by Ron McGee
Kasey nodded, then looked at Tasha. “Thanks.”
Tasha grinned. “You heard Mama Bear—get lost.”
Turning away, Kasey saw that a small crowd had gathered in front of the truck. A man placed a jacket over the body that lay sprawled on the road.
Braxton Crisp was dead.
Kasey walked away, trying hard to pretend she was just a normal girl out for a day in the park.
CHAPTER
49
HOUDALI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
Ryan grabbed the back of a seat to keep from falling as the prison bus careened around another corner. Dad veered erratically back and forth, trying to make it hard for their pursuers to shoot out the bus tires. They’d been driving for several minutes, but the SUV didn’t try to catch up or pass them.
“Why are they hanging back?” Ryan asked, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.
“I don’t know.” Dad checked the side mirror, as confused as Ryan. “But we have to lose them before the transfer.”
“How much farther is it?”
“Less than a mile.”
There was no way this beat-up bus could outrun the SUV. It was a mountain of metal, though. If Laughlin and his men got too close, Dad could ram their vehicle and run them off the road. But Ryan guessed that’s exactly why they were keeping their distance. All they had to do was follow and the old bus could never get away. Somehow, they had to shake the SUV.
“Everybody, down!” Dad yelled.
Through the front window, Ryan saw what had caused his father’s urgency: At the end of this narrow street, two more white SUVs skidded to a stop, blocking the road. Car doors opened and men piled out, weapons aimed at the bus. Laughlin had been hanging back so his other units could get into position.
Ryan dropped to the floor as a hail of bullets hit the front window. Glass shattered and the prisoners screamed. They instinctively covered one another with their bodies.
“Dad?” Ryan was terrified his father had been shot. But Dad had ducked below the dashboard. He’d avoided the bullets, but he couldn’t see out the window. Driving blind, he managed to keep his hands on the steering wheel and his foot on the gas.
“Hold on!”
The bus never slowed even as it jerked sideways. Ryan held on to the metal base of a seat, trying to keep from sliding across the floor.
The prison bus hit an SUV in an explosion of metal and shattering glass. For a moment, everything felt weightless, like the bus might actually tip over. Dad sat up, wrestling with the steering wheel as he attempted to regain control. Finally, the tires regained traction.
In the rearview mirror, Ryan saw his father’s reflection. Blood smeared his forehead. “Did you get hit?”
Dad wiped the blood off his brow with a sleeve. “Just a glass cut—I’m okay.” The wind whipped his face, making him squint as he glanced in the mirror. “One of them’s down, but the others are coming fast!”
Ryan started to stand, but stopped as he spotted a metal box underneath the seat. He yanked it out, revealing a red cross emblazoned on the lid. Ryan opened the box. It was a roadside emergency kit. First aid supplies, neon-yellow safety vests, light sticks … and a bright orange flare gun. Ryan grabbed the gun and three flare cartridges.
Standing, he staggered down the aisle, holding on to the seats to keep his balance. He stepped over one of the prisoners as he made his way to a steel mesh screen that separated the front half of the bus from the rear. This was where the most dangerous prisoners were kept. Ryan fumbled with the guard’s keys, trying to find one that would unlock the gate.
“Ryan, what are you doing?” Dad yelled from the front.
“Trying to buy us some time! How far to the transfer point?” A gold key slid into the lock and turned. Ryan flung open the gate.
“Two blocks,” Dad reported. “But I can’t stop with them on my tail.”
“They won’t be.”
Ryan was jostled from side to side, but made his way to the back window. It had been shot out, leaving only the metal bars on the outside. The two remaining white SUVs were closing in fast as Ryan loaded one of the cartridges into the orange flare gun.
The lead SUV approached on his right. Two of Laughlin’s men leaned out, aiming their weapons. They pointed low, preparing to blow out the tires.
Ryan stuck the flare gun out the back window. He squeezed the trigger and a blazing ball of red sparks burst from the muzzle. The flare was designed to travel high in the air, but this one only had to go several yards. Like a rocket, it blasted between the vehicles and right into the open window of the SUV.
A white-hot explosion of sparks filled the inside of the SUV. The shocked driver jerked the steering wheel in surprise and the SUV smashed into a parked car. The momentum spun it around across the street. The second SUV slammed into it, both vehicles skidding to a stop.
Men jumped out of the first SUV as the flare continued to ignite. The other vehicle backed up and started after them once more.
Ryan turned to the front. “Make the transfer, Dad!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah!”
As the prison bus turned the next corner, Ryan opened the flare gun and jammed another cartridge in. He aimed out the back window, waiting for the SUV to appear.
The bus pulled to the side and screeched to a stop. Up front, Caden opened the door. The prisoners rushed off to a waiting van. Lacey, whose brother was among the prisoners, sat with the engine running, ready to drive them away down an alley that led in the opposite direction. The original plan called for everyone to leave in the van, but that was impossible now. They needed to make sure Laughlin didn’t know the prisoners ever got off.
Dad yelled down the length of the bus. “You need to get out, too!”
“I can’t.” Ryan saw the white SUV turning the corner behind them. He fired and the flare shot down the street like a guided missile. It hit their window with a shower of sparks.
The SUV swerved, scraping against a row of parked cars. Ryan snapped open the gun and put in his last cartridge as the bus jerked forward. The transfer was complete and they were moving again. As the bus barreled around the next corner, the centrifugal force knocked Ryan over.
Getting to his feet, he looked out the back window as the white SUV fishtailed around the corner. Good, they were still following. Hopefully, that meant Laughlin hadn’t seen the prisoners get off. The van could get away and get everyone someplace safe.
The SUV got close enough that Ryan could make out Laughlin in the passenger seat. He aimed his pistol at the same time that Ryan raised the flare gun for one last shot.
“No!” Dad cried.
Ryan looked over his shoulder just in time to see a pickup truck cut in front of them. The bus abruptly veered, throwing Ryan across the seats and into the metal wall. Knocked around like a rag doll, Ryan barely had time to register what was happening as the bus popped the curb, plowed through a streetlight, and crashed into the brick wall of a building.
CHAPTER
50
HOUDALI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
Lawrence hadn’t felt so alive in years.
Thumping bass beats pulsed through his body. Lyrics he’d written long ago came back like half-remembered dreams. Emotions he’d kept tightly locked away—anger, joy, grief, outrage—came pouring out. Every move he made felt natural and right. This was who he was meant to be.
Nadia crossed in front of him, and he took her hand. She was radiant, a fighter from the streets more assured and poised than he would ever be. She had never forgotten that she was Delilah, a charismatic presence with the voice of an angel and a message of hope. She inspired him.
But the flashing lights and wail of sirens meant this concert needed to end. From the improvised stage they had created, Lawrence could see over the heads of the hundreds of people who had gathered. The crowd surrounded them on all sides, offering protection. As more police arrived, though, their situation was
getting increasingly perilous. The cops were still far away, but the concert stage made them easy targets for a rifle.
Nadia’s eyes met his, and he knew she felt the same. They had created as much of a distraction as they could. It was time to go. As the song ended, Lawrence stepped forward. The portable microphones and speakers his friends provided carried his message across the park.
“Brothers and sisters, we must say good-bye.” The crowd rumbled its disappointment. “But Delilah and Anbo won’t disappear. We’ll continue to sing out as long as we can. Each of you has a voice just as powerful. If we raise them together and stand as one, anything is possible.”
Nadia stepped beside him. “Until there is freedom in Lovanda, the music must never die!”
The crowd roared in agreement. Lawrence saw the police forcing their way through the throngs. Guiding Nadia in front of him, they took off in the opposite direction. A car was waiting at the far end of the park for their escape.
The floodlights their friends used to illuminate the concert shut off and pandemonium quickly reigned. People scattered in the dark, frustrating the swarms of officers who were arriving. A gunshot created even more disruption as everyone panicked and ran.
Continuing to move, Lawrence and Nadia changed their appearance the way John Quinn had taught them. Nadia swept her braids up under a hat. The traditional gown she wore dropped to the ground, leaving her in the tattered blouse and jeans hidden underneath. Lawrence pulled off his “Live Free or Die Tryin’” shirt. Under it was a plain white T. Adding a gray beanie and black-rimmed glasses gave him a very different look.
Using the crowd’s mass exodus as cover, they slipped away into the night.
CHAPTER
51
HOUDALI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
Ryan propped his father up, helping him walk on his twisted ankle. The bus crash had injured both of them. Ryan’s right shoulder and hip were aching from where he’d been thrown into the seats. But at least he could still move. Dad grimaced with every painful step he took.
Within seconds of the crash, Ryan had rushed up front to check on his father. More blood was smeared across his face, but Dad ignored it.
“Get out of here—run.”
He pulled the lever that opened the side door, urging Ryan to go. But Ryan had grabbed his arm and helped him stand.
“Not without you.”
“Ryan—”
“Are we gonna argue or get out of here before they start shooting?”
They faced off for a moment, then John staggered up. The bus blocked the view from the street, so Laughlin couldn’t see them exit. Ryan scanned the area, searching for an escape route. They were in an industrial part of town with little evening activity. Moonlight illuminated the hulking skeleton of a five-story building towering overhead. It was under construction and surrounded by fencing, but Ryan spotted an entrance. They had just made it inside the construction site when the mercenaries started shouting.
“They know we’re gone,” Dad said. “It won’t take them long to find us.”
“Feel like playing ‘Chameleon’?”
His father’s brow furrowed in confusion before he understood. “Chameleon” was a game they’d played when he was young. Like an amped-up version of “Hide-and-Seek.” The goal was to hide in the last place someone would look. Ryan had been unbeatable once he learned the Golden Rule of Hiding: Always go up. Nobody looks up high.
“Find a good spot,” Ryan said, taking off. “I’ll draw them away.”
Scaffolding had been erected up the side of the building. Ryan ran toward it, not looking back. He knew his dad would only try to stop him. Leaping up, Ryan grabbed the metal poles and started climbing. Scrambling hand over hand, he quickly passed the second floor and continued upward.
The third-floor windows hadn’t been installed yet. Ryan jumped onto the wood plank that ran alongside the building and looked back down. His father was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, he’d found somewhere safe to hide amid the machinery and construction materials.
“There!” At the entrance, Laughlin pointed up at him. Ryan spotted three additional men, all armed. The beam from an intense flashlight swept across the building until it found Ryan. Perfect—that should get them away from Dad. Ryan darted through the window opening into the pitch-black gloom as a bullet ricocheted off the side of the building.
Ryan waited several seconds, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. Down below, he heard Laughlin order one of his men to stay put and shoot anything that moved. That meant three guys were coming after him.
This floor was huge and only half-finished. Some walls built from concrete blocks had been completed. Others were still only aluminum frames and had plastic tarps hanging from them. Waving gently in the moonlight, the tarps had a ghostly glow.
Avoiding the equipment and debris, Ryan crossed the building. Maybe he could go out a window on the other side and avoid Laughlin completely? Making it across, he was disappointed to discover there was no scaffolding. So no way down.
Turning back, he noticed a square hole cut out of the floor. It was surrounded on all four sides by yellow caution tape and orange cones. Peering down, Ryan realized the hole went through each floor. Probably for an elevator shaft that hadn’t been built yet. If he had a rope of some kind, he could slide down. But there was nothing in sight that he could use.
A door slammed open at the far end of the building.
“You shoulda stayed in the mines, lad.” Laughlin’s voice echoed in the silence. “Might’ve lived longer there.”
Ryan looked around desperately. Even as dark as it was, Laughlin would spot him eventually. The building was too open and exposed with no good places to hide. Maybe he could sneak back out the way he came in. But as he turned in that direction, he saw a man’s silhouette as he stepped in front of the windows, blocking the way.
“I never did like kids much.” Laughlin’s voice echoed, getting closer. “But now you’ve really given me a reason to hate ’em.”
He couldn’t hide, so he needed to even the odds. As quietly as possible, Ryan picked up one of the orange cones around the elevator shaft. He ripped off the caution tape and circled the hole, stacking the cones together.
Hearing the movement, the mercenary by the windows headed his way, the outline of a submachine gun visible in his hands. Ryan tossed all the cones down the shaft and ducked behind a column. As he slipped out of sight, the cones hit the floor three stories down with a loud bang.
Boots slapped the concrete as the armed man charged toward the sound. But in the deep shadows, the square hole was now impossible to see. Ryan peeked out just in time to watch the man step right into the empty space, completely unaware.
“Aaaaahh!” His startled scream was abruptly cut off as he smashed to the ground below.
“Hinckley?” Another of the mercenaries advanced cautiously. Ryan recognized Reilly, Laughlin’s second-in-command.
“My legs!” the man groaned. “I think I broke my legs …”
“Idiot.” Reilly spun around as Ryan ducked back out of sight.
One down, two to go.
CHAPTER
52
HOUDALI,
LOVANDA, AFRICA
Reilly advanced slowly. His boots made almost no sound as he stepped closer to the concrete column.
Pressed flat, Ryan tried not to breathe. Nothing but wide-open space around him. Any second now, Reilly would spot him. He had to get the gun away before Reilly got a shot off.
A plastic trash can was the only thing within reach. Ryan grabbed the handle with both hands. The barrel of Reilly’s gun appeared less than two feet from his hiding place.
With one swift movement, Ryan yanked the trash can up and swung it around. The gray bin arced through the air and smacked into Reilly with jarring force. His weapon was knocked away, clattering to the concrete floor. Reilly was stunned, but didn’t fall.
Ryan tossed the trash can aside and brought his knee up in
to the mercenary’s stomach. Reilly was a lot bigger than Ryan, but he’d use the man’s size against him. Grabbing his jacket with both hands, Ryan jerked Reilly off-balance and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Ryan realized too late that the gun was now within Reilly’s grasp. Before he could reach it, Ryan kicked the gun as hard as he could. Many years playing soccer—or football, as kids called the game in most of the countries where he’d lived—paid off. The weapon disappeared, lost in the shadows. Ryan turned to confront Reilly.
And came face-to-face with Laughlin’s pistol.
“You just don’t know how to stay down, do you?” Laughlin raised the gun. “That’s why I usually prefer a more permanent solution to problems.”
Out of nowhere, a figure slammed into Laughlin. The gun fired, missing Ryan by inches. Dad! Even with his injured leg, he’d come after Ryan.
The two men rolled along the floor. Dad grabbed Laughlin’s gun hand and banged it against the concrete until he let go. Ryan was about to grab it when two arms wrapped around him from behind.
Reilly was pissed. “You want to fight dirty? I can fight dirty, too!”
Ryan felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as Reilly squeezed. Across from him, Laughlin and his father traded a couple of fast blows. Both men were experts at hand-to-hand combat. Dad saw Ryan struggling and jumped up.
But Ryan’s street-fighting training kicked in automatically. He dropped into a squat and shifted his hips to the side. Lunging forward to loosen Reilly’s grip, he jabbed a sharp elbow into the man’s solar plexus.
“Drop!” Dad yelled.
Ryan had trained with his father all his life and responded to his command instantly. He slumped to the ground as Dad’s foot whizzed right over his head. The roundhouse kick connected with Reilly’s jaw, spinning him around. The impact on Dad’s injured foot must have been excruciating, but it did the job. Reilly fell to the ground, out cold.