Those Who Feel Nothing by Peter Guttridge Page B

built on concrete stilts with a kind of through road running between the stilts to the street on the other side. You ran beneath the building. Rogers leaned the man against the wall. You kept the woman on your shoulder.
    Rogers looked back at the prison and shook his head.
    â€˜I can’t believe they’ve fucking left us.’
    â€˜They were on a schedule,’ you said.
    â€˜Yeah, but the job was to get three people. They’re one short.’
    â€˜It’s me they’ve left, not you,’ the man croaked.
    â€˜I never asked about these three people we were rescuing,’ Rogers said. ‘But, of course, I had my suspicions. Sailors drifting into Kampuchean waters? Only three kinds of sailor would go anywhere near this nuthouse country: drug traffickers, smugglers or spies.’
    Rogers looked across at the rangy man leaning against the wall. ‘Which are you?’ Rogers stepped in front of Westbrook. ‘Looking into your eyes and seeing how alert you are I’m going with spy. But then I’d always kind of assumed that. The British government wouldn’t sanction an illegal mission just to get back some tourists.’
    â€˜But what interest would Britain have in Cambodia?’ you said. ‘How are Britain’s interests affected by what’s going on in Cambodia? Is it a Pacific thing? Australia? An Indian sub-continent thing?’
    Rogers stepped back. ‘Above my pay grade, that kind of information.’ He turned to you and gestured towards Michelle. ‘And then there’s you and Mata Hari here, sonny boy.’
    You ignored him and turned to watch the street between the prison and the block of flats. A dozen or so soldiers were milling around the broken wire, looking out into the street but with no clear focus.
    â€˜They have no idea what to do,’ you said.
    â€˜And we do?’ Rogers said.
    â€˜We just head back to the harbour.’
    â€˜On foot with two banged up people?’
    You hefted your machine gun. ‘Sure.’
    Rogers shook his head. ‘I think we make a stop and wait until it quietens down.’
    You thought he might say that. ‘It’s three miles maximum,’ you said. ‘And unless we meet a tank we’re better armed by far than anyone we’re going to come across.’
    â€˜It’s not about being better armed,’ he said. ‘It’s about numbers. They have a whole bloody army in the city.’
    â€˜You know that how? What’s left of their army is on the border with Vietnam. What’s left in this city is their equivalent of the Home Guard. I think even you can handle Private Pike, can’t you?’
    Rogers looked at the woman. ‘We need to get her arms back in their sockets.’ He shook his head. ‘She must be in bloody agony. I don’t understand why she’s not screaming non-stop.’
    You looked out into the street. The guards were fanning out along the pavement. A number of them were looking your way.
    â€˜I think we need to move from here first,’ you said. ‘At least a couple of blocks.’
    You glanced towards Westbrook, who was watching you intently.
    â€˜I can walk,’ he croaked. He reached behind you and stroked Michelle’s head, murmuring something in French. You didn’t hear her respond. He looked at you. ‘Thank you.’
    You led the way to the back of the block of flats. There was an alley directly across from you. You navigated between three decaying bodies at the entrance.
    â€˜The City of Death,’ Westbrook croaked, his legs flexing awkwardly as he jerked along almost robotically, his joints stiff and inarticulate.
    â€˜How did they get you?’ you said, aware that the woman was moaning constantly now. ‘What were you even doing here?’
    Westbrook glanced across. ‘That’s a long story.’
    â€˜That may be. But is there stuff you need to be telling me in case we split up and