City of Saints & Thieves(90)

I can see a shadow descending on the tent.

“Now!” he says, pulling his feet from my hands, oblivious to the pain the movement causes him.

I hesitate for a second longer, and then, hating myself for it, dart back behind the crate, yanking the blanket over me again. My heart pounds. It’s just the guard. He’s checking in again and then he’ll leave. I’ve still got time to free Michael and make a run for it.

But the familiar voice at the tent door kills my remaining hope.

“Hello, Michael,” Mr. Omoko says. “Ready to bid us all good-bye?”





FORTY-ONE


It seems Christina and her friend have abandoned you,” I hear Omoko say. “I half expected to come in and find you missing too.”

I am positive that he can hear my heart pounding in the silence and he’s just toying with me. Any second now he’s going to order the Goondas to search the tent.

“Has she been here?”

“Yes,” Michael says.

I nearly gasp out loud.

“She came and told me that you’ve got Kiki,” Michael says, “and that she couldn’t do anything to help me. She ran off.”

“Smart girl,” Mr. Omoko says, after a pause.

Does he buy it? Something in his voice sounds dubious.

“Boss,” another voice says from near the tent entrance, “the truck is ready.”

“Okay, take him out, boys. We’ll deal with looking for the other two later.”

I hear scuffling and then the sound of footsteps receding. I curse myself, wanting desperately to stand up and do something. But I know no good will come of it. I wait for the sound of the truck driving away before peeking out. The tent is empty, and I fling the blanket off. I open the back flap a sliver and check outside for prowling militia. There’s only one guy that I can see, but he has his back to me. I grab the first heavy thing I can find—a box of bullets—and creep to the flap. The guy is smoking now. I take a deep breath and rush out, landing a blow to the back of his head. He falls over with a grunt.

“Hey!”

I whip toward the voice. Another militia guy is to my right. I hadn’t seen him from inside the tent. I bolt, making for the forest and hoping I can outrun him. I hear him yell to one of his buddies and charge after me. I have Ketchup’s gun, but there’s no way to get a clear shot through the trees. As I dodge and weave through the growth I let all of my adrenaline and fear take hold and my feet fly, and to my relief, I can soon tell I’m breaking away, getting farther and farther from my pursuers. They sound like elephants crashing along behind me. Finally, something is going my way.

And then I realize I’m not headed toward Michael at all.

I curse and change tack, angling back toward where I think the road is.

I run. I run until my lungs are ready to explode. Then I run some more. I careen off trees. My feet are torn to shreds. I scream at myself to keep moving. When I’m sure I’ve shaken the militia guys I stop, listening for the sound of the helicopter. There’s nothing but silence.

I keep going. The road has to be up here. It has to be. I scramble down a gully, go up and over fallen trees, and just when I’m starting to panic, the ground falls away and there it is, the muddy track of a road. I stop for only a second to make sure it’s clear before I leap onto it, my lungs on fire, going for a full-out sprint now.

I’m going to be too late. They’ll be gone before I get there. And once the helicopter is airborne . . .

I come up over a hill and see the sudden light of a clearing. That must be where the helicopter has landed, and the sight gives me a burst of speed, just as a dark figure steps out on the path in front of me.

I nearly scream, but the person grabs my arms and says my name in a frantic whisper.

“Boyboy!” I gasp.

“Shh!” he says, and drags me off the path.

“I thought they’d caught you,” I choke out.

Boyboy pulls me toward a gap in the trees where we can see the clearing. “What happened? I just saw Mr. Omoko come by with Michael! Couldn’t you get him out?”

“No,” I moan. “I didn’t have time.” Boyboy and I crouch behind a tree. The helicopter sits in windswept grass and wildflowers like a giant black wasp. “And his hand is broken, so he couldn’t drive the motorcycle.” I can just see two figures inside the chopper. I look past the brightness of the field, and my blood goes cold. The militia truck is there in the shade of the trees, surrounded by men bristling with AK-47s. A Goonda has Michael by the arm and they’re standing just at the edge of the forest next to Mr. Omoko. “Did you talk to Mr. Greyhill?”

“I think I was too late,” Boyboy says, his face twisted. “I came this far to try to make the call, but then I heard them coming after me. I had to run maybe a couple of kilometers down the road before I got a signal at Catherine’s home.”

“Catherine’s?” I ask, looking at him sharply.

“I recognized it when I came out of the forest.”

She wasn’t kidding when she said the militias were just up the road.

“And I called Mr. Greyhill, but he didn’t answer,” Boyboy goes on. “I had to leave a message. I called three times, but then I heard the helicopter, so I gave up and followed it back here. I don’t know if he heard any of them. I’m so sorry, Tina.”