failures; perhaps if I had tried harder, perhaps if I had left some of

the cruel things unsaid, perhaps - yes, it might have been, and perhaps

and maybe. But it was not. It was over and finished and now I am alone.

There is no worse condition; no state beyond loneliness. It is the waste

land and the desolation.

Something moved near him in the night, a soft rustle of grass, a

presence felt rather than seen. And Bruce stiffened.

His right hand closed over his rifle. He brought it up slowly, his eyes

straining into the darkness.

The movement again, closer now. A twig popped underfoot. Bruce slowly

trained his rifle round to cover it, pressure on the trigger and his

thumb on the safety. Stupid to have wandered away from the camp; asking

for it, and now he had got it. Baluba tribesmen! He could see the figure

now in the dimness of starlight, stealthily moving across his front. How

many of them, he wondered. If I hit this one, there could be a dozen

others with him. Have to take a chance. One quick

burst and then run for it. A hundred yards to the camp, about an even

chance. The figure was stationary now, standing listening. Bruce could

see the outline of the head - no helmet, can't be one of us. He raised

the rifle and pointed it. Too dark to see the sights, but at that range

he couldn't miss. Bruce drew his breath softly, filling his lungs, ready

to shoot and run.

'Bruce?' Shermaine's voice, frightened, almost a whisper.

He threw up the rifle barrel. God, that was close. He had nearly killed

her.

'Yes, I'm here.' His own voice was scratchy with the shock of

realization.

'Oh, there you are.'

'What the hell are you doing out of the camp?' he demanded furiously as

anger replaced his shock.

'I'm sorry, Bruce, I came to see if you were all right. You were gone

such a long time.'

'Well, get back to the camp, and don't try any more tricks like that.'

There was a long silence, and then she spoke softly, unable to keep the

hurt out of her tone.

'I brought you something to eat. I thought you'd be hungry. I'm sorry if

I did wrong.' She came to him, stooped and placed something on the

ground in front of him. Then she turned and was gone.

'Shermaine.' He wanted her back, but the only reply was the fading

rustle of the grass and then silence. He was alone again.

He picked up the plate of food.

You fool, he thought. You stupid, ignorant, thoughtless fool.

You'll lose her, and you'll have deserved it. You deserve everything

you've had, and more.

You never learn, do you, Curry? You never learn that there is a penalty

for selfishness and for thoughtlessness.

He looked down at the plate in his hands. Bully beef and sliced onion,

bread and cheese.

Yes, I have learned, he answered himself with sudden determination.

Вы читаете The Dark of the Sun
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