Her lungs were starting to hurt as they howled out for oxygen that just wasn’t there, and her throat was burning and closing up as she struggled to swim upwards with all her might – yet still she had not broken the surface. She screamed underwater as she pushed up, the last of her air bubbling out into the black water.
So this is it … this is how it ends. I survived the fall but ended up drowning instead. God, I came so damn close, so tragically—
Her head broke through the surface of the water, and air, sweet, sweetair came rushing through her gasping mouth into her lungs.
She almost screamed with joy – almost – but suppressed the cry at the last second, realising just how tragic a fate it would be to give herself away now, at this moment, after having survived everything she had just gone through.
You’re alive, you’re alive, somehow you’re alive … but don’t blow it now! Holy hell, I’m pumped with adrenalin, pumped! Jesus, I’m all tingly and, and, fucking electrified! Shit! Shit on me, shit on me, I did it, I actually did it! I made the damn jump!
Abuzz with the crackling power of adrenalin, and feeling as if she was sparking like a shorted pylon in the night, Margaret began to swim, pushing through the gently flowing water and aiming for the right bank, which loomed black with densely packed jungle: perfect cover to wait for the barrels to come drifting by.
After about five minutes of steady swimming she began to feel aquatic plants stroking their slimy leaves along her limbs, while the shadows of the jungle trees, leaning precariously over the water, began to blot out the star-holed sky. It was then that she knew she was almost at the riverbank. Sure enough, her feet soon hit the bottom, so she stopped swimming and waded until she was completely out of the river. Then, with her feet finally back on solid ground, she stumbled up the bank into a small clearing amidst the trees and promptly collapsed.
She could have passed out right there and then; the reassuring stability of having solid earth supporting her body felt so exquisite that it was like the embrace of a mother, cradling a child who has been wandering lost and alone in a forest full of unseen danger.
‘No, not now!’ she growled, forcing herself to sit up. ‘Not now, not now! If you miss that barrel your only chance is gone! You can only get so far on foot, and God knows they’ll find you tomorrow morning. You have to get into that barrel! Get up! Sit up and watch the damn river!’
She sat in the darkness for a long, long time, shivering and staring at the rippling water with its sudden splashes of fish jumping like stones of infrequent hail; a prelude to a tempest. All around her the symphony of the night was deafening in its quadraphonic volume; there was so much life in this jungle that it was at once amazing and completely overwhelming. Insects trilled and hummed and buzzed, while owls hooted and monkeys howled and shrieked, and occasionally, in the distance, a predator growled or roared while a large ungulate rumbled or snorted.
After what seemed like a good hour or so, an altogether differentsort of rumbling vibrated the night air. Margaret looked up at the enormous city wall and saw the portcullis, through which the river flowed, being raised.
Her heart immediately began to pump surges of excitement-laced blood through her veins; this was it, this was the barrels being sent downriver, with one of them heading to Bafa village. She stared with unwavering concentration at the portcullis as it was hauled up. The process seemed to take forever; the river must have been very, very deep for the steel grille to have gone all that way down. Finally, however, its spiked bottom emerged from the water, dribbling bright jewels of water as it was raised from the surface, and after a few minutes the barrels came bobbing along. After they had all passed under the wall the portcullis was lowered again, and the deep sounds of the gears and pulleys grumbled their iron protest across the surface of the river until the portcullis was locked into place, sealing up the city once again.
Margaret kept her eyes on the barrels, and as they got closer she waded out into the water and swam toward them. She managed to intercept the barrel with the monkey painted on it, and by keeping one hand on the lip of the edge she started to pull it back to her hidden spot on the bank. There she would empty out some of the vegetables and fruits, climb in, and float her way down to Bafa village, using the lid as a paddle to speed her passage.
While she was unpacking some of the barrel’s cargo, tossing the food into the river in her haste to empty it out, a pair of eyes was staring intently at her through a pair of night-vision binoculars.
‘Is she getting into the barrel, General?’
‘She’s still unpacking it.’
‘But everything is going according to plan?’
‘Oh yes. It has worked out quite perfectly.’
Atop the wall stood the General and Dr Ogilvy, both hidden in the shadows, quietly observing Margaret.
‘Where is Sergeant Tesla?’ Dr Ogilvy asked.
‘She hid his body at the bottom of the tower ladder. I’ll send some troops to fetch him and take him to the medical bay as soon as Dr Green sets off in the barrel.’
Dr Ogilvy nodded.
‘The boy’s acting skills are phenomenal; Green didn’t suspect a thing. I hope you’re going to give him a medal for this mission, and a promotion.’
‘Oh yes, Doctor,’ The General murmured, his eyes still on Margaret. ‘He will have both; he has
