Chapter 1 / Prologue
The Agulhas current flowing on the Eastern shores of Africa brings the warm equatorial waters with it. The water is always a very comfortable temperature to swim in and as a result the coastal towns on the Northern coast of Kwa-Zulu Natal in South Africa is popular all year round. In the coldest of winters, the ocean can actually be quite freezing albeit the emergence from the water is often met with a South Western wind that convinces you the water is in fact a safe haven. You want to stay longer, swim more.
That was not the pleasant thought in this bather's mind right now. The water was cold. The salt was burning his eyes. The sand was choking up his throat. None of that seemed to matter. Jack Davidson's biggest concern was getting the overweight Eastern man of his back. The man had his knee between the bather's shoulder blades, simultaneously pressing his torso down below the shallow waves, and positioning himself in such a manner that his victim's arms had not enough reach to get a hold and shove him off.
Jack was a lanky man with stringy hair. He struggled for what seemed an eternity. His hands were frantically digging in the sand, reaching back towards the big weight on his shoulders, then digging in the sand again. Finally his hand struck a rock below the surface, cracking his nail backwards. It was another pain he did not feel. He dug harder, grabbing the submerged rock and with all his power pulled himself towards the rock. The big man on his back stumbled. For a moment Jack thought he was free. A relief flowed over him as he felt the weight fall off of him. He surged up towards air, towards life.
Before his head emerged from the foamy waves, however, a blinding pain shot through his head. He saw the pain almost more than he felt it. A bright pain, surging from the back, then jumping to his forehead. It struck again on his head. Just before Jack Davidson lost consciousness he realised that his attacker was using his salvation rock as his murder weapon. And then everything was black.
The big man of Chinese decent slowly stood up and looked around. The beach, though normally busy, even during this April autumn morning, was empty. The wind and rainy conditions kept any holiday goers indoors. He wiped his thick black hair out of his eyes and walked towards the lifesavers hut.
No lights were visible and the solar film on the windows made it impossible to see through. The big black board below the elevated window had the surf conditions written on. Sunny and clear. Nobody has been bold enough to update today's forecast on the board. He had no choice but to get out, get away.
Jo Lee has not had such a hard fight in years. He had to give the small South African respect, he fought like a terrier. Lee was a big burly man, and unlike every cliche in every Hollywood movie, knew nothing about martial arts. But he was experienced in survival. Often he would reach his survival much faster than he did today. This was too close.
The current was holding him back. He struggled and fell down on his one knee. He got up and stepped out of the surf. The beach was even tougher to walk on. His denim jeans, made heavy from the water, his one shoe that still remains on his foot and a ripped shirt added to the intensity of the walk. He was now aware of the cut above his brow. Blood slowly dripped into his eye. He looked back at the body being pushed back and forth in the waves.
As Lee walked past the tower, he glanced up, cautiosly looking for signs of life. The Willard Beach Life Saving Tower was still quiet. Looking forward between two rows of holiday flats he could finally see his car. Finally, he thought. I need dry clothes and I need to head back into Durban before it is too late. If I miss my chance to meet my target before the deadline, I will be the dead one.
Time was running out. He had 3 days before South Africa became a truly free country. It was 24 April, 1994, and Nelson Mandela had to die.
Written by me, Oltman Botha. Not to be copied. Please.
Originally Posted by oltman
