is like scrambled eggs, he is in no shape to make any decisions. At least they were right that the soldiers would not follow, the train wasn't moving too fast but nobody would throw themselves from it who didn't actually have to.
She says, "We run."
"I'm sick of running," he says petulantly.
"If you have a better idea I'd love to hear it."
Jacob looks back to the train and tries to make his brain work. He can see motion in the dry grass beside the tracks. Soldiers coming after them. If he can see them, beneath this hatefully bright moon, then they can see him, and hiding in this drought-shrivelled grass will never work.
"OK," he says. "Maybe we can lose them in the trees."
But either their motion stands out too sharply in the moonlight, or one of the soldiers has preternaturally good night vision. They can't have nightvision goggles, Jacob thinks loopily, they don't have any money for that, it would take a whole backpack full of Zimbabwe dollars to buy a single pair, and besides the country is under sanctions, no military technology sales allowed, that's why Gorokwe has to smuggle his missiles in from Russia - but whatever the reason, every time he looks over his shoulder, the rustling motion of the soldiers is a little closer.
Jacob is too unsteady on his feet to sprint, Lovemore is now moving with a definite limp, and Veronica is bruised too; the best they can do is jog. Their heavy footsteps rustle loudly, cutting through the slight whispers of the dry grass in the night wind. Even in pitch black the soldiers might be able to track them by sound. Ahead of them an open savannah of arid grass and trees stretches on to the moonlit horizon. Behind them, the soldiers are less than half a kilometre away and closing fast.
* * *
"I think we're fucked," Jacob gasps.
Veronica says, "Do you have any money? Zim dollars?"
Jacob finds the question so bizarre he almost stops in his tracks. "What do you want to do, bribe them?"
"Just tell me!"
"Yes. A million." He changed ten US dollars yesterday, at the hotel.
"Give me."
She stops. He follows suit, and, unable to imagine what she wants with it, pulls out his wallet and passes over the fifty pink twenty-thousand-dollar bills, cheap paper printed only one one side. Veronica has something metal in her hand. Her Zippo lighter. She touches its flame to the wad of money.
"No, they'll see it," Jacob says, still utterly baffled.
"Let them." When the flame has taken a secure hold of the wedge of bills, Veronica simply stoops and puts them down on the ground. There is a thick mesh of dead grass beneath those arid blades still waving in the air. This carpet of dry vegetation catches fire almost immediately. Jacob's eyes widen as he understands. Drought as a weapon.
The heat of the surging flames begins to warm him. Over the crackling sounds of the fire he hears dim cries of dismay from the pursuing soldiers.
"We must run faster," Lovemore says.
Jacob doesn't need to be told twice. The night wind is coming from the train tracks, the fire will follow them. He turns and sprints. Veronica and Lovemore run behind him. A bright glow is already emanating from behind them.
When Jacob next looks over his shoulder the burgeoning bushfire is already several metres across, growing towards them in a wedge shape, fanned by the wind. Two anorexic trees are already aflame. He can't see the soldiers through the firelight and thick smoke. Jacob supposes that's a good thing. He just hopes they can outrun the bushfire.
Lovemore soon passes him, running fast despite his awkward, painful limp. Veronica follows behind. Jacob is gasping for breath with every step, and both his legs and lungs are cramping when they unexpectedly run across a dirt track that cuts across this desolate grassland. It is only a few feet wide, but it is a sign of civilization, and more importantly it could act as a firebreak.
He stops on the road and doubles over. It takes him a few seconds before he can even manage to gasp, "I need to rest."
"All right," Veronica says.
Lovemore advises, "Keep on walking."
"Who are you, Johnnie Walker?" Jacob grunts, but he obeys.
A minute later he has recovered enough to take in their surroundings. The dirt track runs east and west as far as he can see. To the north, towards the train tracks, the approaching red-and-yellow glow has devoured almost the entire horizon. To the