Free Dark Intent by Brian Reeve Page A

kitchen. Lead me to him.’
    They went from the house and amongst the breeze-block dwellings, w ith their corrugated iron roofs and meagre vegetable patches ravaged by the drought. There were only a few people about, mostly women and children, going about the daily chores of carrying water and wood to their homes while the men were at work in the city. Some greeted the two men, but others, members of Inkatha, showed their disgust for those who had refused to join them even though they were Zulus.
    In the grass on the hill Dhlamini and his brother found Ngwenya and Nofomela crouching next to their sick comrade. The doctor knelt beside Ngubane, releasing the clasp of his bag and drawing out his stethoscope. He felt the man’s chest and examined the dressings without removing them, prodding carefully.
    ‘He’s lost a lot of blood. That’s the cause of his weakness. The bullet must be removed and the wounds cleaned. They should heal. He’s young, strong and will recover. For a few days he needs plenty of rest and regular treatment.’
    ‘That means you, doctor,’ said Nofomela. ‘We don’t want to take any risks with his life.’
    ‘I’ll replace the bandages,’ said the doctor. ‘Find a place in the township where he can stay.’
    Ngwenya rubbed his growth of stubble. ‘We can’t use Dhlamini’s room. You’re the only one left, doctor. He can stay in your surgery. Anyone else will have to go.’
    The doctor leapt angrily to his feet. ‘There are two old people there. They’re critically ill.’
    ‘Do they have relatives, visitors?’ said Nofomela.
    ‘ There are a few who visit infrequently.’ The doctor blanched under his mottled skin. ‘But he can’t go to the surgery. Inkatha will go there first.’
    Ngwenya sprang over Ngubane and slapped the doctor’s face. ‘You swine,’ he cried. ‘We’re fighting for you and you treat us as if we’re diseased.’
    Nofomela went between them. ‘This will not help Ngubane.’ He confronted the doctor. ‘Where else?’ he demanded.
    The doctor shuddered, wishing he was somewhere else. ‘Who shot him? Inkatha is a band of cut-throats, disorganized. It may give us a day or two.’
    ‘ No,’ said Dhlamini, unapologetically. ‘They’ll come to us before anyone else. Ngubane tried to kill Moses Shozi.’
    Heaving his stomach as if he was about to vomit the doctor screamed: ‘They’ll be here in hours. He knows you’ll need a doctor.’
    ‘Ngubane can’t lie in the bush,’ said Nofomela, despising the man’s cowardice. ‘Find a place where he can be treated.’
    The doctor trembled like a man facing a death squad. ‘My sister-in-law lives further up the valley from me,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to her.’
    ‘Arrange it,’ said Nofomela bluntly. ‘You’ve an hour. We’ll be here with Dhlamini.’
    Slinking off , the doctor went from sight and the two guerillas squatted next to their friend. For forty minutes they waited, Ngwenya tugging impatiently at stems of grass, breaking them into small pieces, and Nofomela gazing vacuously into the distance. Dhlamini sat obediently, keeping himself apart, silent, hoping the doctor would come up with something.
    Quite suddenly the doctor was on them. ‘There’s a room in the house,’ he whispered, his lined features tense. ‘He’ll not be disturbed.’
    ‘Lead us to it,’ said Ngwenya, rising and dusting his shorts. ‘It’s in your interest to make sure we’re not seen by the wrong people.’

Chapter 20
     

    Edendale Valley, KwaZulu-Natal
     
    Leaving Pretoria, Krige and Dalton travelled to Pietermaritzburg and then the Edendale Valley. They bought food and canned drinks at a general store and it was mid-afternoon when they came to the turn-off to Umbali township. There was little sign of other life, only a few aging American sedans used as black taxis and the occasional small groups at the side of the road, the children waving in welcome.
    ‘Where’s the Zulu’s house?’ said Dalton, looking