Guardian by Dan Gleed Read Free Book Online

in mind as a last conscious picture. A part of my world that never accused me. For several minutes I stood staring, oblivious to the tears streaming down my upturned face. Then with a last shake of my head, I turned once more towards the dark grove. This was where I wanted to die. A favourite place. One to which Matt and I had come so often. A place where together, in silent admiration, we had learned so much about the hidden world of nature that surrounded us. A world of freewheeling birds and wild, graceful animals. The place to which we had often slipped away since first being allowed to wander alone, revelling in the heady absence of parental discipline. A secret place. Off the beaten track, shunned by everything except the restless animals warily looking for water in the shallow pools and scrapes of the thorny copse. I had known perfectly well there could be an ambush waiting. Most likely a shy leopard, one of several I knew roamed their immense ranges between here and the Nandi Hills, far to the south. Possibly even then two pin-sharp and alert eyes were watching me from the branches of a nearby tree, body utterly still. Only the head ducking left and right in quick, intense movements and the tip of a tail consenting to the smallest twitch as the cat followed my every step, anxious not to miss a single nuance of the intruder’s progress. “
How fitting
,” I thought, “
if I’m right
.”
    â€œI’m coming, Matt, I’m coming.” The sound of my voice startled not only me, but something large up ahead in the dense bush, which fled in a sudden cascade of sound as it crashed towards open ground and safety, away from the deadly trap inherent in every waterhole. Only the sway of the low-lying foliage marked where it had passed. But by now my nerves were too numbed to react with any speed and I stumbled on, oblivious to the thorns that reached out to rake my bare arms and legs. And the thunder in my head was growing too intense for any other input to gain attention. Waves of guilt and anguish swept over me, threatening to drown me in their intensity. My breath came in great gasping sobs and my pounding heart raced as I staggered against the thorns, their lance-like spikes stabbing cruelly through the thin cotton of my shirt, great drops of blood smearing swiftly across the khaki material, each one simply an exchange for a drop of the throbbing poison waiting on each sharp tip. What little strength I had left ebbed swiftly as I dropped to my knees in the small clearing that opened up in front of me, the rifle butt punching cruelly upwards into my belly as the muzzle caught in the loamy soil.
    Tears blurred my sight, but long familiarity helped. Jerking the bolt back, I managed to lever a round into the chamber, forcing the bolt forward and down until it snapped sharply into the locked position, leaving the mechanism cocked and ready. Feverishly, I groped around in the blackness for a stick long enough to strike the trigger because, with the muzzle in my mouth, I knew that reaching past the trigger guard would prove awkward. But awkward or not, it was time. I would have to shoot myself now, or what little courage I had left would desert me.
    Of their own accord, my fingers danced frantically as they looked for and closed upon a stick that felt as though it should be strong enough, leaving me to swing the rifle round. Quickly now, every movement a desperate race to get the unspeakable act over. The butt grounded in the angle between the rough earth and the base of a small tree and with one last despairing look above me, I opened my mouth, forced the business end of the rifle against my chattering teeth and closed my lips over the cold metal. It tasted foul. The harsh, urine-sprayed earth smeared over the muzzle, the product of so many watering animals, splattered across my tongue. My left hand, jabbing for the trigger with the end of the stick, was momentarily blocked as it caught against the