DREI
Stimmen
Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD spent his first night out of Germany sleeping for all of thirty minutes. He woke up to the same noise he thought he had heard before, someone or something screaming for help in the middle of the night. He didn't want to wake up Markos and bother him a second time, and he knew what his friend would say in such a case: either he needed to get his head checked, or that last beer had roofies in it. Hermann knew better than to fall for Markos's bad jokes, but now he found himself wondering if, in fact, he had drunk something he shouldn't have on the plane or in the car. Maybe there was something in the water…no, he hadn't drunk anything since getting off the jet! "I'm just tired, it has to be fatigue", he mumbled to himself. "Or a dream. I must have been having the same one as before". Then, undeniably, he heard the sound again, clearer and sharper than before, and made by more voices than the previous two times. He could not mistake what he heard for anything except pure desperation.
"Markos, aufwachen."
"What…is it…now?" replied the other, noticeably annoyed.
"Sounds like someone's being eaten by vultures", said Hermann, trying to lighten the situation a bit.
"Is it you?" asked Markos.
"No."
"Then I'm not interested. Guten Nacht." Before Markos Schreiber could fall back asleep, however, the sound reached the two men yet again. "What the…" was all he could say in response, trying to make heads or tails of what was going on. "Maybe I got the beer with the roofies in it." He climbed out of the bed and looked out over the African landscape, still well-lit by the waxing moon, and wondered aloud where the mysterious noise was coming from. He didn't have to wait long, as it sounded once more, quite noticeably coming from in front of him, somewhere off in the distance. He could see nothing but trees and rock outcroppings, and quite poorly at that, but unfamiliar as he was with this new spot, he thought he had a good idea of where the voices were originating. After thinking everything over, he finally turned to his friend. "Hermann, get your stuff."
"Uh-huh," replied Hermann, surprised at his friend's change in attitude. "Just a minute ago you were saying I needed to go see a shrink? What's the game then?"
"I heard it just as well as you did. Either we're both crazy, or something really awful is happening out there. Someone could have been attacked, and we're probably the only people within 100 miles that know a thing about medicine."
"Are you forgetting what else is out there? Stuff that wants to eat us! People that want to kill us! Bad guys and large animals and pirates and…"
"Again with the pirates? Get off the pirates; we're not at sea, so there's no chance of us running into Somalia's version of Jack Sparrow. And there's a revolver in my bag; take some of the things you brought from the hospital and put them in there as well. If you're going to rob the pharmacy, we might as well put the loot to good use."
"This is crazy," Hermann replied, still exhausted and now quite confused as to who was suggesting what, "we're supposed to be on vacation here and you want to…"
"Heeeellllp…!"
Hermann froze where he was, his mind all but made up for him. "Right, leave a note for the driver as to the whereabouts of his car; I think the keys are still in the ignition. Get in the passenger side and co-pilot for me." Markos scribbled something in German that he knew the driver wouldn't understand, left it outside his tent, and wearily lifted the suitcase containing his revolver, an uninspired assortment of clothing, and Hermann's "borrowed" medical things into the back seat.
"It's coming from over there," he said, scanning for something to indicate the way. "That cluster of rocks on the horizon…make straight for it."
"This is a real first," said Hermann once they were underway. "You and I have helped ourselves to this and that in the past—cough drops, band aids, even the occasional free soda from the vending machine—but carjacking someone? That's a line I did think we'd ever cross."