The Congo Contract (Alex King Book 13) by A P BATEMAN

Author:A P BATEMAN [BATEMAN, A P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rockhopper Publishing
Published: 2021-10-03T06:00:00+00:00

18

It was the first time they had been allowed to leave the huts. Hot and humid though it was, the fresh air made them light-headed; the sunlight made them squint and almost at once a million flying insects swarmed them attracted by their sweat. Buckets of water had been given to them to sluice the fetid mess from the huts and when they had been shouted at and directed by both threats and the jab of a machete tip, what little water that was left was given to them to drink.

Fruit had been tipped onto the ground and they had all snatched up handfuls and squat down to devour their fill. Jane Hargreaves looked at her fellow captives. They had been reduced to animals in just a few days. She wasn’t sure exactly how many days and nights had passed. Eight? Nine? She realised that she had forgotten. She had visibly lost weight – they all had – possibly ten or fifteen percent of their body weight already. Maybe more. She knew that she had not eaten at all yesterday. The day before had been a few chunks of hard bread, and before that there had been nothing. Posho or some other maize derivative had been given to them on the second day. She had passed the point of caring what food they had been given since then, just as long as it would fill her belly, but nothing had so far. The water given to them to drink was warm and thick and muddy, and they had barely a cup of the foul smelling and tasting stuff three times a day. Back in London, she drank a full two litres of mineral water throughout the day. More on gym days. Along with several espressos every morning and a glass or two of Pinot Grigio a few nights a week. The other hostages were suffering from the effects of dehydration, too. Muscle cramps, foul-smelling urine the colour of Guinness and a throbbing, persistent headache that made the days longer and denied them sleep throughout the night.

After they had eaten the rotting fruit, two boy soldiers carrying Kalashnikovs screamed at them to move and they were herded along by some of the older boys carrying machetes. They had all seen what the machetes could do to poor Brian Hanson and were all haunted by his death. They followed the boy soldiers to a small stream and were told to wash. Jane first drank her fill, as did everyone, and then sat in the flowing water and allowed it to wash between her legs as she cupped handfuls of the precious liquid and doused her hair and neck, then washed herself all over. The water was cooler than the stifling air, refreshing and revitalising.

Everybody’s spirits were raised by the act of washing until two of the older boys pointed to her and told her to get up. Jane could hardly believe what was happening, and sat stock still, looking up at the youths.

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