HE WAS BACK IN THE CONGO.
The jungle.
The swollen river.
The mosquitoes.
The paralysing poverty.
The sound of hate.
The smell of greed.
The gunfire and the explosions.
He was running with a limp wee body in his arms, but he couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. The body was covered in blood, dripping and spreading rapidly along his arms. His palms were wet, making the light body slippery. The metallic odour of blood pervaded his sense of smell.
He could see the jungle clearing, the extraction zone, just ahead. A Chinook helicopter was waiting, its massive twin rotors turning in an aggressive rotation, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. He was less than a hundred yards from it, he looked back and saw Belle was running behind him. He stood still for a second, shocked at the si
