“Quick, Ravuth! You go first,” she whispered.
Ravuth gingerly made his way down the steps and ran the short distance to the jungle, hiding behind the first clump of trees and looking back to await his brother.
He saw Oun at the foot of the steps, but marching towards him was a Khmer Rouge soldier, who stopped at Oun’s side. The boy waved his rifle towards Rotha and Tu, ordering them to come down immediately. Ravuth’s heart beat wildly and he hid behind the thick tree trunk.
The Khmer Rouge shouting faded, so Ravuth peered out. He saw his mother, father, and brother led away with the others to the communal shack. Realising that he had gone unnoticed, Ravuth skirted around behind the village, using the jungle trees and foliage for cover as he observed what was happening within the village.
The villagers stayed inside the communal hut for another hour before emerging and corralled outside the hut.
The Khmer Rouge went into the crowd of people and dragged out four elderly villagers. Ravuth hoped that they would let them remain in the village. He thought they would take care of him until his parents and Oun returned.
The commander smirked as his soldiers pushed the four elderly villagers to the ground and shot them in the head.
The villagers screamed as the Khmer Rouge pointed their rifles at the panic-stricken crowd, screaming. “Silence or die!”
The commander addressed the crowd, “Be quiet!” he yelled and waiting until he had their attention. “These people were old so cannot produce anything for Angka. Their lives are of no benefit to Angka and their deaths are of no loss.”
Trembling and afraid, the crowd appeared a dejected and broken group of refugees. They shuffled along the trail that led to Koh Kong to join the exodus of the rounded-up populace to be processed and sent to work camps.
The Khmer Rouge let the villagers carry their meagre belongings, which they would take off them at the end of their journey.
Two Khmer Rouge soldiers remained. Ravuth watched as they dragged Dara’s corpse from the communal hut and dumped it with the four others. Taking a can of gasoline from the generator shack, they doused a little over several of the shacks and the corpses. They giggled as they ignited the incendiary, setting fire to several huts and incinerating the bodies. These merciless, ruthless killers were teenage children, who showed neither emotion nor remorse. One soldier, having fun beating the heads of the burning corpses with a stick, looked up and saw movement in the jungle. He shouted to his comrade, who grabbed his rifle, and ran towards Ravuth’s hiding place and stopped.
“You imagined it. There’s nobody here,” said the youth.
“I’m sure I saw someone,” said the other, sounding indignant.
“Do you want to go further into the jungle and look?”
“Not likely. I don’t know what’s in there, maybe a wild animal. Come on let’s get back and catch up with the others.”
“Okay. Because you’re afraid, we will go,” mocked the other youth. They turned and ran back through the village and onto the track.
Ravuth trembled. He backed his way further into the thick foliage. The Khmer Rouge had been standing only inches from his face.
Ravuth returned to the village at sunset. He had been too afraid to move throughout the long, hot, humid day. Dazed and confused, he walked into the deserted village. Passing the smouldering corpses, he made his way to his home. Although the Khmer Rouge had burnt down some shacks and the communal hut, they had left his hut relatively unscathed. He went inside but nothing remained, having either been ransacked or took by his parents. Ravuth crouched down and wept. He stayed there throughout the night, wondering what had happened and what to do. Daybreak came, and as the room got lighter he saw the banana leaf box sticking out of a hole in a floorboard in a corner of the room. He realised that his parents must have been trying to hide it from the Khmer Rouge. He took the box and opened it. The strange plant was inside, along with a few small trinkets underneath the photographs of his family. He took out the photos and with tears in his eyes, stroked the individual images, wondering what was happening to them.
Ravuth felt alone, afraid and confused. He replaced the photographs in the box, left the hut, and wandered around the village searching for food, water, or useful items left behind. Passing the grisly remains, he went from hut to hut, scavenging and collecting anything useful. He found a machete, ate, and drank a little water. Wrapping food in a banana leaf, he collected water from rain-catching containers and filled gourds. His knowledge of edible plants and sources of fluid would assure his survival in the jungle terrain. Taking the box, machete, and other items he had found, Ravuth walked through the village and along the track that led to the road to Koh Kong.
Ravuth had been walking along the jungle track for two hours. He had trekked this route several times with his brother and father, but once Tu went onto the road along with the other villagers and rode away, the brothers would return to the village. He left the jungle, went to the unfamiliar road, and walked along the verges in case he came across any Khmer Rouge patrols. His long walk into the outskirts of town was uneventful, seeing neither traffic nor people. He saw several wooden homes along the roadside destroyed and plundered.
Making his way to the outskirts of Koh Kong town, Ravuth headed toward the town centre, which felt eerie without people. He continued for a few kilometres until he reached the border patrol hut. He hid behind the hut after seeing Khmer Rouge sitting against a newly constructed fence covering the border into Thailand.
The child soldiers lifeless features put a renewed fear into Ravuth. He crept away from the border post and walked back into the deserted town centre. Ravuth went inside a small abandoned café and replenished his food and water from the small scraps that remained. He sat and pondered his situation.
Night fell and Ravuth had still not figured out what to do. He heard a vehicle approaching. Terrified, he hid under a table as an old truck stopped in front of the café. Six Khmer Rouge came in and sat at a table.
Quaking with fear, Ravuth remained motionless as the young soldiers started up a small generator to illuminate the café and sat down. Ravuth trembled as he hid under a table in a dark corner of the café.
One soldier brought in several bottles of Mekong whisky and they drank.
Ravuth listened while the young Khmer Rouge bragged about their daily atrocities, who they had slaughtered, and descriptive details about how they did it. They spoke of their spoils of war and what items they had pilfered. One of them said something that Ravuth wanted to hear.
“My group went straight to *Choeung Ek, but we picked out the ones who will make young Khmer Rouge citizens and good fighting comrades,” he said.
“We rounded up four groups today, they went to the Koh Kong province commune to swell our ranks,” said another.
“Most of ours were undesirable old folk, so we disposed of them,” said a third, adding, “But we had fun re-educating them.” He grinned and showed the others his bloodstained machete.
The gruesome details between the boys went on for a short while; Ravuth then heard their voices slurring, and childish giggling as the strong whisky soon took effect on the youngsters.
Thirty minutes later, the Khmer Rouge staggered out of the café, got back into the vehicle, and it screeched away.
Ravuth came out from under the table. The lights were on, so he looked around the now silent cafe for any information on Koh Kong commune and Choeung Ek. He knew of neither, and unable to read or write, he found leaflets with pictures, which he placed into his box.
Staying in the cafe overnight, early the following morning, Ravuth trekked out of Koh Kong town and headed back to his jungle village to await his family. He didn’t realise he was followed until he neared a road outside Koh Kong and a voice behind him hollered, “You… Stop there!”
He turned around