AGAINST HOPE
by: PEBBLES
Part 3
~~^~~^~~^~~^~~^~~
It was like a
nightmare. Luka felt himself falling; over and over he
tumbled in slow motion. He tried to grab hold of something
to impede his progress but he just kept falling and falling,
gathering momentum. He hit a rock – smack against his
upper back, knocking the wind out of him. Still, he kept
falling.
Luka grabbed out
at a branch, as he plunged by. For a moment, he felt his
progress braked but then the force of his body weight tore at his
shoulder and it dislocated with a sickening pop. He was
forced to let go in agony.
Down, down he
tumbled. The pain in his shoulder blasting through him each
time he impacted with the ground. Then, blessed relief, he
was flying through the air. It seemed like he was airborne
for ages but in reality it was just seconds.
Crash, he hit the
ground. Pain shot through him as his thigh collided with a
rock and a brief sensation of cold washed over him before Luka
lost consciousness, his head bleeding from a blow sustained on
the descent.
~~^~~^~~^~~^~~^~~
At the top of the
ravine, Doug sat on the damp ground trying to pull himself
together. The fog in his head was clearing a bit although
the mist all around him was getting thicker. He slowly
eased himself forward, feeling with his feet. About a yard
along, the ground suddenly dropped away.
“Kovac!”
He yelled and then strained to hear an answer. Absolutely
no sound reached his ears. “Hey, Kovac!” again he
waited for an answer. He had no idea how deep the ravine
was or how steeply the ground fell away. He was completely
blind. If he went back to find the road he might never find
this spot again and there was a good chance he would just lose
himself completely.
The best bet
seemed to be to inch forwards on his backside and try to follow
the route that Kovac fell. If he kept low to the ground he
could hopefully avoid sliding and with luck he might find the
man. Come on Doug, you can do it. Just slow and
steady, no point in falling yourself.
Little by little,
Doug made his way down the slope. The grass was wet and
slippery but dotted about there were rocks, which he could brake
himself against. About twenty yards down the slope, the fog
started to clear and he could make out the shape of trees and
bushes. The moon was up; illuminating the valley with it’s
pale light.
Another ten yards
and the slope ended in a sheer drop of about twenty feet. Doug
could just make out the sound of running water and the silvery
reflection of the moonlight between the trees – a river.
How in hell was he going to get down there? He eased
himself sideways like a crab. A short way to the left was a
copse of stunted trees. Doug clung on to the trunk of one
and peered over the edge.
The trees grew
right on the edge of the precipice, their roots spreading out
below in their search for anchorage. Doug reckoned that if
he lowered himself over the edge he could use the roots to help
him get nearer the ground. It looked like a drop of about
ten feet to a patch of bracken below. He could make that,
couldn’t he?
Gingerly, Doug
eased himself over the edge; praying that the roots would be
strong enough to take his weight. The first couple of
handholds proved to be good. Doug reached out to a smaller
bough lower down. It flexed. Should he trust it to
take his weight? The decision was made as the last bough
snapped leaving Doug clinging on by just one hand.
The bough bent.
Doug was helpless. There was nothing else within his reach.
Luckily it did not break, just bent further and further until his
feet were no more than about five feet from the deck. “Here
goes nothing.” Doug said out loud, his voice sounding
eyrie in the silence of the valley. He let go and braced
himself for a hard landing.
The drop was in
fact greater than he had anticipated but the bracken below
cushioned the impact and Doug suffered no more than a few
scratches and bruises. For a moment he lay still, thanking
God or whoever. Didn’t they say that the Lord looks
after small children and drunks? Doug now felt completely
sober.
~~^~~^~~^~~^~~^~~
Carol stopped the
car. The fog was closing in rapidly and she could no longer
make out the sides of the road. This was ridiculous; she
couldn’t possibly drive in these conditions. She also couldn’t
leave the men stranded on the moor. They must have calmed
down by now. Driving off and leaving them had been pretty
stupid, she admitted to herself, however much they deserved it.
She got out of
the car to try and determine if there was room to turn around.
The road was single track but there was a passing place just
ahead. Carol carefully worked her way around the perimeter
trying to make sure that there were no rocks or other obstacles
in the way. She walked back to the car; it’s
headlights guiding her back.
Very slowly, she
drove into the passing space and began to perform a turning
manoeuvre that anyone would have been proud of. She lost
count of the times she inched first back and then forward;
turning the wheel from full lock right to full lock left. First
gear – reverse gear– first gear – reverse gear.
Without power assisted steering, it was hard going but just as
well it was a small car, anything bigger might have got stuck.
At last the car
was facing in the right direction. Slowly, she drove back
along the road she had come. How far had she driven? It all
looked the same in the fog. There was no sensation of distance
travelled. She peered through the windscreen trying to pick
out a landmark. Suddenly a shape loomed out of the mist
right in front of the car. Carol floored the brake pedal.
It was large and hairy and it had four legs. A Dartmoor
pony!
As it slowly
shambled out of the way, Carol dropped her head against her hands
that gripped the wheel. She was not sure whether to laugh
or cry. She was feeling pretty shaken up by now, beginning
to panic that she would not find Doug or Luka. Guilt
mingled with fear was a potent brew and tears began to fill up
her eyes. “Pull yourself together” She spoke to
herself, continuing on down the road.
Checking the
speedometer Carol saw that she had driven four miles since she
turned. It had taken her over half an hour! Although
she could not be sure at what point she had thrown out Luka and
Doug she was sure that if they had been at the side of the road
she would have seen them – or at least they would have seen
her. Now what? A few yards further on twin glowing
eyes came at her out of the fog.
~~^~~^~~^~~^~~^~~
Luka was in a
twilight world between consciousness and unconsciousness. It
was filled with pain. Excruciating pain and coldness.
His shoulder hurt but that was eclipsed by the agony in his leg.
He had experienced this pain before and now he was back there,
cowering in the dark from the blows of his aggressors. He
could taste the dirt in his mouth, his head held down by a
jackboot on his neck.
The guards took
delight in torturing their prisoners. It was not enough to
just lock them up and starve them. A hard core would pull
men out at random and dole out punishment. These were usually
beatings with knotted ropes or riffle butts. When the man
was down on the ground they would put the boot in.
Luka had spent
six months in the camp after the fall of Vukovar. During
this time he had been beaten half a dozen times. At the end
of each he had been black and blue and once he had lost a couple
of teeth but so far he had gotten off better than some of the
others. He had even found the pain therapeutic in a twisted
kind of way. It was what he deserved wasn’t it?
His grief burned
inside him, far greater than any physical pain. It consumed
him, became what he was. If the guards had chosen to smash
his skull, it could not hurt him more. Luka believed he was
already dead and this was hell.
The final beating
was in the spring. Perhaps the guards were more vicious
because they knew their sport was coming to an end. The prisoners
were to be moved the next day. Luka was standing in line waiting
for the meagre ration of food when he made the mistake of looking
the supervising officer right in the eye. For a moment
their gaze locked, then Luka quickly dropped his eyes to the
ground.
It was too late.
A cry went up and soon two heavily built thugs were pulling Luka
out of the line. His hands were tied behind his back and a
blindfold secured over his eyes. He was pushed and shoved
along until he crashed right into a wall. Then strong hands
were pulling his hands above his head and he was literally hung
up like a side of meat on a butcher’s hook.
Blows rained upon
him. He could not tell how many. They came from all
sides. Finally, a massive blow to his thigh fractured his
femur and he passed out in a vision of red. He came to
where they had left him, cut down and slumped to the floor.
For how many hours he lay there, moaning in agony, he did not
know.
He was aware of
strong hands examining his body. A voice came from far off,
speaking in a language he did not understand. “Kovac!
Speak to me, man.” The hands were working in a
methodical fashion and the voice came again. It
seemed nearer this time. “Open your eyes, Kovac!
Come on.” His eyelids were pulled open and a face
peered at him, all out of focus and distorted.
“Come on
Kovac, stay with me now. I’m going to fix you up and
then were going to get out of here.” The voice sounded
reassuring but Luka could not make sense of the words. He
opened his mouth and tried to speak. “What’s
that?” The face appeared again, looking more familiar
now. “Speak English Kovac!”
“I said,
call me Luka.” He finally managed to process the
language and spit out the words.
“Yeah, now
we’re getting somewhere. Now, tell me who I am.”
Luka stared at
the friendly face looking down at him. It took some time
but then it came to him: “Doug Ross.” He
mumbled, before the pain radiating from his thigh grabbed his
entire attention.
“Now we’re
getting somewhere.” Doug repeated, smiling at Luka,
wishing he felt as confident about the situation as he was trying
to sound.
End of Part 3
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