ANDY AND BANJO REACHED the water hole, the last physical hurdle to the extraction zone. As their bodies were pressed to the ground, two pairs of booted legs appeared about two feet from them, no doubt members of OPFOR. Top class predators.
Andy closed her eyes, afraid to breathe. Suddenly there was a commotion. One pastry-eater, a battle-toughened Gallic man, was swearing in French, English, Italian and German. He was out-of-his-mind angry. ‘Fuckers!’ he hollered in frustration. ‘I’ve walked over a hundred miles! Argh!’ He gave them hell. It took several men to drag him to a truck, where those caught were to be quarantined.
That – precisely that – was what they didn’t want to happen to them. Having walked this distance over the course of three days only to be nabbed less than four miles
