcing directly overhead now, and David's answer
came back immediately.
I see you, Connie, you are a hundred yards downstream from the truck.
Akkers is there, Connie, he has just reached the truck, he'll be coming
back down the river bed at any moment. Painfully, gaspin& choking for
breath, Conrad Berg dragged himself to his knees, and at that moment he
heard the whirr and catch and purr of an engine. He unstrapped the
heavy radio and laid it aside, then he unslung his rifle, snapped open
the breech to check the load, and pulled himself to his feet.
Surprised at the weakness of his own massive body, he staggered into the
centre of the river bed.
The dry river bed was eight feet deep with banks cut sheer by flood
water, and it was fifteen feet wide at this point, and the floor was of
smooth white sand, scattered with small water-rounded stones no bigger
than a baseball. It made a good illegal access road into Jabulani, and
the tracks of Alkkers truck were clearly etched in the sol t sand.
Around a bed in the stream Conrad heard the truck revving and roaring as
it came down a low place in the bank into the smooth bed.
Conrad stood squarely in the middle of the river bed with the rifle held
across his hip, and he fought to control his breathing. The approaching
roar of the truck reached a crescendo as it came skidding wildly around
the bend in the stream, and raced down towards him.
Showers of loose sand were thrown out from under the spinning rear
wheels.
Johan Akkers crouched over the steering wheel, with the black hat pulled
down to his eyebrows, and his face was grey and glistening with sweat,
and he saw Conrad blocking the river bed.
Stop! Conrad shouted, hefting the rifle. Stop or I shoot!
The truck was swaying and sliding, the engine screamed in tortured
protest. Akkers began to laugh, Conrad could see the open mouth and the
shaking shoulders. There was no slackening in the truck's roaring
rocking charge.
Conrad lifted the rifle and sighted down the stubby double barrels, At
that range he could have put a bullet through each of Johan Akkers
deep-set eyes, and the man made no effort to duck or otherwise avoid the
men ace of the levelled rifle. He was still laughing, and Conrad could
clearly see the teeth lying loosely on his s. He steeled himself with
the truck fifty feet away, gum and racing down upon him.
it takes a peculiar state of mind before one man deliberately and
cold-bloodedly shoot down another. It must either be the conditioned
reflex of the soldier or lawenforcement officer, or it must be the
terror of the hunted, or again it must be the unbalanced frenzy of the
criminal lunatic.
None of these was Conrad Berg. Like most big strong men, he was
