When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers Read Free Book Online Page B

closed the magazine.
    ‘I’m going up to Jo’burg this weekend,’ he’d said. ‘There’s a rugby tournament on at St John’s and I want to see if I can persuade them to include Driespruitfontein next year.’
     
    ***
     
    Rosie hauled herself back up the stairs and clutched Annamari’s arm. ‘Go quickly, Kleinmissie. Go.’
    Annamari hesitated. What if it was a trap? What if the terrorists had sent Rosie to lure her away from the house and while she was gone they would burst in and kill her son? What if...
    She shook her head. What was she thinking? Rosie was like a mother to her. She’d never, ever harm her, never. She didn’t care what Stefan Smit or Wynand or anyone else said about them, Rosie and Petrus – all of them – they were like her family. She couldn’t just sit back and let terrorists slaughter her family. Not again.
    She stumbled, breathless, along the dark path, ignoring the stones and thorns embedding themselves into her bare feet, wishing she’d remembered to bring a torch; wishing the moon was out; thankful it wasn’t. The terrorists would be less likely to see her approaching. She tripped over something, fell, swore quietly, scrambled back up.
    She felt something warm running down her shin. Blood. But this was just a trickle, not the grotesque splashes that had adorned the carpet, the walls, even the ceiling like some horrific modern art fresco in her old room where they’d trapped Pa and Ma and Christo, who must have been waiting, terrified, for the help that never arrived. Annamari had taken one look, turned around and walked out, never to go back into that room again.
    She crept forward in the darkness, the shotgun a reassuring weight in her sweating palms. Quiet, quiet. They mustn’t hear her. She must surprise them. She moved more slowly now. Carefully. Watching out for branches and stones that could trip her up again.When had it got so far to th e khay a ? As a child she’d known the path like the back of her hand. She’d skip along it with Christo, and Rosie would give them som e pa p and meat. They’d sit on the ground outside Rosie’s room, and she’d squish the stiff porridge in her fingers, making it into a hard little white ball which she’d squelch through the gravy before stuffing it in her mouth, goodness dribbling down her chin. Ma never let her ea t pa p like that. They had to use a knife and fork, even at a braa i . The only exception, Ma said, was for lamb or pork chops. But Rosie used her fingers to ea t pa p ; so did Petrus and James and Dawid and all the others in th e khay a , so she and Christo copied them .
    She swallowed her memories and focused on the task at hand. Thys might not be there, but she’d show the terrorists that this white woman had the blood of the Voortrekkers in her veins. She was a Steyn, after all, and this time... this time the bastards were not going to have it all their own way... this time, thi s boervro u was armed. And this time, she would kill them.
    She stopped. She squinted through the blackness. There. A movement. There was someone there, coming towards her. A man. Just one. She raised the shotgun. He didn’t stop. He moved closer. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
    ‘Missy Annamari, quickly.’
    Petrus. She exhaled and stumbled to him. He turned and she followed him. Silent.
    Then she heard it. A cry, quickly muffled.
    ‘In there,’ Petrus whispered. ‘The door’s locked.’
    Another scream; then what sounded like a blow – flesh on flesh. She tiptoed to the window. Damn, she couldn’t see through the thick old lounge curtains she’d given to Pretty. She couldn’t see anything. She listened, straining to hear voices, anything that would give her a clue how many were inside. She hesitated. She didn’t know what to do. Another cry sent her flying to the door. Beauty. Beauty was in there...
    She lifted the shotgun, slammed the butt against the lock. The door burst open and she tumbled into the room, raising the