Death in Helmand by Alison Belsham & Nick Higgins

Author:Alison Belsham & Nick Higgins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
Published: 2022-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Location unknown

Dried blood stinks. Especially when it’s plastered across your mouth and nose in the form of a gag, soaked with your own blood over a number of hours. Dried sweat stinks. Diesel fumes stink. Even though Mac feared he would throw up at any second, his mouth was as dry as the thousands of square kilometres of burning desert that made up the southern reaches of Helmand Province.

Where the hell are you taking me?

He’d passed out at some stage but now he was awake again, in his own private hell. The heat under the filthy tarpaulin was unbearable – he felt as shrivelled as a bit of crispy bacon. The thought of which brought on another urge to vomit. But if he did that the gag would probably see to it that he suffocated.

It wasn’t quite the glorious end he’d imagined for himself.

Breathe slowly. Calm yourself down.

He was too angry to be completely calm, but cold rage would be of more use to him than hysteria, so he did everything he’d been trained to do to get a grip. Focus on breathing. Think about one problem at a time. Find a solution, then move onto the next.

The intensity of the heat told him it was midday or later, which meant they’d been driving south for six or seven hours. If there had been any stops, it wasn’t while he was conscious. Which meant they must stop sometime soon. He needed water and whoever was in the driver’s compartment would know that. A dead hostage has next to no value and very quickly becomes a dangerous inconvenience.

He considered his options. Limited options. Severely limited options. He couldn’t shout for help because of the gag. Assuming that he could somehow loosen it enough to call attention to himself, it was doubtful that anyone would hear him, or if perhaps passing through a village they did hear him, he could be almost certain that no one would help him.

Escape didn’t seem much of an option either.

Engaging with his captors?

Do you think they’ll speak English, stupid?

Wait for release and rescue. And pray to a God he’d long since stopped believing in.

The road was rougher than before, with bumps and potholes that jarred him against the metal truck bed again and again. He braced himself between the side of the truck and something solid that jutted out on one side, but it didn’t help much. His head juddered against the floor, magnifying the pain he was already suffering, but he couldn’t find a way of moving his arms up to act as a buffer.

The distraction of hearing voices raised in the vehicle’s cab did little to take his mind off his predicament. Try as he might, he couldn’t hear any recognisable words or place names – there was nothing that gave him a clue as to who they were or where they were taking him. Instead, he concentrated on rubbing the side of his head against his shoulder in an effort to shift the blindfold up enough to allow him to see.

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