Thunderbolt

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘You’re thinking we might go today!’ she said. I couldn’t quite tell whether the lightness in her voice was excitement or trepidation.

  As calmly as I could I replied, ‘Yes. We’ll go tonight.’

  46.

  We arrived back in camp, ate our slop, and waited for the sun to set. As it did one of the tents in the main area came loose in a gust of wind so strong it also upturned some of the plastic furniture. A group of boys struggled with the tent, blown in on itself, in the gloom. General Sir was nowhere to be seen. He had retreated to his quarters.

  Under the guise of going to help the boys secure the tent, Mo set off to prime those who’d be coming with us. Amelia, Xander and I went to General Sir’s.

  His door was shut. I knocked on it and called to him, lacing my voice with worry. ‘General Sir. Amelia needs help.’

  Before the door even opened Amelia doubled over between Xander and me, holding her stomach.

  ‘What is it?’ General Sir asked, cracking the door an inch.

  ‘Cramps,’ Amelia said through gritted teeth. ‘I get them sometimes.’

  ‘It’s a girl thing,’ added Xander.

  This unnerved the General, but only momentarily. Looking Amelia up and down he said, ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘Painkillers,’ Amelia hissed. Between impressive grimaces she went on: ‘Without them I’ve ended up in hospital before now. I passed out and had a sort of fit. They thought I might swallow my tongue.’

  ‘There is no hospital.’

  ‘We know!’ said Xander, sounding properly panicked. ‘If she has painkillers she won’t need to go! You must have some.’ He risked putting a hand on the door as he said this and it worked – General Sir drew it open further.

  ‘Oh God!’ moaned Amelia, slumping to her knees on the threshold.

  Xander and I heaved her forward into the room as General Sir stepped back. His laptop was open. A football match, of all things, was playing on it, complete with tinny commentary.

  As we’d planned, Amelia toppled over entirely the moment we loosened our grip on her, flopping forward at the General’s feet. She did a brilliant job of writhing around, clutching at herself. General Sir was completely distracted. Xander got between him and me for good measure, but he was transfixed by Amelia rolling around on the floor.

  I snatched the padlock from the shelf inside the door and shoved it deep into my back pocket, undetected. General Sir came to his senses and fished a pack of pills out of the fridge.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘We don’t want you dying on us, I suppose.’

  Amelia had clawed herself upright between us. Xander propped up her elbow. To my surprise she took two of the pills immediately and pocketed the pack.

  Xander pointed at the laptop and said, ‘Good game?’

  ‘Eh?’ said General Sir, but his eyes darted back to the screen.

  ‘Sorry to have disturbed you,’ said Xander, though he was largely drowned out by another of Amelia’s groans. ‘We’ll take her to lie down,’ he went on. ‘Let’s hope the pills do the trick.’ He nodded at the screen again. ‘Have a good night.’

  And with that we backed out of the room, still supporting Amelia between us. I had a hand on the door and pulled it firmly shut behind me as we retreated, holding my breath. If he saw the missing padlock straight away we were done for: he’d stop us in our tracks before we’d taken our first step. But he generally kept inside after dark, and in a windstorm like this he was even less likely to venture out until the morning.

  By locking him in we’d buy ourselves extra time. Every minute counted. As Amelia spat the pills out in the dirt I quickly secured the padlock through the hasps on the outside of the door and locked it. Any click it made was blown away by the wind. The three of us exchanged a look of relief, then jogged back to our tent to rendezvous with Mo.

  He was there already, crouched low on the blankets, wide-eyed with expectation. ‘You succeeded?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s locked in, yes, for now.’

  ‘Watching a football match,’ added Amelia. ‘With the second half still to play.’

  How she’d thought to notice that while doing her dying dog routine I’ve no idea, but the thought comforted me: if General Sir was stuck into the match, it was even less likely he’d want to stretch his legs outside for now.

  ‘They’re all ready,’ said Mo.

  ‘With water?’

  ‘Each has a bundle or pack with a full water container and even a little food.’

  ‘And the bribes, did they work?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Better than I expected.’ He looked at Amelia. ‘Your ring in particular. I even managed to get us a little extra help with that.’ A bashful smile spread across his face as he lifted a hem of the blanket at his feet. ‘Check this out!’

  A revolver lay in the blanket’s folds. It was battered and ancient-looking, with a stubby black barrel that glimmered in the near dark. I picked it up. The thing was astonishingly heavy.

  ‘It’s Nabil’s. General Sir keeps all the guns under lock and key after nightfall. But Nabil’s had this one out for ages. We can use it on Kayd and Liban.’

  ‘We have a plan to deal with them, and as far as I remember it doesn’t involve us actually shooting anyone,’ said Xander tentatively.

  Amelia said. ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘It’s a real gun but Nabil has no bullets for it. Still, he’s not entirely sure Kayd and Liban know that.’

  ‘Not entirely sure,’ I murmured.

  Xander, relieved we weren’t about to murder anyone, now backed Mo up. ‘It can only help, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘Unless it makes us cocky, and Kayd and Liban do know it’s out of ammo,’ said Amelia.

  She was right, of course, but to boost our morale I said, ‘Fair point, we shouldn’t get overconfident.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let’s get on with it!’

  47.

  Working swiftly in the gloom we dismantled our tent. Not to take with us, just so that we could harvest its guy ropes and poles. Though the wind yanked the tent around as we worked, the ropes untied easily enough. The plan had been to use the poles as weapons. They were heavy and sharp-tipped, after all. Now we had the handgun as well. I’d picked that up and shoved it in the waistband of my jeans without Mo objecting. Once we’d gathered what we wanted we set off through the gale for the main clearing.

  The idea was that those who Mo had managed to bribe – Nabil and the others – would have made themselves scarce, leaving just Kayd and Liban in their tent. Heading that way, I felt my heartbeat pulsing in my neck. If they’d got wind something was up and were prepared for us we’d have a harder time overpowering them.

  The wind was hammering so noisily we didn’t need to tread softly, just jogged straight up to the tent. I wanted to pause, and if I had I bet the others would have hesitated too. But we’d been through the plan often enough and the adrenaline was pumping, so there was no point in stopping to gee ourselves up. With the gun in one hand and a tent pole in the other I speared straight in.

  Their tent was bigger than ours. You could stand up in it. I’d half expected they’d be waiting for us, but they were stretched out in the gloom. Liban jumped to his feet as soon as we entered. I ran straight at him, knocked him back down and waved the gun in his face. He got the picture pretty quickly, raised his hands, said something that clearly meant, ‘Don’t shoot’.

  Mo put a hand on my arm but I wasn’t about to lower the gun. He started talking to Liban, his voice a persuasive blur in my ear. I shifted my attention to Kayd. He hadn’t moved, not even to turn his head my way. It was unnerving. He looked dead. But of course he wasn’t. He was just lying there pretending to be asleep, despite the noise.

  I nodded at Xander, who edged closer to Kayd, holding his tent pole like a spear. Was he going to prod him awake with it? He never got the chance. I’ve no idea how Kayd, facing the other way, sensed Xander’s approach, but as soon as th
e tip of Xander’s spear edged within reach Kayd whipped round, grabbed it, and jerked Xander forward in one swift movement.

  Caught unawares, Xander was too slow to brace himself. He staggered forward just as Kayd erupted from the ground with a roar. In an instant Kayd had Xander by the throat. The tent-pole spear was useless to Xander at such close quarters. He dropped it.

  The two boys were a similar size to look at, but although Xander is no pushover he was no match for Kayd in strength. Xander was flailing at Kayd with one hand while trying to prise the boy’s fingers from his neck with the other.

  In the dusk they staggered wildly, the fabric of the tent snapping and cracking in the wind. I had to take control of the situation. I yelled, ‘Stop,’ quick-stepped towards Liban, and shoved the barrel of the pistol hard up under his chin. ‘Stop! Or else!’ I shouted at Kayd.

  Either he didn’t understand, knew the gun to be empty, or simply didn’t care whether I shot Liban or not. Whatever the reason, he ignored me completely.

  But he ignored everyone else – except Xander – as well. This meant he didn’t spot Amelia as she sidestepped me, swinging her tent pole like a baseball bat. The crack of it hitting Kayd’s skull cut through the wind-roar. His head jerked sideways with the blow and his knees buckled. I was amazed at Amelia’s ferocity: she followed up the first blow with a second, just as savage. It knocked Kayd onto all fours. She would have smacked him again if Xander hadn’t stepped between the two.

  He hauled Kayd up onto his feet. The boy was in a daze but registered the gun now. I was pushing it so hard up under Liban’s chin that the notched barrel seemed to have disappeared into his skin. I released him, spun him round, stuck the gun between his shoulder blades and marched him out of the tent.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Xander hissed at Kayd.

  He, Amelia and Mo drag-carried Kayd into the storm. The wind, still full of grit, whipped at us. The night sky was a moving mass, shredded clouds piling by, obscuring the stars and moonlight. Amelia had split Kayd’s head. Blood glimmered on the side of his face and neck. I almost felt sorry for him. But given the chance he’d have done worse to any of us. Loyal to General Sir, he’d certainly stop us leaving if he could. I forced Liban on at a jog, heading for the pits.

  48.

  I braced myself for Liban and Kayd to fight back when they cottoned on to where we were going, but it didn’t happen. We made it to the pits without either of them so much as raising their heads. Still, would they resist when we ordered them inside?

  Mo had made that less likely by choosing this as the rendezvous point for those kids whom he’d persuaded to come with us. They stood like a welcoming committee as we approached, spread out in a horseshoe around the sunken cages.

  There were five of these in total. Whether at Mo’s suggestion or on their own initiative, someone had already pried up two of the metal cage doors. The group closed around us as we arrived. Many hands funnelled the two enforcers into the ground.

  Nobody said anything. It felt like a silent ritual, turning the tables on these bullies, putting them in their place. Somebody had put a water bottle in each hole. Once they were crouched inside Mo issued another order and two of the bigger helpers shut the cage doors.

  Mo slid one of the long bolts into place. I immediately knelt to fasten the other. The bolt was stiff and crudely made, the metal rough. Still, it was inaccessible from inside, and way too strong to break. I ground it shut. We stood back. The wind boomed and groaned. It seemed louder now that it was near dark.

  ‘Next step, the dogs,’ I said. ‘You dug up the snare-spoils?’

  Mo nodded, reached inside his bag, and pulled out a piece of plastic in which he’d folded our most recent catches. He’d already cut them into pieces. I took a morsel. Xander did too.

  Together with Mo and Amelia, we jogged back to where I’d last seen the dogs, sheltering in the lee of General Sir’s shack. One of them – the one I’d befriended – was still there, a solid shape in the gloom. For a moment I was worried. What if we couldn’t find the other one? But dogs are uncanny. At home, I swear Chester knows when I’m about to feed him before I do. He’s always right there as I pick up his bowl to fill it.

  Now, the dog, sensing our approach, was already up on its feet, and the other, thicker-set, dog must have sensed its expectation. It emerged from behind the water butt just as I was offering the bloodhound its treat.

  Xander tossed his scrap at the bigger dog’s feet. As it bent to snaffle it Amelia slipped a guy-rope noose under the dog’s collar and fastened it with a clove-hitch knot. The other dog sat obediently, eyeing me for more to eat, while I did the same.

  The ropes were just a precaution. If we had to pull the dogs away they’d come in handy. As it was, I reckoned both of them would have followed us anyway, especially after Mo had shown them both another sliver of bush meat. In a place where there wasn’t much in the way of treats going, we’d made ourselves a source of something good, so they wanted to be with us. It was as simple as that. I let the hound’s makeshift lead trail on the ground behind him as he followed us back to the pits. The thickset dog came too, led by Xander.

  Perhaps because they wanted to distance themselves from Kayd and Liban in their cages, or simply because that’s what he’d told them to do, Mo’s band of escapees had already moved off into the near darkness. We caught up with them soon enough. With a brief, ‘Everyone good to go?’ to us and, I assume, the same question to the group in Somali, Mo set off.

  There was no doubt who was in charge now. Mo led the way at a good pace. In single file, we picked our way purposefully through the scrub, heading south. My night vision had kicked in. Everything was shades of starlit grey and I could follow what path there was well enough.

  The plan was to head for the border with Kenya. Mo reckoned it would be a two- or three-day hike, off-road. We couldn’t risk being passed on a track or spotted in a village. Though there weren’t that many settlements about, Mo insisted General Sir had eyes in all of them.

  Our best chance lay in picking up a river (‘more of a stream, really’) Mo said lay some twenty-five kilometres away. It clipped the border near a settlement called Kolbio, which lay on the Kenyan side. We’d cross there.

  By tracking the river upstream we’d know we were going in the right direction, and we’d have water when what we were carrying ran out. When Amelia had queried whether the General would guess at that plan Mo just shrugged. ‘He may do, but more likely he’ll think we go the quickest route, following the paved road. Or he might think we’d head for the sea.’

  Either seemed a fair assumption. I ran through the discussion as we padded on in silence beneath the stars, feeling strong, optimistic even. So far, the plan was working. General Sir wouldn’t realise we were actually gone until he’d shot his way out of his shack, hopefully in the morning. Kayd and Liban were stuck underground for the night with only the screaming wind for company, and General Sir’s tracking dogs were literally eating out of our hands, for now. We had a little food, full water bottles, and we were all tough kids. Mo’s band were actual trainee soldiers! If we put our heads down and just kept going, surely we’d make it.

  Even as I thought all this, I knew in my gut I was wrong to be hopeful. I often get a sense when something’s about to go wrong, and this was no exception. I just didn’t realise how quickly it was going to happen.

  49.

  For the first hour or two it seemed we were making good progress. In single file, at a pace somewhere between a swift walk and a trot, we pushed on into the wind and dark.

  Mo was at the front. He’d told one of the older boys, a broad-shouldered kid called Addie, to bring up the rear. The rest of us were strung out along the line.

  I was near the back with one of the youngest of Mo’s crew immediately in front of me. He had thin little legs made all the more scrawny-looking by the high-top trainers he was wearing. They had to be too big for him, surely.

  I fixated on those shoes as they padded along i
n front of me. Despite their size, the boy seemed to glide along in them. I followed, matching his step where I could, since he read the rough ground so well.

  We got into a rhythm. I zoned out, marvelling at how nimble that little kid was, concentrating on keeping up, conserving my strength as best I could, focusing on each individual footstep, and not allowing myself to think of the great distance ahead.

  Nobody spoke, or at least I didn’t hear anyone over the wind. We forged on until, out of nowhere, an abrupt grunt and a thumping noise came from behind me.

  I turned to see Addie sprawled on the ground. Thinking quickly, I called out for the others to stop; if I hadn’t, and they’d carried on, we could have been separated entirely. As it was my ‘Stop!’ reached Xander and he passed it on to the front of the line, prompting Mo and the others to double back.

  We gathered around Addie. His pack had come off. I picked it up to give it back to him and realised it was at least double the weight of mine. He’d hurt his ankle as he fell. Mo squatted with him as he tested it. The boy winced putting weight on his left foot, but forced himself to take a few ginger steps.

  ‘Not a good start,’ Amelia pointed out.

  ‘He’ll shake it off, won’t he, Mo?’ Xander said hopefully.

  Addie’s face was concrete in the half-light, giving nothing away.

  Mo asked him something. If he thought he could keep up, I assume. I sensed Mo weighing whether, for the good of the group, we should leave Addie there. Just as I was about to object and tell him we should give the boy a bit more time to walk off the sprain, I felt something tickly against my thigh. I thought it was the dog’s tail brushing me, but when I looked down he was on my other side. Instinctively I slapped at my thigh, just as a sharp pain crackled across it. I’d made contact with something, knocking it off me, I thought.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Xander.

  Something had bitten or stung me. I knew that. But I didn’t know what it was. Though I inspected the ground I couldn’t see anything, just greyed-out dirt, rocks and scrub.