Read Online That Savage Water by Matthew R. Loney - Free Book Online Page A

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    ï£§A journalist must never become tired of the truth, Prakash. Our job is to show others what they’re unable to see for themselves. Isn’t that right?
    Carter looked back at the boulder hoping the sun had moved. It had, but only slightly. He looked at Om Prakash again – I’m going to ask you a personal question.
    ï£§Yes, sir.
    Carter hesitated and then said – Where will you go tonight, once we’re back in Delhi?
    ï£§You mean for dinner, sir?
    ï£§Well, yes. That. But more generally too. What I mean is, will you sleep alone?
    ï£§Sir?
    ï£§Alone…as in by yourself. Never mind, Prakash. You’re an idiot sometimes. I really think so.
    She was going to break his heart; he should resign himself to that. He should prepare himself so that when he returned to London and she wasn’t there, he would be ready.
    ï£§ I should never have let myself care about anyone in the first place – he thought. His stomach still felt coiled in knots and he could feel it all thudding in his chest.
    ï£§If you must know, sir – Om Prakash said – I will sleep alone tonight. And tomorrow night and the night after that. For myself, sir, I think this is the safest way for a man to live.
    ï£§Perhaps – Carter said – You could damn well be right about that.
    ï£§Yes, sir.
    ï£§And you didn’t have girlfriends in school?
    ï£§No, sir. I studied and played cricket mostly.
    ï£§Better that way. Women love a cricketer, don’t they? – he turned towards the sound of the wailing again.
    ï£§I don’t know, sir.
    ï£§But a shame to sleep alone…
    ï£§Sir?
    Carter didn’t answer.
    By the time Om Prakash had finished, the mountain’s shadow stretched well beyond the boulder. The police began to load the bodies into ambulances that were driven down the hill to the hospital in Shimla. Carter watched Om Prakash as he walked over to the driver of the car they had hired in Delhi. He would have to pay him extra for staying longer. They would be too late now to make it back in time for a flight to London. She would have left and he would be too late to stop her. Carter’s face felt oily and his shirt stuck to his back where the sweat had pooled. Prakash’s brown skin looked dry and clean by contrast.
    ï£§ She would have done it by now – he thought. He would go back to London and she would have done it like she’d threatened to. Carter watched Prakash gather their things and pack them into the car.
    ï£§ Not a bad-looking man – Carter thought – But not nearly bright enough to ever make it as a journalist.
    They would be back in Delhi in a few hours and Prakash would leave to eat dinner alone. Carter would file the story to Reuters, take a cool shower and then lay on his bed in his towel. Slowly, at the bottom of his stomach, the panic would begin to expand: If she was gone, he would be alone.
    And then what?

A SEVERED ARM
    Bosh looked over his shoulder, back into the rustling damp of the jungle. The trees and bushes were alive with a nighttime chorus of insects that made it all sound like busted machinery.
    ï£§That’s the wrong sound – he said – You listen, Miles. Tell me if that isn’t the wrong sound.
    Miles pretended not to hear him and continued shaving the husk of an empty coconut with the rusted machete.
    Bosh said – Hey! – and chucked a handful of sand at Miles’ lap – I said the jungle’s making the wrong sound. What’re you deaf or something?
    ï£§Leave it – I said – There isn’t anything we can do now. The jungle makes all sorts of noises when you just leave it be.
    Bosh stared at Miles shaving the coconut – Christ, doesn’t he look like he’ll kill you?
    Miles said – I won’t kill anyone.
    ï£§Ha! – Bosh said – Won’t kill anyone. Would you listen to that noise? Jungle’s out to eat somebody