Sheltered by the walkway Rudd switches his torch back on. Tonderai and Innocence do the same, and the three begin to check in and around the guest rooms, beginning with Fred and Bernard’s.

The door to their room, like that to most of the rooms, has been left unlocked for the come and go of families and campers sharing bathrooms, but the windows are shut and it is dry inside. They shout repeatedly, their torches shining into the corners, but nobody is there so they move on to check the other rooms. In one they find the garden doors have burst open, so they squelch across the carpet, and duck under the thumping flail of the wet curtain to check the patio, but there is only an upturned table without its chairs.

The last room they check is Rudd’s, now Simi’s. It is the only one they find locked. Rudd tries to shine his torch through the small window into his old room, but can see nothing.

“No sign!” he shouts, then turns back to Tonderai and Innocence. “Come on. We’d better get back up there.”

He forces his torch beam out into the dark in one last anxious sweep, but it is a hopeless gesture, bounced back at him by the rain which tips, thick as mercury, over the roof and gutters. He swears, and switches the torch off.

“Let’s go. We need to check up there.”

“Use the main stairs. It will be best,” Tonderai shouts, as he and Innocence switch off their torches and lead the way into the dark, their waterproofs slick and shining in front of Rudd.

Rudd is tensed tight with cold and dread. He is now so miserable that he barely feels the rain as it gusts in sideways, slapping his shirt and trousers to his skin like wet paint. Panic starts to throb through him, its beat getting faster and faster. He does not want to lose two indestructible veterans, two legends, on his watch. He dreads finding them dead due to his lack of truth, due to his failure to pass on information that might have saved them. Fraught with hopeless guilt he shouts their names again, but there is no reply, just the soaking roar of the rain.

By the foot of the stairway the water is deeper, seeping over the edge of his veldskoens and slopping around his toes. He looks up through the blur of rain, and sees water torrenting down the stairs towards him. Just visible to either side are the lowest of the old roof supports, standing stiffly to attention, as though guarding the cascade. On its right edge he makes out Tonderai and Innocence climbing slowly, close together, heads low. He follows them, working his way carefully through the debris swirling around his feet.

The higher he climbs the heavier the wind becomes. He anchors himself to the poles one stage at a time, before staggering on to the next. He is halfway up when he hears a shout.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Rudd climbs on to the chair to get a better view. He swings his torch beam around the room, searching for Jacobus and Hansie, and finds them just off to his left.

“Jacobus, I’m going to take some staff to look for Fred and Bernard. Can you hold the fort here? Keep your guests inside if possible?”

“Sure.” Jacobus nods, his face broad and calm.

“Can’t we help search?” Hansie asks.

“Maybe later. We’ll do a first sweep. Not sure how bad it’s going to be out there. Hopefully the generator will come on soon.”

Rudd moves his torch beam on, glancing it across Simi and Marybelle, whose backs are towards him, their attention returned to the storm. Then he circles the light round to the kitchen where he picks out Tonderai and Innocence shining wet in their waterproofs. He raises an arm in greeting.

“How’s the generator?” he shouts.

They shake their heads. “Too much water. Flooded.”

No. Man! Just what we need.

“Any sign of Fred or Bernard?”

“No.”

“Okay. We need to search the rooms. They may be there. Please come.”

He jumps down from the chair into the swirl of voices, and starts to make his way to the doors, with Tonderai and Innocence behind him, and the wind slapping at their legs. They are at the far end of the room when Jen blocks their path. Her hair is tangled, and her face made ghostly by the torchlight reflecting off the white of her dress.

“What can I do?” she asks, anxiously.

“Please, just keep everyone here. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

“What about the lights?” Katania demands.

“Not working,” replies Tonderai. “Too much rain.”

“At least we’re used to the dark,” someone calls.

“Eggsactly … Harare every night.”  

Rudd tries again to press on, but now a hand on his shoulder holds him back. He swings around.

 “Tim!”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Ah, no. Didn’t see you just now. Probably not. Better if you’re here with this lot. If we need you we’ll come and get you.”

“Okay. Hope you find them.”

Broken glass crunches under Rudd’s veldskoens as he opens the doors, and steps out through their damaged frames into the gale, his torch fluttering feebly. Tonderai and Innocence join him, closing the doors as far as they can behind them. They switch off their torches, and with the rain sweeping over them in blinding gusts, manoeuvre through the chairs and tables to the edge of the verandah. There are no stars, and there is no light, just the dull gleam off the metal walkway poles, stabbing roofless, up into the night. The three splash down on to the drowned terrace. Ahead is the squash court, and beside them the trees, mad in black.

Rudd crooks an arm across his forehead, longing for the raincoat, hat and boots he left in the back of the truck. Tonderai and Innocence, are in front of him now, clambering through the branches of the tree that has fallen across the steps down to the bedrooms. Rudd catches up, and they jump down to the lower walkway. Here the wind is less, but the roof is not so high, and the rain is deafening.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi feels a new fear numb through her.

“Not seen.”

“They were at the meal.”

“Next to us, when we got up to leave the tables.”

“If they’re together, Fred and Bernard will be fine,” someone shouts.

Simi is not so certain. She remembers Sal helping her uncle to his feet. He had not been steady.

“We need to find them.”

 “Don’t worry, we will,” Rudd shouts.

“Hope they’ll be okay Simi,” says Marybelle, her hand on Simi’s arm. “They’re old soldiers so they should be fine.”

Simi pats the hand, but is not convinced. She turns back towards the doors, as keen as the others to catch a glimpse of the pair out in the storm. Bodies squeeze to either side, forcing her and Marybelle close to the tug and rattle of the glass as the wind tumbles through the tables outside. Suddenly, Simi sees a table fling towards them. It spins round, and then its corner smashes into the glass just beside her. As it does somebody screams and slams into her from behind. Simi falls, and tries to push herself up with her hands, but a sharp stab in one lifts the other straight up to Marybelle, who catches it and pulls her to her feet, dragging her towards the middle of the room.

As they squash back through the guests the gong rings out over the chaos, and Rudd yells out, urging all to come away from the glass. He shouts that they must stay inside, but not everyone agrees.

“We need to search man.”

“Let’s get out there.”

“We’ll go.”

Rudd pleads again. “This is not your average storm. This is a cyclone.”

“What?”

“A cyclone?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Who says?”

 “Nobody warned us …”

Rudd shouts more loudly. “This is the cyclone that’s just hit Beira. They said it might get here. May get worse.”

“How come we never heard anything?”

“Agh man, it’s just another storm.”

“No way. Beira’s drowned.”

“You never said.”

“Well …wasn’t much info out there …” Rudd shouts. “Should be over by morning.”

“By morning!” Groans fill the room.

“Meanwhile, we’ll get a search party together to look for Fred and Bernard,” Rudd yells.

There is another splintering crack, and more wind sweeps through at knee height. Rudd is still saying something, but Simi can barely hear him.

“… old bit of the lodge the safest … watch out … glass … working on the generator …”

A frantic banging twists in from outside, cutting Rudd short.

“It’s the walkway roof!”

“The lower end is lifting …”

Simi and Marybelle turn around, Simi stretching up to see over peoples’ heads. She just catches sight of a section of roof flapping wildly in the flickering light of the storm. Beside it another sheet lifts, and starts to peel back, then both rip free, and tear away into the night.

“Like washing from a line. Gone,” someone shouts.

Again bodies tiptoe, but there is not the rush forwards. All are wary of the glass. Simi’s nerves are scraped raw.

“Eish …”

“No …”

“We’ve got to find them!”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023