Death & Back

Chapter 5

5

The Greek sun had dried their ragged clothes, but night brought the cold once again. They'd followed the other survivors into a camp on the edge of Agios Andreas. It was a mess of thin, pale blue tents—each one overcrowded and pegged into a mud floor.

White marquees set up around the perimeter were empty, abandoned. Amira and the young girl had wandered them all in search of aid. Only dusty tables and litter remained.

At least water was available through a running tap. They waited in line for their turn, filling up a couple of large plastic bottles found on the floor of a marquee. They warmed themselves in front of a deserted fire in a steel bin stuffed with card, paper, rags and twigs.

The young girl's name was Rima. She cried for her grandmother, her mother, her father—but soon fell asleep. As Amira began to drift, she saw three figures approach, beyond the crackle and snap of the fire. They moved as if searching for someone. Or something.

They were men of different races. Languid, gaunt, hollow-eyed in the uplight of the fire. Amira kept her head down and averted her gaze. After a moment or two, she glanced up again. They were staring her way. They split and approached around the fire. Amira tensed. Rima stirred. Amira realised she was squeezing the young girl's arm.

The men crouched either side.

"Hey," one said. Arabic. "How are you?"

"Okay," Amira said.

"Can we get you anything?"

One of the men—an African—said something in his own language.

His Arab friend nodded, as if he understood. "You don't have to sleep out here. We have a tent."

"Who are you?" Amira asked.

"Relax," the man said. "We're site security—unofficial—we make sure everyone's looked after."

Amira looked from one man to another. They smiled and nodded.

"The fire won't last all night," the man continued. "Come and sleep in our tent."

Amira eyed each of the men again. "No thank you," she said. "We'll be fine. We've got more card we can throw on."

The man doing the talking put a hand on Amira's shoulder. "Don't be silly. Come with us."

Amira shook off his hand. She pulled Rima in close. "Thank you, but we're fine as we are."

The men conferred. The African ran a finger down Amira's left cheek. She pulled away again, onto her feet. She dragged a stirring Rima up with her. The men jumped up and surrounded them. Rima asked what was happening, her voice sleepy.

"Nothing," the Arab man said. "We're just talking to your mother."

"Come on Rima," Amira said, "we're going."

"No, stay," the Arab man said. "We insist."

The three men grabbed at Amira. She felt a hand on her right breast. Another on her buttocks. She slapped them away, but the men were getting rough. Pushing her around. Amira shouted for help.

The African attempted to muffle her cries. She bit into his hand. It tasted of diseased sweat. She seized a plank of wood jutting out of the fire. She waved it left to right at the men, the end of the plank in flames.

"Get away," Amira said.

The men regrouped in front of her. They advanced slow. Amira warded them off, but they kept coming. Lunging. Seeming to enjoy the challenge.

Amira kicked the bin over in front of them. The fire spilled out and caught the men by surprise.

She took Rima by the hand and ran. The fire caught on a pile of cardboard and flared, buying them a head start.

They stumbled through the tents, struggling to see in the dark. The ground uneven.

Amira glanced over her shoulder. The men were like phantom shadows chasing them through the camp. As she turned her attention to the space ahead, her foot caught on a tent rope pegged into the ground. The rope twanged and snapped. Amira hit the ground hard, Rima tumbling with her.

The men closed in.

"Come on," Rima said, helping Amira to her feet.

The two of them ran on, into the nearest abandoned marquee. Amira felt her lungs burn. She slowed to a stop to catch her breath. Rima was about to say something. Amira put a hand over her mouth and listened. She heard the men shouting to each other. They'd split up, entering the marquee from opposite ends, cutting off any means of escape.

Amira attempted to calm her spiralling mind. She looked around her in the gloom. Saw a giant pile of rubbish to their right—bottles, rags, bandages and flattened boxes. "Here," she whispered to Rima, leading her to the mountain of flotsam.

"What are you doing?" Rima whispered.

"We're playing hide and seek," Amira said, creating a space at the base of the pile. She pulled Rima down with her into the rubbish. She dragged a used bed sheet and a large flattened cardboard box over their bodies.

"I like hide and seek," Rima said.

"Me too," Amira said, "But we need to be quiet as mice. Okay?"

"Okay," Rima said.

Amira held her own breath, her hand over Rima's mouth. They huddled tight as the men approached. Shouts from afar shrinking into close conversation.

"No one saw her?" the Arab man said. "s**t, I got to have that b***h. Keep looking. I need to piss."

Amira heard the man unzip his fly. A stream of urine pattered against the opposite side of the cardboard. The Arab sighed in relief.

The stream petered out. A sharp zipping sound as the man did up his fly. The soles of his trainers shuffling away.

Fortunately for Amira and Rima, the cardboard was thick, folded into three layers. The urine hadn't soaked through. Amira kicked it away, the smell of ammonia overpowering. She flung the bed sheet aside and told Rima to stay put. Amira edged around the rubbish pile. She looked both ways. The men were gone. She helped Rima to her feet, letting out her breath. "Come on," Amira said.

"Where are we going?" Rima asked, taking her hand.

"Anywhere but here," Amira said.