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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

A child was screaming in a tent, just a few feet away. The noise of the camp was endless, relentless, unbearable. There was the sound of a slap, followed by tears.

‘My husband died, years ago. At least he never saw this.’ Shamshun’s voice was an angry whisper. ‘He could never bear any of this. I was glad when my house burned, because it saved Romida, and she was all that mattered. And I am glad that my husband is dead, because at least he can never see this.’

Shamshun sat up straight, wiped away the tears.

‘She’s gone, isn’t she? I’ve lost her. I’ve lost her for ever.’

Shamshun stared out into the chaos of the camp.

‘I wish I had died,’ she whispered.

38

38

There was a long silence, and Hessa was the one to break it.

‘Jamalida?’

Jamalida tore her eyes from the floor.

‘Did you see the car? Before the men took Romida away.’

A slow nod.

‘Do you remember what colour it was?’

Another nod. ‘Black.’

‘And do you know what kind of car it was?’

Jamalida shook her head.

‘There’s seventy per cent illiteracy in these camps,’ Savannah interjected. ‘She won’t know car brands. It’s impossible.’

The car was big, Jamalida gestured, her eyes sharp. She was sketching a shape with her hands.

‘Could you look at photographs of the cars,’ Hessa went on patiently, ‘and tell me which one it was most like?’

She had searched for three photographs on her phone. A Hilux. A Ford Ranger. A Land Cruiser.

Jamalida considered the photographs for a long time, one by one. And then very carefully, she pointed: the Land Cruiser.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Hessa.

A firm nod.

‘Thank you, Jamalida.’ Casey kept her voice steady. ‘That is most helpful.’

‘And anything else?’ Hessa asked. ‘Jamalida, do you remember anything else at all?’

Jamalida crushed her head into her hands, thinking, the bright smile a memory. Then she looked up, spoke rapidly.

‘They said Teffy was coming,’ Layla translated. ‘One time, they said Teffy was coming soon.’

‘Teffy?’ Hessa stared from Jamalida to Layla. ‘What does that mean?’

Layla shrugged. ‘I have never heard this word.’

‘What did they mean, Teffy?’ Hessa tried again. ‘Is it a person?’

‘I don’t know what it means. Jeetu just said it once. He was talking on the phone one time, and after he hung up, he said it.’

They all stared at her. Thrown by the attention, Jamalida blushed.

‘Teffy?’ Casey repeated. ‘Are you sure?’

Layla was staring at a poster above her head, a sad-looking child, with a warning about malnutrition.

‘I have never heard of this name,’ the translator said flatly. ‘It is not a Bengali name.’

Hessa and Casey watched Shamshun and Jamalida leave, Jamalida with her arm around the older woman, a comfort that was almost a curse. Shamshun was crying.

You never know how you can run, until you run for your daughter.