There's a girl sitting next to me who is gradually becoming more and more agitated. I've consciously tried not to stare at anyone in the semi-darkness but I've seen enough to know that she's young and pretty although her face is tired and grubby and is streaked with tears. She's in her late teens I think, maybe older. She's leaning against me and I can feel her body shaking. She's been sobbing for some time. Christ, I'm scared, how the hell must she be feeling? She looks up at me and makes eye contact for the first time.
'I feel sick,' she whimpers. 'I think I'm going to be ill.' I'm no good at dealing with vomit. Please don't throw up, I think to myself.
'Take deep breaths,' I suggest, 'it's probably just nerves. Try and take some deep breaths.'
'It's not nerves,' she says, 'I get travel sick.'
Great. Without thinking I hold her arm and start to rub her back with my other hand. It's more of a comfort for me than anything else.
'What's your name?' I ask, hoping that I might be able to distract her and take her mind off how ill she's feeling.
'Karin,' she replies.
And now I'm stuck for something to say. What can I talk to her about? If she's anything like me she'll have found she's suddenly become a homeless, family and friend-less killer. There's no point trying to make small talk. Bloody idiot, I wish I hadn't said anything.
'Do you think we're going to be in here much longer,' she asks, her breathing suddenly shallow.
'No idea,' I answer truthfully.
'Where are they taking us?'
'Don't know. Look, the best thing you can do is try and take your mind off it. Just find something else to concentrate on and…'
It's too late, she's beginning to heave. She grabs my hand as she starts to convulse. I try and turn her around so she can be sick out through the small gap in the tarpaulin but there's not enough space and not enough time. She throws up, splattering the inside of the truck and my boots and trousers with puke.
'Sorry,' she moans as the smell hits me. I'm struggling to control my own stomach now. I can taste bile in the back of my throat and I can hear other people gagging and groaning in disgust all around me.
'Doesn't matter,' I mumble. The inside of the truck, which was already hot and musty because of the sheer number of people trapped inside it, now stinks. It's impossible to escape the smell but I have to try and do something otherwise I'll shortly be adding to the stench myself. I stand up, holding onto the side of the truck for support and, now that I'm upright, I notice a small rip in the tarpaulin at my eye-level. I look closer and see that it's a seam which has begun to come undone. I push my fingers into the gap and try to open out my hand. As I stretch my fingers the stitching holding the material together frays and comes apart. Finally some welcome daylight and much needed cool, fresh air is able to flood into the truck. Not giving a damn about the consequences I shove both hands into the rip and pull as hard as I can in either direction. The gap increases in size to about half a metre and I can hear the relief of the people around me.
'Can you see where we are?' a voice asks from somewhere on the other side of the truck. All I can see are trees at the side of the road as we rush past.
'Haven't got a clue,' I answer. 'Can't see much.'
'You can see more than me,' the voice snaps, 'keep looking.'
I push my head right out through the canopy and try to look up towards the front of the truck. We're on a motorway, I think. The long and relatively featureless road gradually curves away to the left and, for the first time, I see that we're not travelling alone. There's another truck in front. Hold on, there's more than one. It's difficult to be sure, but I think I can see at least another five vehicles ahead of us, all trucks of a similar size to this one, equally spaced from each other. Taking care not to slip in the gross puddle at my feet I shuffle around so that I can look behind us. I count at least as many trucks again following, probably more.
'Well?' the voice asks as I pull my head back inside.
'Can't see where we are,' I reply, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'but we're not on our own.'
'What?'
'There are loads of trucks like this,' I tell them, 'at least ten that I can see.'
'So where are they taking us?' another frightened voice asks, not really expecting an answer. 'What are they going to do with us?'
'Don't know,' I hear Patrick reply in his familiar resigned tone, 'but you can bet it's going to be fucking awful, whatever it is.'
I stick my head back out of the side of the truck again to escape the stink of vomit and the nervous, frightened conversations which Patrick's accurate but insensitive comments have just started.
39
We finally slow down and the truck makes an unexpected swinging turn to the left. It's a sharp bend, too severe to be a normal motorway exit. The road we're travelling along becomes rough and uneven and continues to twist and turn for what feels like another mile or two further. Then, without any warning, the journey's over. We've stopped. My stomach churns with nerves again as the truck comes to a sudden halt and its engine is silenced. It's pouring with rain outside and the clattering noise on the roof above my head is deafening.
'Where are we now?' someone asks nervously. I dutifully shove my head back out through the tear in the tarpaulin and quickly pull it in again when I see soldiers approaching on foot. I wait until they've passed before cautiously peering back out. The truck (and the ten or so other vehicles which have travelled in convoy with us) have stopped in a line along a narrow road which runs along the edge of what looks like a dense forest. I can't see where the track goes from here. I don't want to risk leaving myself exposed like this for any longer than necessary and I close up the gap in the heavy canvas cover. I'm sure we'll be seeing where we are soon enough.
'There's not much to see,' I tell them all unhelpfully as I turn back round and crouch down again, 'just trees on that side.' The rain is torrential and I have to shout to make myself heard. The sound of the water hitting the tight cover above us is relentless. The noise combines with the lack of any strong light to increase my disorientation. I can't stand this. I wonder again whether I should just take my chances and make a run for it? What have I got to lose when I've already lost just about everything? I don't know what other options I have left. Things look increasingly bleak. Do I just sit here and wait for whatever they have planned for us to happen or do I take control of my destiny now and try to escape? The little of the forest I've been able to see so far looks pretty deep and uninviting. We're seem to be right out in the middle of nowhere and there's no way they'd be able to follow me into the trees in these trucks. They'll either shoot me in the back as I'm running or I'll manage to get away. It has to be worth taking a chance. My mind starts to fill with images of getting back home and finding Ellis again and the decision is made. First chance I get I'll go for it. Christ knows where I'll run to, but anywhere will be better than here. Do I tell any of the others what I'm planning? Do I stand more chance running with them or on my own? My instincts tell me to leave them and look after myself, but what about the rest of them? What about Karin and Nancy and Patrick? Surely the more people who run, the better our chances are of getting away…?