Redemption

Strenja

"You'd better tell while you can, mate, or your life is over!" It was a vicious warning.

"No!" The speaker's ragged rebuttal blazed with contempt. Body pulsing with agony, his resolve to say nothing remained intact. He'd endured too much at their hands to give in now.

"Well boys, if he won't tell us, there's no point in lettin' the land kill 'im! Let's do the charitable thing and put 'im out of his misery!"

A brutal kick hit the tied man's skull, the jolting blow snapping his head to the side as his body rolled over. Once started, the men gathered around became a rabid pack of dingoes turning on one of their own, tearing him apart. Vicious kicks and slashing blows pummeled the limp body, beating the downed man until he was a mass of bloody flesh.

"Alright lads, that'll do!" A sharp command from the leader brought the cruel beating to a halt. "Back to your horses, we got ourselves a bush pig to find!"

Pulling the rope loose from the limp form, they mounted up and rode away to look for the girl. She couldn't have gotten far, and they wanted her back. Left behind was the still carcass of what used to be a man. Lying broken and motionless in the dirt, all evidence of life was gone.

A faint breeze washed along the wide land, lifting the loose fabric of his shirt, gently ruffling his hair. After the sound of horses had faded a wild dog called loudly from somewhere in the wilderness, answered with a chorus of howls from his pack. As if it were a summons for the dead the fingers on the fallen man's hand twitched slightly and he groaned, reawakening.

When he opened his eyes the sky was dark, stars twinkling brightly above him. The air was suffused with the earthy smell of crushed Mitchell grass and acacia. His body was on fire, a violent agony that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, but he knew he could not stay here. Someone tried to kill him; someone wanted him dead he was certain only of that fact. Moving slightly to push off his belly brought a cry of pain to his lips that he could not bite back.

Dust and dried bits of grass clung to his hands and linen tunic as he tried to rise. He'd been beaten badly and left for dead, though how or why he could not recall. The sweet metallic odor of blood filled his nostrils and the man knew it was his. Trying to move up from his knees caused a wave of pain to wash through his whole body and he doubled over, his stomach heaving. Trying again, he made it to his feet this time, standing hunched over, holding his ribs, his vision swimming and head pounding. Get away, that was his one dominating thought, get away or die.

Looking around he tried to pick a way to go, an escape that would lead him to shelter. The landscape was wide and open, broken by large rock formations jutting from the earth and the tall darkness of trees in the distance. The aroma of bruised and crushed leaves was in the air, and as he looked around he realized he was standing among the brush, not a trail in sight. You cannot just stand here, he told himself, just go! Starting off he limped heavily, his progress extremely slow and painful in the moonlight. Each step jarred him to the core, agonizing pain lancing through every bone and muscle in his body.

As he moved the man tried to remember what had happened, tried to pull fragments swirling through his mind into a clear picture. It didn't work; he was in too much pain to concentrate, though struggling through physical pain didn't seem foreign to him. Do I make a practice of it, he wondered? Pausing for a long moment to catch his breath he gingerly probed at the source of the throbbing in his head. A lump the size of his fist was on the back of his skull, the skin split open and crusted with dried blood. He'd been hit with something hard, a rock, a branch, perhaps even a boot. I need a place to rest and heal, he told himself, but where?

Glancing over his shoulder was depressing, seeing the pathetically small distance he had come. It had felt like miles, though in reality not more than a hundred yards. Reaching the trees up ahead was going to take all night at this pace. Better get to it then, he encouraged himself, one foot in front of the other. His hip seemed to be slightly out of joint, and the man had to limp heavily to even work the limb.