City of Saints & Thieves(88)

“What did you do to him?” Boyboy asks as I sweep away the debris from my captive’s face.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

I grab his legs and Boyboy picks him up under the arms and we run as fast as we can toward the rising sun. I keep waiting for Ketchup to wake up and struggle, but he stays limp. When I think we’ve gone far enough I stop, looking for a good spot. “There.”

We’re drenched in sweat, and the dirt and dried leaves cling to us as Boyboy and I quickly dig a little trench next to a boulder. We shove him in and I use the ties from my pocket to attach his hands to a tall sapling that’s sprung up from under the rock. Then we cover him again with brush. As I’m finishing, Boyboy marks the spot on the phone’s GPS.

“It’s like we’re digging a grave,” Boyboy finally says.

“He’s not going to die,” I say. “He can’t.”

Boyboy finishes and frowns at the phone. “There’s no reception here. I’m going to have to move.”

“Head for the road. I think it’s that way.” I point.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the helicopter.” Boyboy’s face is grim. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

? ? ?

The camp is utter chaos.

My distraction worked—maybe too well. By the time I get back, there are about forty dudes running around yelling at each other and the kitchen tent is ablaze.

Apparently the propane stove I knocked over exploded, which isn’t great, seeing as I’d been counting on a later explosion to cover Michael’s and my escape. But maybe if I can get Michael out quickly, there will still be enough mayhem.

There’s a one-eared militia guy who must be the leader screaming orders in the middle of the clearing. It looks like he’s realized his prisoners have escaped. I watch him catch a couple of militia guys and send them out into the forest. If they’re after us, though, they’re going the wrong way. So that’s something. I don’t see Mr. Omoko anywhere. I hope to God he isn’t in the tent with Michael, because that’s where I’m headed.

The guys who were guarding Michael have run to help put out the fire that’s spreading from the kitchen tent to a tree. The smoke from the green leaves is lucky. It makes everything hazy. I wait until I’m sure no one is watching, then run in a crouch to the back of Michael’s tent, where I’m blocked from the view of most of the camp. I quickly pull the tent flaps apart a centimeter and try to get a look inside. It’s dark and I can’t see much more than shapes. I’m just going to have to risk it; I’m an easy target out here. I take another quick glance around and then slip in. For a second I’m blinded and panic swells in me.

“Who’s there?”

“Shhh. It’s me,” I whisper, creeping toward Michael. My eyes adjust to the dim and I see he’s blindfolded, tied up, and bruised, but alive. His hands are chained to a small generator. It must have been the heaviest thing they could find.

“Tina,” he breathes. “You’re okay. Where’s Boyboy? Is he all right? They wouldn’t tell me what happened to you guys.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine.”

I push the blindfold up off his eyes, and he blinks. It feels like eons since I ran away from him at the guesthouse, and I have a sudden urge to grab him and make sure he’s real. I crouch down to check out his bindings. He’s got the same wires around his wrists that I did, but they’re also around his ankles. When I take his hands, he hisses with pain.

“What?” I ask. One of his wrists is swollen and dark with bruising.

“I think it’s broken,” he says.

I sit back, looking at the hand, my stomach sinking. “Mavi,” I curse.

“My legs are fine. Can you get me out?”

“Um, no chance you can drive a motorcycle like that, huh?” I ask with a forced smile.

Michael looks from me to his wrists, understanding passing over his face. “Is that our escape plan?”

I swallow. “What if I steer?”

“You have to shift on the handles. I mean, if we had time for me to show you, I’m sure you could do it, but . . .” He looks toward the front of the tent, where, from the sound of it, pandemonium still reigns. “Get me out, and we’ll make a run for it. Where’s Boyboy?”

“Going for help. Hopefully in the form of your father.” I curse again. “He’s supposed to be meeting us down the road. But we can’t outrun these guys. They’ve got trucks and bikes.”

“Can we go through the forest?”

I think about it but shake my head. “The going will be too slow, and they’ll just come around and surround us before we can get back to the road.” I go back to his bindings. I can at least get his legs loose while I’m thinking of a new plan.

“Tina, what’s going on? Who are these guys?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain everything once we’re safe.”

“I heard them talking about—”

I cut him off with a quick gesture. “Someone’s coming! I have to put your blindfold back on.”

“No! Tina!”

But I’m already yanking the greasy fabric over his eyes. I grab the blanket off the cot and scurry to the rear of the tent, where there’s a big wooden crate. I squat behind it and throw the blanket over me. It’s a terrible hiding job, but at the moment it’s the best option I’ve got. I squeeze down into a tight ball and try my hardest to look like a pile of dirty laundry. Hopefully in the dark no one will notice me. I want to kick myself for not keeping Ketchup’s panga. I still have his gun, but I’d rather defend myself quietly. Nothing to bring a horde of militia down on our heads like gunshots from the prisoner’s tent.