Chronicles of St Mary's 03 - A Second Chance by Jodi Taylor

Author:Jodi Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781681468785
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I could feel my eye swelling and my nose felt like a football. If I ever got my hands on that little runt … although actually he’d done me a favour because now I could bunch my stole and use it to mop up my nose and cover my mouth at the same time.

‘Leaving gate. Moving west. About 30 women. Three guards.’

We trudged on a little further. The two women with me wouldn’t let go and I didn’t push it. I was familiar with this. In a crisis, help someone else. It’s a kind of defence mechanism for the mind. Something else to think about. I patted their hands to thank them.

We halted at the top of the beach. Our guards leaned on their spears and picked their noses. Occasionally, one shouted to another. This was the dangerous time. No supervision from higher up and they would soon get bored. They would want a little fun.

‘Max, sit down.’

I sat.

A pause.

‘Stand up again.’

I stood, looking around me.

‘Now sit.’

I sat, but I’d attracted attention. Little runty man lifted his spear, but before he could get to me, we were on the move again.

Now they meant business. We formed a line. Around me, passive despair was giving way to desperation as women fought for their children, their babies, their freedom. It was suicide, but that didn’t stop them. Many preferred to die here on the beach, outside their own city rather than be taken away by the Greeks. More soldiers piled in, punching and kicking and, in extreme cases, despatching the troublemakers without a second thought. The sand was stained with blood.

It was hot and they were impatient and thirsty. Occasionally, someone would be singled out as an example to the others …

Our own line shunted slowly forwards. Towards what, I couldn’t see. But I had only seconds. If they didn’t find me soon … once I was on a ship … if I got that far. Not everyone made the cut. Where was St Mary’s? The two women in front of me were yanked away.

I stared blearily at a pair of dirty feet in scabby sandals. Someone hauled me to my feet. Not gently. A hand grasped my chin and turned my head this way and that, looking, inspecting. I was turned around. Someone’s hands were all over me, assessing my worth.

A voice said, ‘It’s me.’

I couldn’t see much, but I knew that voice.

‘This will hurt. I’m sorry,’ said Guthrie. ‘Go limp.’

He slapped my face—which began to throb all over again. I had no difficulty going limp and he heaved me over his shoulder like a sack of coal. Shouts of advice and encouragement followed us off the beach.

‘Report,’ I said, from upside-down, arms dangling.

‘Van Owen’s team has jumped. Markham and Ritter returned with them. All personnel correct and accounted for. Number Eight with Peterson is still here. Waiting for you and me.’

He stopped talking.

Leon wouldn’t go without me. Something was wrong.

‘And Chief Farrell?’

‘Will probably be waiting for us when we get back.

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