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I catch a glimpse of something on the horizon. Or do I? Another mirage? It’s a peculiar dust cloud speeding towards me. Another storm – or the wake of a vehicle?
I need to keep moving forward. When I turn round, for the first time I see what’s in front of me: the jebel. Jebel Tilelli.
I don’t know how many miles passed while I was running next to Yasmin. How far she carried me.
My pace picks up. It’s a genuine boost. There’s not far to go now, and the main obstacle is in my sights.
Yet after a few steps, I feel certain I’m hallucinating again. I see what looks like a white-painted boulder in the middle of the otherwise muted colour palette of oranges and browns.
It’s only as I draw closer that I realize what I’m looking at.
It’s a body.
48
Stella
Emilio looks over Mac’s shoulder. ‘That guy?’
‘Yes! That’s Matthew Knight. You know, the one who has a bloody gun!’
‘But that is not the man who attacked me,’ says the doctor.
It takes a moment for that to sink in. Both Mac and I look at him, slack-jawed.
‘Land the helicopter,’ Emilio says to the pilot, who complies.
‘Please!’ Matthew shouts. ‘I have a woman here who needs help. She has a broken ankle.’
Emilio practically leaps out of the helicopter doors. He is full of energy now. I’m right behind him, but when I see the man, I know that Mac is right. Thatisrunner 501. That is Matthew Knight.
He even looks like Glenn. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. The same eyes. Same stance.
He gestures for Emilio to follow and takes him inside one of the buildings.
I’m hot on their heels. It could be a trap. But then I see Mariam lying on the ground, her features contorted in agony. Emilio goes straight to her side, examining her ankle, and Matthew is staring down at them both with concern. There’s not a trace of anger or revenge in hisfeatures. There’s exhaustion, worry, fear. But it’s not the face of a man who shot my father and is hunting the other runners one by one.
I stare straight at him. ‘You’re Matthew Knight – Glenn’s son.’
He recoils. That’s not what he expects to hear. ‘Who wants to know?’ He’s cagey, tentative. ‘Aren’t you that photographer? Are you a journalist too? I’m not talking to anyone.’
He must know who – what – his father was.
It strikes me how similar we are. Both of us raised by our mothers, taking us away from men who had other appetites. Yet this is also a man who was imprisoned for a violent crime. I can’t exactly trust him.
‘I’m not a journalist. I knew your father. I am Yasmin El Mehdi’s half-sister.’
‘So I suppose I need to apologize to you too.’
I frown. ‘You’re not responsible for what he did.’
He grimaces, then he turns back to Emilio. ‘Are you able to help her?’
‘We need to get back to the bivouac as quickly as possible. Then I can treat her properly. Can you help me carry her to the helicopter?’
I step aside as they lift her to her feet. She winces, unable to put any weight on her bad leg. It’s going to be an uncomfortable heli ride for her.
There’s a commotion at the front of the building. Several vehicles have pulled up. Pete emerges from the first one, driven by Ali. He runs towards us.