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didn't budge and Gray swore as he realised that it opened inwards. They would have to pick the lock he thought, as he rubbed his sore shoulder. Dropping to his knees and peering into the large old- fashioned lock, Gray reached back to get his clasp-knife from the arse pocket of his breeches. The blade was too wide and he called to Fowler, "You've got a pen-knife haven't you?" The younger trooper handed it to him and he inserted the narrower blade into the lock. "Do you know what you're doing Gray?"
"Keep quiet," Gray replied, and a second later they heard the big key fall onto the stone floor. "Now let's have you my beauty," Gray murmered as he began to dig around in the lock. Suddenly he heard a faint sound on the other side of the door and froze. A moment later the key was slipped back into the lock and Gray leapt to his feet. The key turned with a loud click and both troopers stepped back, bodies tensed, as the door swung open.
The corporal stood swaying in the doorway. His rugged face looked gray under his tan and blood oozed between the fingers of the hand he held over his wound. Fowler pushed past Gray and putting his arms around the corporal, half carried him across the kitchen and lowered him gently onto a chair by the table. "I'll get something to clean that wound corp, shan't be a minute," Fowler said and hurried from the kitchen. The dark blue eyes looked up at Gray and the corporal said, "At least I wasn't wearing my shirt. That bullet would have really fucked it up," he said, managing a weak smile.
"How bad is it corporal?"
"Missed my heart and lungs I think, but it hurts like fucking hell."
Fowler returned, ripping a clean sheet to pieces and the corporal said, "I want you to go after him, Gray. I heard what the dutch bastard said I don't want that to happen to that young scout. He deserves
better." Fowler brought cloth and a bowl of tepid water and knelt to tend to the corporal's wound.
"Get moving Gray, Fowler here can patch me up and get me back to camp."
"Yes corporal," Gray replied and donning his damp shirt and retrieving his rifle, he hurried to the paddock. He quickly checked his horse and hauled himself into the saddle. He moved off and soon found the trail of the two horses in the grass. He hurried after them, knowing that the trail would quickly disappear. Indeed it grew gradually fainter and when he reached an area of broken rock and and shrub it disappeared all together. Fighting down his rising fear for the scout, he climbed down and slowly and carefully cast around. Then he saw the clean new scratch on the rock and ahead the leaf freshly broken from a low growing bush.
Sarel at last slowed down and Piet was able to loosen the grip of his knees around the horse's sides. His wrists had been tied to the pommel of his saddle, giving him little control over his galloping mount. They now moved on slowly until they reached an area of flat grass, surrounded by thorny waist-high scrub. Sarel reined-in and dismounted. "This will do fine. When I've finished with you, the scavengers will be able to feed here undisturbed." He released Piet's bound wrists from the pommel and, reaching up, yanked the scout from the saddle. Piet fell to the ground and the toe of Sarel's boot thudded into his balls. He doubled up and Sarel rolled him onto his back. His boots and belt were tugged off. Sarel then ripped down Piet's trousers and tore them free before straightening up and looking down at his naked prisoner, a sneer twisting his thin lips. Naked, Piet sat up and dropped his bound hands to protect his bruised balls. Without warning, Sarel aimed a savage kick at Piet's head. The heavy boot caught Piet under the chin, flinging him back and down into blackness.
A stabbing pain in his wrists, drew Piet back to consciousness. He was spreadeagled and staked out on the coarse grass his legs spread wide apart. Sarel knelt to straddle him and fear wormed in Piet's belly as he looked up at the farmer's sneering face. "Now you murdering bastard, let's give you a bit more of what the fucking khakis gave you," Sarel snarled and punched Piet in the mouth. Blood spurted again from Piet's split lips and soaked into his beard.
Chapter 8
The scent of humans was very strong in her nostrils and fear welled up in her again. But this time she detected the smell of fresh blood and the lust to kill and feed became irrestistible. She moved forward, her belly low to the ground.
Chapter 9
Sarel look down at Piet's battered face. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth and oozed from the
grazes left by Sarel's split knuckles. Tears welled up from Piet's closed eyes and trickled down his bloody cheeks. "Wake up," Sarel snarled, I want you awake when I fix you." Piet groaned and, opening his eyes, saw Sarel reach back for his knife. His blood turned to ice as his balls were roughly grasped and his scrotum stretched. Then he screamed in terror as he felt the cold blade against his skin.
The leopard bounded forward and leapt. Although she struck Sarel with enough force to fling him, bouncing and rolling away from Piet, her wound made her clumsy and she failed to grasp her prey. Hissing with fury, she cartwheeled over Sarel and landed on her back. Sarel was quickly on his feet and he turned knife extended to meet the cat's charge. His blade sank into the side of the animal's neck. He lunged again, missed and was borne backwards. He managed to keep his footing for a moment before the leopard's claws raked his ribs and he fell with a scream, the big cat on top of him.
Raising his head, Piet watched the leopard rip and slash her victim before the two locked bodies rolled away out of his field of vision. He listened in horror to the sounds of the struggle, the harsh rasping hisses of the leopard and Sarel's shrill screams. Then suddenly it stopped and there was an awful deathly silence. Was the leopard feeding, Piet thought, and would it come for him? He listened intently, his fear mounting by the second. Then he heard something move. Straining against the ropes binding him, he craned his neck and saw Sarel standing, still clutching the bloody knife. His body looked like newly butchered meat and what skin could be seen, hung in tattered ribbons. His light blue eyes, blazing with hatred, stared at him from a face that was a mask of blood. He took one faltering step towards Piet and stopped, swaying, before lurching forward again. Then the dreadful eyes rolled up into his head and Sarel pitched forward onto his face. Piet felt relief flood through him and he lowered his head to the ground. Nothing moved and there was utter silence.
Realising that both the leopard and Sarel were dead, Piet now had to face the awful prospect of either,
slowly dying of thirst, or of being torn to pieces by scavengers. Although his naked body was bathed in warm sunshine, he felt his blood run cold as he heard the arrival of the first vulture. The ugly bird immediately attacked the body of the leopard and was quickly joined by more. Another pair arrived and as they began to tear at Sarel's bloody body Piet felt his gorge rise. Then the moment that Piet has been dreading arrived. A large vulture settled beside him and waddled forward cautiously. Piet tossed
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