Free Close to the Wind by Jon Walter Page A

shouted, ‘Bring them on. Bring it this way.’
    Malik took three quick steps to the window. There were soldiers in the street! He drew back so he wouldn’t be seen. He should hide. He looked for thecat but found it was no longer in the room and he ran to the top of the stairs and saw its tail disappear into the living room. The house was full of the sound of engines and boots. Malik went halfway down the stairs. ‘Come here, cat,’ he whispered, but when the cat didn’t appear he went on past the front door and looked into the room.
    The cat stood up on the windowsill, sniffing the fresh air through the broken window. There were soldiers in the street right outside now. Malik smooched his lips and rustled his fingers, but the cat didn’t budge until the side of a tank drew across the front of the cottage, close enough that the view of the street became one large block of grey metal that came to a standstill and shuddered like a nervous animal. A line of rivets shivered in the holes across its flank. The brakes let out a gasp of air, which made the cat leap from the window and run back across the room. Malik bent down and scooped it up as it tried to pass him through the doorway.
    ‘Keep them coming!’ shouted a voice that was close. ‘Keep them coming through.’
    Malik heard a footstep behind him. He turned to see a man standing in the porch, just the other side of the frosted glass panels in the front door. Therewas the click of a lighter and Malik saw a flame and the fierce orange dot of a cigarette that faded when the man took it from his mouth. If the soldier were to crouch down now and look through the letterbox, he would see Malik standing there holding the cat, staring at him as though he were a ghost.
    Malik thought about running. He looked back up the staircase but he dare not move, dare not even flinch, as the man smoked his cigarette and the convoy went on past the cottage. Malik looked back into the living room. The tank was still outside, level with the window – he could even smell the fumes from the exhaust. Then quite suddenly the tank jerked back to life. The engine roared and the joints groaned and the line of rivets began to move across the window until the tank was gone and Malik could see the street again, full of jeeps and armoured cars and soldiers that passed the cottage on their way toward the dock.
    Malik knew these soldiers weren’t like the ones that he’d seen from the cellar or at the roadblocks. These soldiers had neat uniforms, all identical with proper metal helmets. The soldiers Malik had seen before, in town, had all been dressed differently from each other and most of them hadn’t lookedlike soldiers at all. Some had worn army fatigues, but they’d had their own jackets over the top or they had tied bright sashes around their heads as though they thought they were kings. Papa had said they weren’t soldiers at all – he’d said they were a ragtag outfit of thugs and chancers, dressed in clothes they had taken from the dead.
    Perhaps these soldiers in the street were the peacekeepers that Hector had talked about and they had come to make the port safe?
    Malik held the cat tightly and stayed where he was until the soldier at the front door threw down his cigarette and was gone. The sound of engines and feet faded down the cobbled street and away toward the port.
    Malik slouched against the stairs and took a deep breath. But then he realized there were still people outside in the street. He became alert. He could hear voices and see outlines of passing figures through the frosted glass. He peered into the living room and could see men, women and children walking past the broken window, both on the pavement and down the middle of the cobbled street. They carried holdalls and suitcases and they wore their heavy winter coats just like Papa. Malik hadn’t seen people out inthe open like this since the day before the soldiers had taken Mama, and that must mean that something had