jagged bone protrudes from Athanase's arm, and they lie slumped together on the ceiling of the inverted Land Rover, but Veronica can tell by the movement of their chests that both are still alive.
She walks around the vehicle. The tank has ruptured, and gasoline is trickling out from the Land Rover and down the slope, forming little pools and rivulets. Its occupants are lucky nothing has struck a spark. The smell of oil is intense. The back window is intact, and Veronica sees two shining metal containers within, etched with Cyrillic inscriptions. She looks up at Lovemore. Then, almost in slow motion, her hand dips into a side pocket of her cargo pants, and emerges holding her Zippo lighter.
He nods. They back away from the ruins of the Land Rover to the shelter of a nearby tree. She sees Casimir, the man who murdered Derek, begin to stir within, to disentangle himself from Athanase. Veronica ignites the flame of her Zippo and tosses it gently, underhand, towards the shimmering pool of gasoline just outside the Land Rover's ruptured gas tank.
It's not like Hollywood, the vehicle does not explode, but the gas goes up immediately with a loud whoosh. Heavy, black smoke billows up, quickly obscuring the Land Rover. Even at this distance the fire is searingly hot and after only a few seconds they have to move further away. It occurs to Veronica that there are missiles full of high explosive within the Land Rover. She wonders if fire alone will be enough to set them off.
"We have to hurry," she says. "Come on."
She leads Lovemore down the bush, following the trail of flattened bushes and broken trees. The vehicle is a black BMW, and it must have tumbled, it lies propped at a 45-degree angle against a big tree with its tires in the air. It is not as battered as the Land Rover, and all its windows are intact. Veronica supposes they're bulletproof. All its air bags have deployed. Again she doesn't know the driver, but she recognizes Susan in the passenger seat by her long blonde hair, now bloodstreaked. The passenger door is a dented concavity. There is no one else in the car. One of the back doors has crumpled shut, but the other has been opened.
"Gorokwe," Lovemore says.
Veronica says, "Danton."
"They will have weapons."
"Do you want to go?"
"No. We will never have another opportunity like this."
He opens the driver's door. The driver twitches and groans. Lovemore thrusts the Leatherman up through the driver's ribcage, into his heart. This time Veronica doesn't protest; she just watches as Lovemore draws a gleaming pistol from the driver's belt and turns to look at her. She nods and wonders where he learned to kill.
There are no trails apparent anywhere in this bush, just thick bushes, tangled branches, tall grass and trickling rivulets. Perfect territory for hiding. Impossible territory for finding anyone. But Danton and Gorokwe don't have much of a head start, and they must still be dazed from the collision, they can't be that hard to find. Veronica and Lovemore stop and listen. They hear nothing but the morning wind through the branches.
"I learned tracking from the San, but that was in desert," Lovemore says in a low voice. "I don't know if I can follow them in this bush."
"We don't need to," Veronica says, as understanding dawns. "We just need to think like them."
He looks at her. "What do you mean?"
"They're not bush people. They won't try and escape through the forest. They know they've been attacked, so they'll run away for a few minutes to get away from the car, but then they'll go back up to the road and carjack the next vehicle that comes along. Just like we did."
"Yes," Lovemore says.
He gives her the Leatherman. Veronica is amazed by how steady her own hands are as she takes it. She looks over at Susan's slumped form; abandoned by Danton and her lover the general, left here to die. Veronica considers for a moment. Then she turns and follows Lovemore.
They climb diagonally through the thick bush, moving towards the road and away from the fiercely burning Land Rover. Veronica supposes the missiles aren't going to explode, or they would have by now. Military explosives probably need some kind of electronic trigger or something to blow up. Her adrenalin rush is beginning to wane, and she is weak, exhausted, and covered with cuts and blisters. Lovemore is limping slowly again, and twice he slips and staggers, but