Project - 16 Read Free

made
no sense to me. The paths in all directions were muddy and couldn't
have been crossed without leaving some kind of mark. But there were
none despite my best efforts to find them. I climbed over the wall
and saw nothing where I might have expected to see two large prints
from a small person dropping down on the other side. I back tracked
a little, wondering if I'd missed a turn or something. Then I saw
it - a patch that had drawn the fat blue bottles from where ever
they live when they're not feeding on the piles of stinking cow
shit. I waded through the tall grass off to one side of the path
and in the quickly fading light I saw that it was a splatter of
vomit. It was definitely puke because it had the tell-tale chunks,
the variety of colours and something far more worrying - it was
swirled with blood like a bad ice cream.
    I knelt down and rooted in the small pouch on my hip belt for
a torch. I gave the winder a few turns and pressed the button,
shining the beam down into the mess. I realised I'd stopped
breathing through my nose in anticipation of the smell.
    On closer inspection I could see that there was more blood
beneath the surface and it clung in thick, dry globules to the
grass as if scattered with some force. I poked it a bit with a twig
and found nothing more. It was congealed, except where the rain had
moistened it, and at least 12 hours old. I got up and began looking
around until I found exactly what I expected to find. It was just
visible when my torch played over its metal lid and I went over to
the bottle, picking it up with my index finger and thumb. I sniffed
the open mouth and smelled the same stench I'd smelled at the tarn.
The bottle had been led on its side and leaning down towards the
mouth so most of the contents had emptied into the soil. Still, I
reckoned the walker had drunk enough before realising it was
contaminated and the damage had been done.
    I was faced with a difficult decision. The light was all but
gone and I knew that the person I was following would either be
seriously ill or dead by now. Should I wait until the morning, or
risk searching in the darkness for either a body or a
casualty?
    I looked around as my mind tossed the idea back and forth.
Blood in the vomit. Stomach wall dissolved. What were the odds of
surviving it for these last 12 hours or more? I'd taught teams of
special forces to act quickly, to drink plenty of clean water if
they'd drunk something toxic, to dilute it and definitely not to
induce vomiting, then radio for an evac. There was none of that
here. Somewhere out there, in the black, someone was dying and as I
checked the map I realised there was sod-all I could do about
it.
    I checked my map but by this time the night was prowling
across the woodland all around me and I needed somewhere to lay up
until morning. I checked my compass and walked slowly through the
tall, wet grass in a roughly eastward direction until I hit the
first of three stone walls. I crossed each one, checking my
orientation before turning north for half a click - say eight
minutes of slow, careful steps, then into the pine plantation for a
minute or so until I had enough room to hang my hammock. I had the
torch in my mouth now and I was so familiar with the contents of my
pack that I was set up in no time. I lit a candle and by its light
I climbed under my quilt and settled in for the night. I had little
appetite for food and once I'd gotten into the warmth I was soon
fast asleep.
     
    If I'd dreamed at all then I woke the following morning with
no memory of it. The first thing I was aware of was the slow,
methodical dripping from a single leaf onto my tarp. I had a vague
memory of rain during the night but the sun was peering at me
through the canopy as I looked out from under my shelter. I didn't
want to move. I was warm and I was groggy from a good nights sleep
and it took me a few moments to recall how I'd come to be there.
Only the weathered skin of my face was exposed to a gentle