The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(69)

I couldn’t believe it. They’d made me a killer.


BABY BRANDON

Oba and I were on the hunt for food because the villagers’ grains were almost gone. Charcoal and mud covered my face and body to make me dark so the animals wouldn’t see me coming. My belly was growling. I’d only eaten one meal a day for the last few weeks. My ribs stuck out, and my arms were matchsticks. I needed meat.

I missed good dinners from home but tried not to think about all that. Thea and Papa would not be proud that Oba had tricked me into killing Blado. I said nothing to the other boys about what had happened, but they looked at me with scared eyes now. News travels fast in a camp.

I stepped carefully in the thick bush, trying not to make any sound. Branches cut my skin, but I didn’t care, because I had eaten lots of candies and breathed in brown-brown—gunpowder mixed with the white powder. It made me feel so awake.

Oba froze and lifted a hand to tell me to stop. An animal? I could feel drool in my mouth. We’d eat tonight.

He pointed to the right, then stepped like a cat through the bush. I followed, heart thumping hard. He was just ahead of me. I saw light through the trees. The hot sun fried the back of my neck. An empty stomach, the heat, the buzz of the brown-brown. I felt dizzy and almost tripped.

Strong fingers dug into my arm. Oba gave me a mean stare. I shook my head, trying to get rid of that weird feeling. He was crazy enough to roast me over the fire if he got too hungry.

I heard a sound. Soft at first. Like a kid’s laugh.

Oba ran through the trees. I hurried to keep up. He lifted his AK-47.

There was an open-air Land Rover with a sign on the door. I got closer. My head wasn’t working right, but I knew it was Mr. Grantam, the park ranger, and his young son, Brandon. Me, Papa, and Thea had gone on safari with him last year. The two of them were standing on the driver’s seat, and Brandon was pointing at two giraffes butting heads.

“Look, Daddy. Are they mad at each other?”

Mr. Grantam wore a brown uniform with a gun, binoculars around his neck. “Not really, Brandon, they’re just trying to decide who’s the boss. You know, like me and Mom do sometimes.”

The little boy laughed again. His father messed up his hair. I was so busy watching them that I didn’t see Oba get close. Mr. Grantam turned to see Oba with his AK pointed at them. The giraffes hurried away, as if they knew playtime was over. Mr. Grantam reached for his holster, but Oba had him cold with the rifle.

“The gun.”

“Daddy!” Brandon scrambled into his father’s arms.

“Stay calm. Just tell me what you want.” Mr. Grantam looked at Oba and then at me. Didn’t he know who I was? Maybe he couldn’t tell because of the mud and charcoal.

“Take off the gun.” Oba couldn’t miss if he tried. He was only a few feet away.

Mr. Grantam held Brandon close and tossed the holster and gun into the red dirt.

“Whatever you need, I can help.” Even though Oba had the AK pointed at him, Mr. Grantam seemed calm. I guess he was used to guns.

Oba stepped forward and grabbed the kid. Brandon squealed, “Daddy!”

“It’ll be okay, son. Just take a deep breath.”

Brandon kept quiet, but his blue eyes were huge saucers. It made me think of Thea the night I’d been kidnapped. She’d been so scared, she couldn’t scream for help.

“You have food?” Oba held Brandon’s neck to keep him from squirming away.

“In the bag.” Mr. Grantam pointed to the sack on the passenger seat. “Take it all. Just let the boy go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, white man.” Oba turned to me. “Shoot him, and I will spare the boy.”

“Let’s just take their food and leave them be.” I tried to process what was happening, but my brain was cloudy, fuzzy.

The man’s face was really pale. Oba pulled Brandon closer, putting the barrel of his rifle against the kid’s head. “Shoot the man,” he told me.

“Calm down. I just want to take my son home.” Mr. Grantam’s voice was strong, brave.

“Do it.” Oba was scary calm. I knew he meant it. “Or I shoot the kid on the count of three.”

“Don’t do it.” Mr. Grantam looked right at me. Didn’t he know I was Nikos Paris?

Oba started counting. “One . . .”

What to do, what to do? My head was all confused. Could I shoot Oba? No, the kid would die first. I remembered how Oba had killed Nobo. He never bluffed.

“Two . . .” Shooting Blado had been horrible, but he’d been a bully. This kid was young, like Thea, innocent. I couldn’t let it happen. Papa always told me to look after anyone younger than me. My hands shook on the rifle.

“Three.”

I fired straight at Mr. Grantam. Bang, bang, bang. Three red blotches dotted his chest. He slipped to the ground, reaching for his son.

Brandon screamed.

Oh, God, what had I done? I’d just shot the boy’s father in front of him. I let my AK drop. My legs felt like big rubber bands. I leaned over and puked. Standing up straight, I watched Oba fire a bullet into the boy’s head. Brain matter splattered the ground. Oba dropped the tiny body onto the red earth.

I ran over and knelt beside the boy. “No! You said you’d save him if I shot his father.”