The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [147]
At that moment a helicopter approached at a low altitude. It swept in from the north and flew over the river a hundred or so meters from the place where the brothers were sitting.
Taken by compete surprise as they were, they did not even manage to react until the helicopter had vanished from view.
“The police,” Patricio whispered.
Manuel did not know what to believe.
“Maybe it’s the military,” he said, and told him that he believed there was an air force base on the other side of the river.
“They’re looking for me,” Patricio said, and stood up.
“I can swim across and check,” Manuel offered. “Maybe it was something routine and nothing to do with us.”
He checked the bushes where he had hidden the money. Patricio noticed his gaze.
“If you cross the river, I’ll put the tent away. Even if they are not looking for us we are clearly visible from the air.”
Patricio was right. Their tent must stand out like a torch from up above. He undressed, swam across the river, climbed up on the other side, and in the distance he could just make out the helicopter that had landed. He was unable to determine if it was a police helicopter, but he could not spot any activity on the airstrip.
Twenty minutes later they were on their way. They followed the Fyris river to the southwest. Manuel had seen a forest in the area. There they should be able to find a more secluded spot. The car could remain parked near the arts and crafts village for now.
After a trek of a couple of kilometers, the river turned directly south toward Uppsala. The brothers crawled up the bank and discussed what they should do. Before them lay a field and beyond that the woods rose up thickly.
They took a chance and crossed the field, arrived at a highway that they crossed, avoided a couple of houses, finally reached the shielding curtain of trees and followed an almost invisible path into the woods. Wine-red mushrooms peeked out between the heavy branches on either side of the path.
“It is like a cathedral,” Patricio said and stopped, stroking the sticky fir with his hands. “How beautiful it would be if—”
“Let’s push on.”
Manuel was irritated. He was in a way, however, grateful for the short break—his brother had not shown any fatigue despite their quick march, while he himself was panting.
“They’re hunting us,” Patricio said.
“As if I didn’t know that,” Manuel said.
“If we were free I would—”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Patricio said hesitantly. “Do you go to mass?”
“Why wouldn’t I do that?” Manuel asked, perplexed.
He continued on deeper into the woods. Patricio lumbered on behind him. After a short while they reached a house.
“It looks abandoned,” Patricio said.
There was no movement either outside or in the windows, and no smoke rose from the chimney. An old tree, still green and covered in apples, was lying straight across the gravel path that led from the gate up to the house. The sight of the giant that had been struck down in the midst of its fruitful phase depressed Manuel. The top of the tree was partly torn to pieces. Manuel walked up and studied the jagged wounds where the branches had been torn from the trunk. The wood was light but with a core of murky brown rot that Manuel was easily able to crumble between his fingers.
“Who lives here in the woods?” he asked and looked around.
There was a small field behind a low stone wall. It was not in use and small trees were growing in a tangled sea of high herbs and grass. The red-painted wooden wall glowed with a warm and welcoming light in the afternoon sun and some yellow flowers that Manuel recognized from his homeland waved by the high stone foundation.
He walked up to the door and tried the door handle. It was locked.
“Manuel, come!”
Patricio was standing in the doorway of a smaller building, waving for his brother.
“We can sleep in here,” Patricio said when Manuel had caught up.
The shed consisted of one small room. Firewood was piled up to the ceiling along one wall. On the other side there was an old metal frame bed. A mattress