Charles
"We know who you are, Professor, so give us da key! We can do dis da easy way or da hard way."
Charles Hunt's jaw throbbed under another punch in response to his silence. He was convinced the last blow dislodged his tooth. The harsh metal taste of his blood filled his mouth as he tried catching his breath. Charles spat a ball of bloody saliva in his attacker's face.
"So… den you choose da hard way? You stupid scumbag!"
The blow to Charles' stomach doubled him over, and he struggled to breathe again. The man circled around Charles and went in for another punch. His legs gave out beneath his tortured body. The giant behind him tightened his grip on his bound arms, forcing his body upright as another blow thrust into his stomach. That one hurt.
"We can do dis all day, Professor. Your sissy assistant not here to rescue your sorry behind. Better give up and tell us where to find da key."
In spite of his broken English, the attacker's voice was hoarse with impatience. Charles wasn't sure how long he could withstand the torture. He wasn't the spring chicken he was thirty years ago. Back then he would have given this buffoon a whipping he would never forget.
The blood gushed from his swollen eyebrow, which made it nearly impossible to see. He recalled how the rebels ambushed them in the village and how all chaos had broken loose after that. Searching his memory, he remembered how the ground team scattered as they sought hiding and how he had lost sight of Eric when they pulled the black hood over his face. There was the gunshot; one single bullet. He couldn't quite make out where it came from or whom it was intended to hit. Was it possible that it was Eric who got shot? If not then there was a distinct possibility they were busy torturing him for information too. And if they were, he was pretty sure Eric would die regardless. The poor fellow didn't have a clue where Rhapta was. Charles had always been very careful not to share too much information with him.
In hindsight perhaps this was now Eric's saving grace or maybe the very thing that would get him killed. Unless he was already dead. Izzy might have been right all along. The boy was not hardened enough to cut it in their line of work.
Either way, Charles was as good as dead too if they had captured or killed the lad. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he did his job of relaying proper communications to the uni, despite the fact that he disappeared into town on more than one occasion. What Charles wasn't convinced about was whether Eric managed to get a distress call out to Keating. Charles instantly regretted not sharing his location sooner. He wasn't even sure if Alexandra had heard anything when he tried calling her. It wasn't looking good for him. He'd have to think of something to at least buy him some time, even if it only provided a breather from the punches.
His attacker stopped to wipe the sweat off his face and guzzled down a jug of banana beer. It afforded Charles the slightest gap to catch his breath before the man went over and spat a mouthful of beer in his face.
"So you quiet, Professor? You say nothing?"
"I don't have the key. I'm here on personal business. I told you. I've come looking for my wife."
"Ha! Your wife!" He spat out another mouthful of the drink as he chuckled in ridicule.
"Everyone knows your wife is dead Pro-fes-sor! She did not want to give up da key either, you idiot."
Charles ignored his parody. He only had one shot at this. If what he was planning worked he'd have to save his energy for what lay ahead. It was a long shot but worth a try, so he waited patiently for the mockery to end before he spoke again.
"No, she's not. My wife isn't dead."
"What you say, white man? You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I don't. My wife is alive. She's not dead. She called me from here a week ago, but the line was too bad and went dead. So I've come here to look for her. If I find her, I find the key. Then you can take the damn thing and let us go."
Charles dared not look up at his kidnapper now. He was certain he would spot the deceit in his eyes, so he kept looking down at a stone on the ground between his feet. The same stone that kept his focus away from the brutal force of the punches. It helped him focus on Alexandra, and reminded him of the time they had escaped to the beach after Izzy died. They had spent the morning picking up pebbles on the beach and placed one on Izzy's grave. She loved the ocean.
"Aikôna, that is a lie!" Charles heard the accusations from behind him. "Sir who says he's speaking the truth? He's a liar."
The giant who held Charles up had spoken for the first time. Charles listened as the two men argued. They spoke Swahili. Charles wasn't fluent but he deduced they were accusing him of lying. All he could think of was escaping and getting back to Alexandra. His mind traveled back to when she was a little girl playing with the village kids. She picked the language up so quickly.
But his troubled thoughts were interrupted as the giant jerked his head back and forced him to make eye contact with the rebel leader.
"If I find out you lie about dis, Professor, I slice your throat with my knife."
As if that wasn't clear enough he emphasized his threat by spitting in Charles' face before he walked off.
Grateful that his bluff paid off Charles silently sighed with relief. His exhausted body ached from the beating. His feet dragged trails in the sand behind him as the giant pulled him back toward his makeshift bamboo cell.
The sharp stones, purposefully laid down to extend his torture, pierced his body as the rebel threw him onto the ground. Charles slumped sideways onto the sharp stones and tried to shuffle onto his feet by leaning back against the bamboo rods. As if the rebel needed to prove once more who was in charge he kicked Charles from behind, causing him to fall face down onto the stones.
"Blooming jerk!" Charles shouted as he spat out another mouthful of blood.
His attacker's foot pushed down heavily on his back forcing him to lie flat on the jagged rocks. The slicing sound of his knife taken out of its sheath triggered Charles' body into a curled-up ball as he waited for the imminent stabbing.
He might have underestimated the giant. Perhaps his bluff failed and this marked his end. Charles shot up a silent prayer as his life flashed before his bleeding eyes. But at that moment a vigorous tug at the rope around his bound hands left it snapping into pieces instead. The ropes ripped and scattered on the ground beside him, freeing both his hands. Instinctively his hands covered his head as he curled back into a fetal ball, convinced the giant had missed his mark. He readied his body for the fatal stabbing, but nothing happened.
For the first time, Charles raised his head and faced the giant who towered above him. He guessed him to be well over six feet, with every bit the physique of a professional football athlete. His khaki military shirt and trousers carried stains of fresh blood mixed in with months of dirt. His teeth were brilliant white against his black, sweaty skin.
Charles looked full into his perpetrator's yellow-tinged eyes and watched as he turned to fiddle with the lock of the bamboo door behind him.
"Water. I need water if I'm to have energy to find my wife."
The giant paused and Charles felt his heart skip multiple beats. They wouldn't let him die. Not with him being the only way they'd find the treasure. Surely he had them cornered. Minutes later the giant arrived with a bucket of water and a lump of ugali. Charles relished inwardly. He still had it. Age might not be on his side but guts he had until the day he died, and this wasn't that day.
The murky water stared back at him. It looked disgusting but he had been without food and water since his capture. If he were to get an opportunity to escape he'd have to eat and drink whatever they gave him. The giant rolled the lump of doughy bread between his dirty, sweaty hands and tossed it at Charles.
"You gonna look or eat, white man?"
Charles had caught the ball of the Tanzanian staple. The bread looked and smelled revolting. The dough was warm and nauseatingly gooey and quite possibly days old. He took a bite nonetheless, unable to deny the hunger pangs that suddenly ambushed him. The maize and milk mixture should at least sustain him for a little while.
The rebel cursed under his breath and dropped the bucket of water hard on the ground causing the pail to almost topple over. Half the brown, muddy water spilled over the sides.
With newfound bravery, Charles mockingly saluted him. Unimpressed, the rebel reciprocated by forcibly ejecting his saliva in Charles' face.
Charles fought the urge to sling a long string of unsavory words back at him, but he held back. He needed to keep his wits about him now. He was ahead in the game, and these guys were fully aware but the giant's eyes told him he'd far rather kill him than find treasure. Charles was kept alive only because he was ordered to do so.
He reminded himself of his mission. He needed to eat and rest to build up his strength enough to make his escape. He had one chance the next day when they all went off looking for Izzy; her phantom at least.
Resolved to escape, Charles chose not to react and taunted the rebel by taking a bite of the dough. He would show no fear. It worked and Charles was left alone.
Although the sun already sat quite low, its rays beat down on the bald patch on the back of Charles' head. If he'd hazarded a guess he'd peg the time to be somewhere in the late afternoon. The African sun was generally at its hottest around then. But there was no way of knowing for certain since they stole his wristwatch along with the rest of his belongings when they captured him.
That watch was his last chance of being found. With any luck, they weren't smart enough to figure out that it had a built-in GPS tracker. If they hadn't switched the tracker off yet, the signal should lead the ground crew straight to him. As long as he was with the rebels, that is, and as long as the ground crew was still alive.
Charles scooped another few sips of water in his filthy hands. Most of the sand and grit now lay at the bottom of the bucket. The water still tasted and smelled like stinky feet, but it was water nevertheless and welcome under the sweltering heat.
Night would fall soon, and the temperature would drop and most likely bring a lot of rain. If they left him in his cell, he'd be in for a long wet night. Before long the heat and exhaustion got the better of him, and he passed out. A loud bang brought him back to a conscious state and moments later the sound echoed through the air again. Not quite sure what woke him, Charles sat up and looked around. He noticed the sun was just about to set. Clusters of rebels scattered in all directions running for any form of cover behind their bunkers and the trees. The sound of cocking guns and shouted commands came from everywhere.
It dawned on Charles that they were under attack, most likely from a rival group.
Charles lay down flat on the ground. The sharp edges of the rocks pierced his abdomen. He was completely exposed. The giant was nowhere in sight. He was an open target in that cell. One stray bullet was all it took. He thought of lying still and faking his death. More shots fired off in his direction. They were closing in on him.
He looked around. The coastal regions were relatively familiar to him after all the years of exploring, but without being privy to his exact location there was no telling where he was. If he could get the lock open he could choose any direction and just run. He could seize this raid to aid his escape.
Faking and waiting wasn't an option. He had to break out of there. He picked up a sharp rock and smashed it at the lock. It didn't budge so he kicked hard into the bamboo poles. The sharp rocks sliced through his other foot sending pangs of pain up his leg. He was too weak to kick through the strong bamboo poles. Another bullet flew over his head as blood gushed from his injured foot. He'd bleed to death if he didn't stop it so he ripped his shirt in two and bound both his feet. With some relief for his feet, he hit a rock against the lock again but stopped when he spotted some of the rebels taking cover behind him. On high alert, they sat silently waiting on their pending attackers.
"Hey! Get me out of here!" Charles shouted, only to be ignored as more bullets flew past his head.
Keeping an eye on the rebels, Charles spotted the giant squatting against the large tree directly behind him.
"Hey! Get me out of here!" he shouted at the giant.
"Get down!" the giant shouted back.
Charles did so just as a series of bullets left the giant's gun and whisked past his head to three insurgents that had crept up behind Charles. The giant confirmed where his loyalty lay by killing two of them in an effort to keep Charles alive. He was after all their ticket to a sizable fortune when they found the key.
"Tell me about da key, old man! You die today. Where is da key?"
Charles cursed the key. He should have guessed the guy was looking after his own interests. Every archaeologist and relic hunter known to man scoured the coast in the hope of finding the infamous lost city of Rhapta and all its treasures.
"Nothing but a fairytale, you idiot!" Charles responded.
"I not believe you! Where's the key, old man? You say NOW!" He pointed his gun at Charles.
"Believe me. I am telling you the truth. We have no proof of a key ever existing!"
"You a liar! There is lots of gold. You have the key. Where is it?" The giant continued relentlessly as another series of bullets left his gun.
"Get me out and I'll show you!"
"You lie I kill you! This no joke!" the giant warned as he moved toward unlocking the cage but quickly ducked behind the tree again to escape another fierce rain of crossfire.
Charles fell to the ground. He was in their direct line of fire.
"I can't show you if I'm dead! Get me out of here, you idiot!"
The giant knew he was useless dead. Firing several defense shots he sneaked up and stuck his key in the cell door's lock to free Charles.
"On your feet, white man!" he shouted, challenged to open the lock under pressure.
"Have you gone altogether bonkers? You're going to get us both killed! Give me the keys!"
"Shut up, white man! You know nothing. Get up!" he yelled, jerking both the cell door open and pulling Charles to his feet with one swift motion.
Before Charles even had the chance to object, the giant pulled him behind the tree. The rough act over the sharp stones ripped the makeshift shirt bandages off and sliced fresh cuts into his feet.
"I need shoes. I can't run like this."
"Ah, udhi," the giant spat at Charles to sod off and looked down at the blood gushing from the soles of Charles' feet. A dead victim lay on the ground behind a nearby tree. Within seconds he had pulled the corpse closer by his shoulders and removed his shoes.
"Here," he said, slamming the shoes against Charles' chest before killing another enemy over his shoulder.
"Hurry, white man. Put on dem shoes."
He fired off another series of bullets from his AK47 rifle and Charles ducked quickly, dead man's shoes in hand. The thought of putting on a mutilated corpse's shoes chilled him to the bone and he stared at the dead guy with guilt.
"White man! I say, put dem on! He no need dem anymore. We go!" He fired another round before reloading his gun.
Of course he was right. The poor sod was dead, and his feet were bleeding. Charles tightened the bandages and reached over to remove the stiff's socks. The shoes were too big, but it was better than nothing.
Charles jumped up and took cover behind the rebel's gigantic physique. But seconds later his enormous weight pinned him flat on the ground.
"Hey, Giant, shove off!" But he didn't move and neither could Charles. He felt a thick hot liquid trickle onto his face and down the side of his cheek. It was blood. The giant got himself shot in the head and had fallen back onto Charles.
Flat out disgusted by a dead man lying on top of him, Charles tried frantically to move out from underneath him. He failed at pushing him off and tried again, but the giant weighed more than a pregnant elephant.
Footsteps approached and Charles stopped. If he lay still under the giant, they might not spot him, so he tucked his head, arms, and body under the giant and waited.
Relieved, his tactic worked and the enemy walked away. This was his chance. He had to move the giant off of him before the rebels came looking for him. In his mind, getting him off was a simple case of physics. If he pushed only from one end instead of from the center, he should roll off. In theory at least, but it might just work. It was his only option.
After three solid attempts and with all his remaining strength drained, Charles managed to lift the giant off his body. The welcome sensation of his lungs filling up with air had him gasping and back on his feet under the nearby tree from where he surveyed his surroundings with caution.
Most of the rivals had already left, and one by one the rebels were slowly coming out from their hiding spots. Thankfully, they hadn't so much as looked his way. Charles turned and bolted between the trees as fast as his sixty-something injured body could take him.
With night upon him, the dark woods were a welcome advantage as he disappeared out of sight into the night.