Night Of Knives

Chapter 3

Jacob's scream is brief but bloodcurdling, a high-pitched wail torn from his throat. He fights for freedom, his whole body thrashing, his face a twisted animal mask, but the men on either side are too strong for him, they hold him down. The one-eyed man draws the whip back with a casual and graceful movement. Veronica closes her eyes tightly, she doesn't want to look. She is close enough to feel the slipstream as the whip snaps through the air. Jacob howls four more times.

Then Derek says, sharply, "No!"

Veronica opens her eyes. Jacob's head has been pulled back by one of the pygmies, and the one-eyed man has his panga to the lanky Canadian's throat, pressing hard enough that a blood trickles from the line of contact. Veronica knows it won't take much more force to puncture Jacob's jugular vein. Derek's every muscle is taut as he stands beside her, he looks like he wants to throw himself at the one-eyed man.

"Please," Jacob gasps, his body perfectly still. "Please, no, don't kill me, please, I'll be fast, I won't fall down, I promise. Please, I swear to God, please, please."

After a long moment one-eyed man withdraws the panga, leaving a thin line of blood behind. Reluctance is evident on his face. Jacob fights his way to his feet. Derek relaxes a little.

"No more stops," the one-eyed man hisses.

He angrily waves them onwards. The endless march resumes. Veronica trudges painfully onwards. She doesn't doubt the one-eyed man is now ready, even eager, to kill anyone who slows them down.

Her shoulders are burning with agony, she is sure that by now they have actually been damaged. They aren't really walking that fast any more, they physically can't, but no matter how fast she inhales she just can't get enough oxygen, this air seems almost too thick and damp to breathe. A crippling headache has grown behind her eyes. At least the blisters that line her feet have finally gone numb.

She doesn't want to die here. That is all she can focus on, the only thing that gives her strength. Maybe she will be killed when they reach their destination; maybe they will do things to her so terrible she will wish she had died on this march; but right now, it seems like the worst thing in the world, the most awful possible fate, to be murdered and left to rot here in this jungle.

What worries her most are her legs. She can't help thinking about the time she witnessed the home stretch of the Los Angeles Marathon, saw runners collapse less than half a mile from the end of the race because their legs simply stopped working. She thinks she may not be far from that point. She is limping badly, her left leg is cramping painfully, and her right leg worries her even more. It doesn't exactly hurt, but she doesn't think it can physically last much longer. Soon it will buckle beneath her and she will no longer be capable of walking.

At some point they stop for a water break. She can't remember how long it has been since the last one, time seems to have warped and melted like that famous Dali painting. She looks up and her heart wilts. Through the curtain of canopy trees she sees the sun directly above them, obscured by a few fast-moving clouds. It's only noon. She won't make it to nightfall, not even close. Beside her, Jacob looks even worse than she does, confused and dazed. His eyes seem to have lost the ability to focus.

"I can't make it," Veronica says dully.

Derek turns to her. Even he looks drained now, but his voice is still strong. "Yes you can. It won't be much further. We must be over the border by now. You'll be fine."

She tries to laugh but it comes out as a whimper. "I sure don't feel fine."

"You will be. I promise."

She manages a sick caricature of a smile. "Thanks."

"Breathe deep, into your belly. It helps."

She nods and tries to follow his advice. After a few dozen inhalations it occurs to her that the water break should be over, the one-eyed man should be harrying them onwards. She looks around. Their abductors are staring warily into the sky, and there is a faint sound in the distance, odd yet familiar.