Pirate

fell into an immediate sleep. Flies landed on her face, exploring her eyes and the wounds on her mouth, but she didn’t move.

Stratton watched and listened for a while. But fatigue gradually overcame him and he closed his eyes. He hoped to leave his ears to play sentry for longer. His training warned him to stay on watch and alert but it would have been impossible under the circumstances. He felt confident he would hear anyone approach even in his present state, but if not there was little he could do about it. His back and leg were throbbing and his throat felt like sandpaper. He knew he would drift off to sleep. There were times when things had to be left to fate and the gods.

Within minutes even the flies couldn’t annoy him. His head eased over to one side and he drifted off.

The pair of them remained practically motionless for many hours in the shade of the undergrowth. The wind picked up at times and gently rustled the bushes around them. The sun moved across the sky and began to drop down on to the western horizon. A bird landed close by, gave the couple a curious look and moved on. They were dead to the world.

Bullets suddenly began to tear past Stratton. The air erupted with the sound of gunfire. His eyes were wide with fear as he grappled for the weapon. His face was sweating, his hands bloody and cut. He fired the gun and everything seemed to slow down as he followed the bullet from the muzzle of the weapon. It flew straight towards Hopper, who was on his knees looking directly at Stratton, his blindfold gone, his unshaven face wet with blood and perspiration. When he saw the bullet coming straight for him he began to scream. Yelling Stratton’s name, like he hated the man who had betrayed him. The bullet went into his forehead and punched out the other side. Hopper fell back with the force of the strike and landed on his back where he remained, unmoving, the blood from his head soaking into the sand. And then, like he had become some kind of ghost, he got back up on to his knees and looked at Stratton. The head wound had gone. ‘You missed, you bloody fool. You missed!’

Stratton sat up with a jolt and grabbed for the weapon that he momentarily forgot he had thrown away. He breathed heavy, sweat running down his face. He quickly glanced around before realising it had been a dream.

He looked at the girl. She lay in the same position she had fallen asleep in.

Stratton calmed himself and sat back. Hopper’s image had been vivid. Stratton hadn’t seen the bullet strike the man but he felt sure it had. Doubt suddenly shrouded him. It was possible he had missed. But again he dismissed it, not wanting to face the implications. He assured himself that he had killed his colleague. He had to have.

Stratton felt his throat. His thirst was painful. He couldn’t see the sun and the evening had come on. He had slept longer than he expected he would.

As he eased himself on to his knees his entire body cried out in complaint, in particular the wound on his back. Every joint ached. He felt like he had been thrown off a cliff and landed on a pile of boulders. New pains, in his kidneys and his head, were indications that his body was dehydrated. He looked in the direction of the water. Time to get that drink.

Stratton decided to leave the girl to sleep a while longer. The more rest she got the better. He crawled through the bush to the edge of the scrub from where he could see the water. He checked left and right. There was no sign of danger. He was going to have to break cover at some time. It would get darker yet but he estimated it was enough for him to get to the water and back.

He moved out, keeping low, covering the open ground in seconds. When he reached the water, he laid down on his belly. It smelled OK although it was hard to see how clear it was. He couldn’t hold back any longer, convincing himself that no matter how bad it was he would live longer with poisoned water than without it. He dipped his face into the cool liquid and gulped in several deep mouthfuls. He immediately fought to control a coughing fit, plunging his head into the water and coughing violently, the noise muffled. He came back up for air and with some difficulty managed to bring the fit under control. The sudden liquid had been too much for his parched throat. A moment later he felt ready for more.

Stratton made an effort to drink as slowly as he could. The water had a strange taste but he was past caring. It was wonderful to feel it flowing down his throat. When he’d had his fill, he doused his head again, rinsing his hair and washing his face. He could feel the life flowing back into him. It was magical.

Stratton made his way back to the girl and gently squeezed her arm. She woke with a start and was afraid for a moment until she realised who he was and where they were.

‘It’s OK. Everything’s fine,’ he said.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her hand going to her throat.

‘Go get a drink,’ he said.

She got to her knees and headed through the brush.

‘Drink slowly,’ he whispered after her.

He followed, suspecting she hadn’t heard. As he reached the bank, she was already at the water. It was dark enough to almost conceal her from him. She began to cough violently but only for a few seconds as she muffled her mouth. She brought the spasm under control and put her mouth into the water once again.

He joined her for another drink. It would take several hours for them to recover from the effects of the dehydration.

When she had had her fill, she sat by the water gently dabbing her face with the bottom of the shirt.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ she replied.

‘You ready for the next phase of this game?’

‘The ship?’

‘I still think it’s our best bet out of here.’

‘What if they search it?’

Stratton saw the fear in her eyes. It hadn’t been there the day before. The memories of the previous night had clearly frightened her.

‘We’ll make an assessment when we get there.’

She took another drink before rinsing her hair.

‘How’re your feet?’ he asked.

She threw back her hair and sat cross-legged to inspect them. ‘I need to make myself some new shoes.’

She set about tearing more cloth from the bottom of her trousers and fashioning them into a sandal. ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked.

Stratton didn’t answer.

‘I wish I could have done that for Jimlen,’ she said, like she knew he was uncomfortable with the question. ‘Did you?’ she asked again.

He believed he had. But he couldn’t be sure.

‘Do you feel guilty?’ she asked.

He flashed a look at her. She was direct. ‘What about?’ he asked.

‘You didn’t need to leave him behind when you escaped to search the ship. Why did you?’

It felt like a punch. ‘The job comes with risks,’ he said. ‘Hopper knew them. You know that too.’

‘You would do well in my business,’ she murmured.

He wondered why she had said that, feeling a tinge of resentment towards her. Like she had an arrogance, talking like she understood all the issues involved. But perhaps it was his guilt again. Something inside of him trying to defend it.

His ears picked up a sound and he stuck out a hand, warning her to be silent. She froze at the gesture. Then she heard the sound herself. A stick snapped followed by more similar noises. The dull crunch of footsteps in the dry, stony soil became a rhythm.

If they tried to head back into the scrub, they would most likely be seen. Stratton tapped her shoulder, an order to follow, and eased his way into the water. A reed bed growing out of the shallow water was not far away. They crawled through the water as quickly and as quietly as they could, their hands sinking into the riverbed, pulling at the muddy bottom. The ripples they formed mingled with those created by the gentle breeze.

They saw a line of men approaching, walking between the riverbank and the bushes. As Stratton made out the dark silhouettes, at first it looked like two or three men. But as the angle changed, the line grew longer and they saw more men. Maybe just less than a dozen. Stratton and the girl moved behind the reeds as the first man reached the bank where they had crossed from the bushes. They lowered themselves until only their eyes were out