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"Have fun!" And he went lurching and staggering away into the wilderness of black rock.
Behind him the mewing whimper rose to a bubbling scream.
"Johnny. Please, Johnny." Johnny closed his mind to that cry, and staggered on.
"Murderer!" screamed Benedict. The accusation checked Johnny. He leaned against another rock for support, and looked back.
Benedict's face was convulsed, and a thin line of b.l.o.o.d.y froth rimmed his lips. The tears were pouring unashamedly down his cheeks to soak into the blood and antiseptic stained bandages.
"Johnny. My brother. Don't leave me." Johnny pushed himself away from the rock. He swayed and almost fell. Then he staggered back to Benedict and slipped down into a sitting position beside him.
From the knapsack he took out the knife and laid it on his lap.
Benedict was sobbing and moaning.
"Shut up. d.a.m.n you!" whispered Johnny.
The sun was well up now. It was burning directly into Johnny's face. He could feel the skin of his cheeks stretching to bursting-point. The veils of darkness kept pa.s.sing over his vision, but he blinked them away. The flutter of his eyelids was the only movement he had made in the last hour.
The hyenas had closed in. They were pacing nervously back and forth in front of where Johnny and Benedict sat.
Now one of them stopped and stretched its neck out, sniffing eagerly at Benedict's blood-clotted foot, creeping inch by inch closer.
Johnny stirred and the creature jumped back, bobbing its head ingratiatingly, grinning as if in apology.
The time had come to fall back on their last line of defence.
Johnny hoped he had not left it too late. He was very weak. His eyes and ears were tricking him, his vision jumped and blurred and there was a humming sound in the silence as though the desert was an orchard filled with bees.
He spun the cog-wheel of his cigarette lighter and the flame lit.
Carefully he applied it to the fuse of the smoke flare, and it spluttered and caught.
Johnny lobbed the flare towards the hyenas, and as the clouds of pink smoke spewed out, they fled in shrieking terror.
An hour later they were back. Slinking out of the rocks, cautious again. Johnny saw them only in flashes, between the bursts of darkness in his head. The insect drone in his ears was louder, it was confusing, making it difficult for him to think clearly.
It took him ten minutes to light the second flare. His throw was so weak that the flare pitched only a few inches beyond his own feet.
The pink smoke spread over them.
Johnny felt the blood humming in his ears as the swirling pink clouds engulfed him. The sulphurous bite of the smoke in his throat choked him. The sound in his ears became a drumming roar, a rus.h.i.+ng clattering hissing bellow. Then there was a wild wind in the stillness of the desert.
Miraculously the smoke cloud was ripped away by the wind.
Johnny looked up into the sky from which the great wind came.
Twenty feet above him, hanging on the glistening dragon-fly wing of its rotor, was the police helicopter.
Tracey's face was framed in the cabin window of the helicopter.
He saw her lips form his name before he fainted.
The novels of Wilbur Smith
The Courtney Novels:
When the Lion Feeds
The Sound of Thunder
A Sparrow Falls
The Burning Sh.o.r.e
Power of the Sword
Rage
A Time to Die
The Ballantyne novels:
A Falcon Flies
Men of Men
The Angels Weep
The Leopard Hunts in Darkness
Also:
The Dark of the Sun
Shout at the Devil
Gold Mine
The Diamond Hunters
The Sunbird
Eagle in the Sky
The Eye of the Tiger
Cry Wolf
Hungry as the Sea
