Justice by Chris Ryan

Author:Chris Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781471407857
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2019-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

12

Caged

The edge of the clearing, where the Blackshirts led Max and Sami, was foul. A pall of acrid smoke hung over the area. It came from a couple of pits where rubbish was being burned, and the smell stuck in the back of Max’s throat. There was an old metal container full of water with a cup chained to it. It was obviously for drinking, but insects floated on the surface and the water smelled sulphuric. Nobody went near it.

Next to the container was the huge log pile Max had noticed earlier. Nobody was chopping logs any more, however, and the axes had gone. Two Redshirts had filled a basket with logs and were taking them back to one of the cooking fires in the clearing.

There were about thirty Blueshirts here. They made a sorry sight. Most were younger than Max and Sami, but their hands and bare feet were weathered and leathery. Many of them had sores on their legs, and their skin was covered in insect bites. Their shoulders were slumped, their faces slack. They had the bodies of children, but the demeanour of elderly people. Each had a shovel, and they hacked listlessly into the hard ground. They were digging five pits. Max didn’t know what for.

A Blackshirt gave Max and Sami a dirty, ill-fitting blue T-shirt each. Max and Sami pulled the garments over their existing clothes. Then the Blackshirt gave them a shovel and pointed to the smallest of the five pits. There were four young Blueshirts there, three boys and a girl. Their shovels hardly made any impression on the ground. When Max and Sami joined them, they barely seemed to notice the new arrivals. They just stared at the ground and went through the motions of digging. One of them, a boy of about eleven, was crying. It didn’t take long to see why. His hands were bleeding. The wooden handle of his shovel was stained, and blood dripped down his fingers. Max wondered how long he had been digging. Hours? Days? However long it was, he needed medical care.

The Blackshirts were walking away. There was clearly no need to guard these children closely. They were too exhausted to run. In any case, where would they go? Into the jungle where their wounds would become infected and one dark night would see them off? No. They were stuck, just as surely as if they were chained. Max sidled up to the boy. He gave him a reassuring smile then gestured for the boy to show Max his hands. At first the boy didn’t want to, but Max gently insisted. The boy held out his palms. They were red-raw and glistening, with streaks of pus along one side of his right hand. Max knew that if the infection got worse – which it would, in this humidity – it could enter the boy’s bloodstream. If that happened, the boy could die within hours. He needed medical attention, but there was none available. Max would have to improvise.

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