Death & Back

Chapter 7

7

More fires lit in bins had warmed their hands as they passed into Macedonia. Train rides had carried them to Serbia. Now, deserted tracks guided Amira and Rima to the Hungarian border.

Rima was tough. Didn't complain about the blisters on her feet or the nasty cough on her chest.

But she was getting worse. Her temperature high. Her body weak. Her skin turning pale.

Traipsing in a long line of refugees, Amira didn't have to be a doctor to know Rima needed urgent medical care. The best she could do was keep her warm. A discarded blue coat had helped. It was several sizes too big. The sleeves flapped long over Rima's hands. The tail of the coat extended down to her ankles. But Rima loved it.

Amira herself had found a red woollen sweater caught in a prickly bush. She'd bloodied her fingers prising it off the thorns.

Mile after mile they trudged, Rima receiving a piggy-back ride for a few of them, from a man travelling on his own.

Finally, the border came into sight. It wasn't pretty. A tall fence with barbed wire at the top. Armed guards in dark-blue uniforms, pale-blue hygiene masks strapped around their faces.

The line of refugees came to a grinding halt. Then a slow shuffle into a camp. A muddy field where they stood in rows, waiting to be processed.

Amira jostled her way to the front with Rima. She spoke in English to the guards, who stood in front of another fence.

Behind the fence was a train station platform and a small car park. Amira noticed a white coach loading up with refugees.

Most of the guards didn't understand English. But one did. A blonde man with a large nose and narrow eyes. He pulled his mask down to talk.

"What’s happening?" Amira asked.

"You will be put on train. Or bus," the guard said. "Taken to Austrian border."

"When?"

"Soon as possible," the guard said. "Please, in line."

"How long do we wait?" Amira asked.

"A day," the guard said. "Or two."

"The girl is sick. She won't last out here. Can't you do something? Get her some help?"

"Sorry," the guard said. "Please, in line."

So they waited. On their feet. On the seat of their pants. Rima lay with her head on Amira's chest.

As the night drew in, some refugees had small tents they were able to put up. Large sodium lights made it harder to sleep, but easier for the guards to watch over the crowd.

The field was filling up with refugees. Dozens by the hour. Amira huddled close to the girl, as much for her own warmth as Rima's.

Drifting in and out of nightmares, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A face in the dark. The man who'd given Rima a piggy back. Rangy and lean, with deep, dark circles under his eyes.

Amira jumped. "Get away."

"No, it's okay," the man said in a soft voice. "I can get you on the coach. There's one leaving soon. But you have to pay."

"To Austria?" Amira asked.

"To Germany," the man said with a smile. "That's where you're headed, right?"

Amira's eyes lit up. Help for Rima and the promise of Germany, where she had family. The only family she had left. The only dream to cling to. "How much?" she asked.

"A thousand each. You have it?"

"Yes, I have it."

"Then come, follow me."

Amira shook Rima awake. The girl could barely raise an eyelid.

"Here," the man said, scooping Rima up in his arms.

Amira rose to her feet, her backside sodden with cold, wet mud. She followed the man through the sleeping crowds—a sea of bodies huddling for warmth. A broken rainbow of tents dotted between.

The guard who spoke English opened a gate on the fence and let them through, looking neither of them in the eye. They walked across a dark stretch of unlit concrete behind the railway platform. To a waiting coach. Plain white. Its engine ticking over. A shadowy figure stood at the open door at the front. He had a clipboard and a leather money bag strapped around his front. A long, black coat open at the front and a thick grey scarf high around his neck.

He looked like he might be local to Amira, though in the low light spilling out from the coach, she couldn't tell.

"You got money?" the man asked.

"Yes," Amira said, unbuttoning her trousers at the waist. She unzipped the clear plastic pouch she'd had the good sense to stitch into her trousers. It was waterproof and hidden from sight. She counted her way through a wedge of notes before pulling out the required amount. "Germany, yes?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "Netherlands."

Amira held onto the money. "But you said Germany."

"That's what he told me," the man travelling with her said.

"There's been a change of plan," the man in the coat and scarf said. "The coach is leaving now. You're either on it or you're not."

Amira looked at Rima. She handed over the money.

The man counted it out again and stuffed it inside his own money bag. "That pays for you," he said. "What about the child?"

"She's just a kid," the man helping Amira said.

"p*****t is for seat, not size of person."

"I've only got two hundred," Amira said, hoping the lie would stick.

The man humphed and thought it over. "Okay, two hundred."

Amira handed over the extra fare. The man took the money and directed them on-board the coach.

The driver was a small bald man in a black fleece and jeans. He handed Amira three litre-bottles of water from a torn open pack at the front of the coach. He reached inside a tatty carrier bag and handed over the same number of energy bars. He did it without a hint of warmth. Amira wasn't complaining. She thanked the driver and walked along the aisle. The coach was only half full. Not everyone had the savings to spend on a fast-track journey to western Europe.

The man helping Amira laid Rima out on a window seat halfway down the aisle. Amira thanked him and took the seat next to her; the man settling in across from them. Amira removed Rima's coat. She opened it out and flung it over the pair of them. They sat close together, as if they were mother and daughter.

The coach doors folded closed. The air brakes hissed and the driver revved the diesel engine hard. The coach set off across the car park. The heaters came on overhead. Amira closed her eyes and dreamed of a better life.