Part 35 (2/2)

The soldiers talked quietly as the voice ordered the Jeep to get moving. Ike kept his arms at his sides and walked straight past the tall man, wild eyes flas.h.i.+ng in the moonlight. The man didn't even turn to acknowledge him as he crawled into the bed of the Jeep next to the machine gun. A lone soldier knelt beside the weapon.

A moment later, the driver stepped on the gas and the Jeep moved again. Only then did the soldier see Ike. Ike's blade pierced the man's neck, right above the collarbone. His gurgling cry didn't rise above the sound of the engine.

As the soldier slumped to the bed of the Jeep, Ike spotted a round green ball dangling from the man's belt. He turned to the giant machine gun. Taking the weapon in both hands, he swung the barrel toward the gathering of foot soldiers at the base of the trail.

He could barely make out individual shapes, but the majority of them were clumped together in a tight huddle. He squeezed the trigger and the cannon lit up. The thunderous noise deafened him and the flash of the muzzle destroyed his night vision, but he could still follow the tracer rounds to where he knew the enemy soldiers stood.

He ducked into the bed, curling against the backseat, and retrieved the hand grenade. The four men in the front turned to see why their fellow had fired.

Ike popped the pin free.

He held his breath and tossed the grenade into the seats in front of him. He might die, but the Askari Nahuru would not follow the others.

Ike closed his eyes.

One final explosion rumbled across the clearing.

30.

Alfred twisted his torn s.h.i.+rt into a tight cord and threaded one end into the tank. Torn fuel lines dangled against the rusted outer casing. The old gasoline generator was a disaster waiting to happen, likely leaking carbon monoxide fumes. He had promised Sam a distraction. The easiest way to do that was with an explosion.

Alfred spent half his lighter fluid soaking the end of his makes.h.i.+ft fuse. Cotton didn't burn as readily as other materials so he had to make sure to get the fire hot enough to burn all the way down. The moment he brought his lighter flame to it, the s.h.i.+rt lit up.

He backed off, watching the orange flames lick their way toward the gasoline tank. Dread washed through him. The coming explosion would be unpredictable and with his movement limited to the one corner of the generator house, there was little he could do to protect himself.

Fair enough, he thought. Before Sam's visit and her ensuing embrace, Alfred had little hope for his own life, certain that Guy intended to let him dehydrate. Their conversation had not gone well, and Alfred thought the only thing that had kept him alive this long was Guy's abhorrence to the idea of executing someone. Instead he'd let the chemist rot, out of sight and out of mind.

But when Sam came in, she brimmed with confidence and brought renewed hope. To Alfred, she seemed to be calling the shots, albeit through careful persuasion.

So if he died now, at least it was better than his previous fate, he decided.

The chemist retreated back to the corner and pulled the chair in front of him as a meager defense.

Guy's hands fumbled under her tank top. His fingers slithered about her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach, violating. He had already slid out of his s.h.i.+rt and pants. Sam wanted to vomit. Yet a part of her also wanted to just give in. Get it over with. As she felt his fingers move to her shorts, she didn't make a move to stop him. She only hoped that Brandon could forgive her.

The windows rattled and the floorboards shook with the force of the explosion. Guy bolted up at the sound, eyes narrowed in confusion. He glanced at Sam and saw that she shared his bewilderment.

As she realized what was happening, Sam used her momentary surprise to her advantage. ”What was that?” she asked.

He stood up and picked his pistol up off the table, sliding it into his waistband. He moved toward the door. There he paused and turned to look at her.

She realized he didn't have time to bind her wrists.

”Stay right here,” Guy warned her. ”If you try to escape . . .”

”I know,” she replied with a nod.

With that he turned and left. The moment he disappeared, she lifted the covers and slid off the bed. She headed straight for Guy's notebooks. Although now would be the perfect time to escape, she wanted to stop his research. She opened the first notebook at the top of the stack and tore out the first page. She crossed to the table and the oil lamp he had been using. She twisted the lamp open so the tiny flame was exposed and touched the half-crumpled paper to it. With the flaming sheet in hand, she returned to the stack of notebooks.

Kitu saw the billowing smoke from his spot on Guy's porch. He held his spear ready and craned his neck toward the only stone building. A hole gaped open in the roof, shattered wood tumbling to the earth.

”What happened?” Guy demanded when he emerged from his house, gun in hand, wearing only his s.h.i.+rt.

Kitu shrugged helplessly. ”I do not know.”

”Did you see anyone go over there?” Guy asked, his anger br.i.m.m.i.n.g.

”No. I saw no one,” he insisted. Dawn was still an hour off and the night was still dark. He could easily have missed something.

Guy muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the rising smoke, visible against the night sky.

They strode the short distance between the two buildings hastily. Kitu saw the shadows of the other Mbuti emerging from their huts across the clearing. Curious, they arose from their sleep to see what had caused the earth-shattering noise.

When they reached the door, Guy's impatience worked against him as he fumbled with the lock. Finally, he pushed inside and stopped just within the door. Kitu stayed with him.

The casing on the generator was cracked asunder and flames still smoldered from within. The walls bent outward around the sh.e.l.l, stones knocked askew and blackened. Pieces of burning wood and paper littered the floor.

In the corner, amidst the shards of his shattered chair, the one-armed man lay groaning. When he saw Guy, he tried getting up, pus.h.i.+ng aside charred splinters, but faltered, his one good arm giving out underneath him.

Guy's face turned red at the sight, and he hollered curses at his captive in a language Kitu couldn't follow. The one-armed man only murmured quietly to himself in response.

”Help me take him outside,” Guy ordered Kitu as he crossed the room and knelt in the broken rubble. He yanked on the chain that kept the man bound and, with a key from his pocket, quickly unlocked it. ”Pick him up.”

Kitu nodded and grabbed the captive under the armpit, yanking him to his feet. Dazed, the man wavered, even with the Mbuti's support. Together, they followed Guy out of the building toward the pit. Once they reached Chui's old den, Guy gestured inside.

”Throw him in there.”

Kitu hesitated for a moment, then, rather than throwing, he gently lowered the one-armed man down the steep sloping muddy wall.

A click drew his attention back to Guy, who held his pistol out and pointed into the pit at his captive's head. Kitu winced in antic.i.p.ation, turning to look away.

The next seconds seemed to take forever. At first, Kitu heard nothing and saw nothing. The land around him was still, the forest quiet except for distant calls and insects. And then, when he looked over at Guy again, the man was wearing a leopard.

It happened so suddenly that Kitu didn't have time to register what had happened. But there was Chui on Guy's shoulders, his teeth sinking into the flesh of a shoulder. Guy collapsed under the sudden weight falling to the ground. A horrible scream escaped his lips as the animal mauled him from behind.

Kitu brought his spear up, but the shaft wobbled in his shaking grasp. Frozen, the Mbuti had not the wit to even run away. Luckily Chui seemed focused on Guy and ignored Kitu.

For a moment, Kitu thought he should leap to his aid and run the leopard through. But, the memory of Guy's earlier words made him hesitate: Let Chui be the judge . . .

The crack of a gunshot broke Kitu's paralysis, and his eyes fell to the red hole that appeared in the cat's neck. A b.l.o.o.d.y, groaning man struggled out from under the dying corpse. Kitu stooped and offered him his hand.

Guy cursed, more furious than ever. Blood poured from his shoulder, drenching his s.h.i.+rt. Kitu had seen such wounds on dead men before.

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