The Abrupt Physics of Dying Read Free

barked out a command. The kid blinked, stood unmoving, seemed not to understand. The old man shouted again, louder this time, and turned to his understudy. The kid lowered his weapon, stood staring at the old man, a look of confusion spreading over his face.
    Clay coiled his muscles tight. This was the opportunity. ‘He can’t get us both,’ Clay whispered. ‘As soon as I move, go.’ He judged the distance, readied himself. The old guy was a second and a half away, maybe less, the kid just beyond him, close. Clay burst forward, a sprinter from the blocks.
    But Abdulkader was already moving, cutting obliquely to position himself between Clay and the old man. He stopped and turned, faced Clay, opened his arms wide as if to catch him.
    Clay pulled up, stood staring at his friend. ‘Get out of the way,’ he said.
    Abdulkader did not move. ‘Do not fight them.’
    Clay glared. ‘I know what you’re trying to do. Don’t.’ Clay moved right, then left, but Abdulkader followed, keeping himself between Clay and the gunmen.
    ‘There is no need, Mister Clay.’
    ‘
Yallah
,’ the old tribesman shouted, jerking his AK in the direction of the crevasse.
    The kid started to move, backing away, weapon raised. His sandalled feet shuffled through the dust. He reached the canyon wall, pushed his back against the wall of rock, and stood there looking back at Clay and Abdulkader, that same perplexed look on his face. The old tribesman shouted at him again. He peered into the crevasse for a long moment, looked back at his kinsman, and disappeared into the wall of rock.
    ‘Now’s the time, Abdulkader,’ said Clay, grabbing his friend by the arm. ‘He’s alone.’
    Abdulkader gripped Clay’s forearms, holding him fast. His eyes were wide, sky clear, insistent. ‘Please, Mister Clay. You must trust Allah.’
    Clay looked down, back up at his friend. ‘Only about two people in this world I trust, Abdulkader. Allah isn’t one of them.’
    Abdulkader frowned.
    ‘
Ah’ituts beyah’lahu
,’ shouted the old tribesman, now distinctly agitated. He had moved back, put more distance between them, and now stood poised with AK on hip, motioning towards the crevasse.
    ‘He wants us to follow the boy.’ Abdulkader pointed to the narrow opening in the rock, a black fault in the featureless grey dolomite. ‘In there.
Inshallah
, we must go in there.’
    Inshallah
. God willing. Of course. It could only be thus. Here, Allah endured, clung still to an ancient and fearsome power in the minds of men. Clay bowed his head. ‘And what, my brother, if God wills it, will we find?’
    Abdulkader dropped his hands to his sides, stood staring into Clay’s eyes for a long time. Then he turned and started towards the gap in the rock and followed the kid into the fault.
    Clay looked over at the old gunman, at the AK47 aimed at his chest. ‘Nothing to it, is there?’ he said to the old guy.
    The tribesman’s eyes flickered, hardened.
    ‘Trust.’
    The old guy raised his weapon, wedged the stock into his shoulder. Clay knew that look. Last chance.
    Clay shrugged, smiled at him and followed Abdulkader into the Earth.

    After twenty minutes of walking they reached an impasse. The canyon had widened slightly, but the way was blocked by an ancient rockslide. Boulders the size of freight cars tilted on end formed a wall of rock thirty or more metres high. There was no way over. They moved closer and hugged the north wall of the canyon. The kid turned to face them, slung his weapon, and crouched facing a small opening at the base of the slide. Then he lay flat on his stomach and, with a quick flick of his legs, disappeared into the hole. The older tribesman stood a few paces back, weapon ready.
    ‘Go,’ said Abdulkader.
    Clay crouched down and peered into the hole. A twisting labyrinth illuminated by a thousand dusty beams led away into the geometric chaos of the slide. He looked back over his shoulder at his friend.
    ‘
Allah akhbar
,’ said