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By Root 488 0

and Ace backed away. Her foot hit something. Her rucksack. She kicked it aside. It went skidding towards the ditch at the edge of the road. She tried to scan the road on either side of her. Had she heard the gun fall out of her pack? In her peripheral vision, under the amber streetlamp glare, she was aware of objects lying on the road. But she couldn’t determine what they were. Ace turned her head to look for the pistol and that was when Massoud moved. He swung the iron bar in a sweeping arc. Ace evaded it easily and stepped in close to the man, punching him accurately in the stomach. The bar clattered on the road surface. Massoud was more shocked than hurt. Now Ace set about hurting him. She hit him in the windpipe with the ridge of her knuckles. He made a sound and clutched at his throat. He doubled over, not even looking at her. Ace knew she had him now. She could take her time. She moved forward to hit him again.

Ace never saw the blow. She saw the moon, a streetlight, the road coming up at her again. Massoud was moving very quickly. She hit the road and he was on top of her. For a moment they rolled across the oil‐stained tarmac. Ace could smell the salt on him, the sea smell from his long swim. They were too close to hit each other effectively. They wrestled and jabbed clumsily, each reaching back to gain leverage for a blow. Ace felt her fingertips brush against the sharp edge of the turtle’s shell. Sharp shell. Heavy body of the dead animal. She could feel the weight and the cutting edge of it in her mind. There was no way she could reach it with her right hand. She had to reach with her left arm. Her injured shoulder burned fiercely, muscle tearing as she began to move. Massoud was rocking back, grunting as she forced him away with the slow pressure of a knee. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the shell again. The pain in her shoulder abated, then came back in a flood. It seemed to rush into her mind.

Ace saw the string of streetlights extending away in the darkness along the deserted road. Massoud had battered her knee away from his chest and was punching at her. The streetlights looked beautiful, clean and symmetrical against the dark sky. Ace could feel herself losing her grip, drifting away. She was fainting. She pulled her arm back and the pain from her shoulder eased. She shook her head and Massoud’s punch grazed her skull. She could hear him gasp at the pain in his knuckles. The sound gave her the strength to reach again.

She strained back with her damaged arm, ready for the pain this time. The turtle’s shell was rough against her fingers. She clasped it, dropped it, then held it again. She lifted the shell, got a firm grip and held the thing like a killing implement. As she lifted it to hit Massoud he suddenly released her and rolled away across the road surface.

Ace sat up, breathing hard.

Massoud was standing a few metres away. Pointing something at her. A gun. Her gun. Ace dropped the turtle. She wanted to turn and run. She made herself stand her ground. She knew that the instant she turned her back on him he would fire. Massoud took a couple of steps nearer, making no sudden moves that might panic her, in no hurry now.

Ace couldn’t think. Her mind had been simplified by fear. She backed away from the man with the gun. She was off the road surface, her feet making a different sound on the gravel and dirt, retreating backwards. The ground gave way under her and Ace fell. She landed on her shoulder and for a moment she thought she was going to faint with the pain. Everything faded. Darkness beat at the edge of her vision. Ace welcomed it. Escape.

But she didn’t faint. The sound of the frogs came back. The damp smell of mud came back. She was in one of the drainage ditches that ran parallel with the road. Massoud was walking towards her. At the bottom of the ditch Ace’s rucksack was lying in a shallow puddle, just within reach. She put her hand into it. It was empty. There was a grapefruit among some long grass and weeds, skin split, leaking juice from its soft flesh. The broken Vickers helmet was