Jane Wilson-Howarth

This adventure started as a bedtime story for my then 10-year-old son... He and his big brother were the central to the story and I introduced a strong Nepali girl character to improve the banter between the three children. My son became really involved in the adventure and demanded a good chunk of story every night, whether or not I'd had a tough day at work. In fact when I'd had a stressful day, writing helped me travel to Nepal in my head and escape. The first draft, then, was quickly dashed off and was stashed away and forgotten until I finished several other big writing projects. A few years later I joined Walden Writers and this group of published authors helped me hone the stories so that people outside my family could enjoy them too.  

I woke hungry. The grease from last night’s meagre meal still lined my mouth. The cold of the bare concrete floor had seeped into my bones. Shivering made the wound in my leg ache. It was a nasty purple colour now. I looked around. Mum, Dad and my little brother, James, were still asleep. Through the bars of our cell I could see that the skies were slowly starting to lighten. Morning had arrived at long last. The weak dawn light picked out streaks of grey mould on the once-whitewashed walls, and there were patterns of green stuff where monsoon rains seeped through cracks in the plaster; it almost looked like a map. The team of ants that found a gecko’s tail on the floor last night had managed to pull it half way up to the ceiling. I was so hungry I almost envied their feast to come.
I heard footsteps and jangling keys. Suddenly everyone was awake.
“This was earlier than I expected,” Dad whispered. “You’ve got to really focus, Alex. No day-dreaming. Don’t forget the plan.” I gave him a dirty look but he didn’t notice. He went on, “Get away, and get word to the Embassy – then we might have some chance of rescue, and of clearing up this big ugly misunderstanding. Once we’re out, we must separate straight away. You boys, go straight to the Irrigation office. Ask Dinesh if he’ll let you phone Kathmandu. We can trust him. Tell him what’s going on. Mum and I’ll head for the main Post Office and try to phone from there. If there’s no Maoist reception committee, we’ll meet at the Post Office and take a tanga to the ferry at Kothiyaghat and then the bus for Kathmandu.”
Keys rattled in the lock. A junior policeman we hadn’t seen before opened the door of our cell. He looked as if he’d slept in his uniform. He looked tired. He waved the four of us into the gloomy corridor. Wordlessly he indicated we should just go.
Dad said quietly, “Head straight for Dinesh’s house. As soon as you can boys, just run!”
 
Outside the sun was dazzling but the air still felt dank. Mum pushed me and stage-whispered, “Run!”
As we moved away from Mum and Dad, I saw four big men close around my parents and bundle them towards a waiting vehicle. James and I watched from a safe distance.
One of men was the Maoist leader – the little guy with the deep voice and expensive sunglasses. He was the one who looked as if he’d been feeding on someone’s blood because the betel* nut he’d been chewing had coloured his teeth red. He said nastily, “We’re taking a little tourist trip to Bhalubang.” A fifth man joined the group. He was dressed very differently and he began an argument with the others. He was trying pull the strangers away from my parents. It was Ramdin, Dad’s field assistant. He was the zoologist who had taught us so much about the wildlife of Nepal, but he had betrayed us. Now, though, he seemed to be trying to get my parents free. I desperately wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but there was no time.
I heard the leader of the group ask Dad nastily, “Where are your sons?”
“Oh, they’re inside the police station still,” Mum said, fixing her sweetest smile on her face. She was doing a very convincing impression of being a complete dough-brain. “They’re using the toilet. You know what it’s like – prison food....” She laughed a silly high-pitched laugh. I’d never heard her do that before. You’d never guess she had a PhD.
Dad was gesturing for us to run. When his gesticulations attracted the thugs’ attention, he coughed and asked, “Any chance of a drink of water?”
Deep Voice said, “Who do you think we are? Your servants? Do you understand nothing? Do you not understand why we do not want you in our country?”
Then he spotted us and cursed. I heard him swear again as we started to move away. He shouted for one of his henchmen to bring us back. We sprinted off like startled hares. The guy who was chasing us was big, heavy and not at all fast.  We put on more of a sprint. James was on my heels.
We dived into the tunnel-like maze of stalls in the main bazaar. We darted under a table stacked with bangles and cheap hair slides. We scared a skinny cat and a couple of rats. On we rushed, taking a zigzag route through the bazaar that we knew so well, racing on until we were sure that we’d lost the fat henchman. 

We were into forest again and amongst twittering birds. The sounds cheered me up a bit. I pictured Mum’s smiling face as she listened to birdsong and that made me feel horrible again. Would we get to them in time? Then I started thinking about what might be lurking in the trees.
There were the usual scuttings and rustlings of insects and small rodents in the leaf-litter. But then I started wondering if I was imagining the sounds made by a larger animal. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” said James.
“Oh yes, I hear it Alex,” Bim said. “There’s something large over there by that big tree.”
“Mmm, that’s what I thought.”
“What is it?” James asked.
“Don’t want to wait to find out.” Bim shouted.
“What?” James stood there looking idiotic.
“Run James!”
As we took off I registered the sounds of a large lumbering animal. It was fast and it was coming after us. It seemed to be speeding up. It was definitely gaining on us. I’d decided it must be a leopard. I snatched up a stick and increased my pace. There were trees of all sizes around us and I thought about climbing out of danger. But leopards are good climbers.
Bim shouted, “Look we need to get up a small tree – one each. Quick!”
She didn’t need to tell us twice. We were both up ours’ before she’d started climbing hers.
A big black shape burst out of the undergrowth. It was followed by another. Now were were in big trouble.

*

Red-trunked rhododendron trees looked like so many writhing russet snakes. In some places the forest floor was carpeted crimson with fallen rhododendron petals.

*

When we reached the prayer flags and a pile of rocks that marked the highest point on the pass, the view was brilliant. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. To the south we could see rolling foothills: the gentle ups and downs that we’d walked through. Some of the hillsides were red or purple with rhododendron blossoms. To the west and east there was a muddle of ridges and spurs. To the north, there were several mighty snow-capped himals. The real Himalayan giants were mostly east of where we stood. We were a very long way from anywhere. We were a very long way from help.

*

A shape passed in front of the sun. I shaded my eyes with my hand and scanned the sky. A couple of vultures were circling as if waiting for us to die...
Then in the distance we heard gunfire. It sounded like people were shooting at the helicopter gunships, which were launching rockets in reply.
I murmured, "This is serious. We're in the middle of a real war!"

Eifrig Publishing based in Lemont, Pennsylvania and Berlin launched this second adventure in paperback and as an e-book. It can be ordered though Eifrig (as well as via amazon).
New edtions of the story are available ar Himalayan Hideout from Vajra publications in Nepal and also as an audiobook from Hideout on Audible