by Prue Mason
We travel through the outskirts of Abudai and I think about Tara waiting at the gate for us to come home. So close, but so far. I have to squeeze my eyes tight to stop the tears.
They must be going to sell us. Oh God, if the Mafi are in charge we’ll probably be taken over there and end up in a carpet factory or worse.
‘Yameen, seedha, yassar.’ Old Orange Beard is giving directions. Being tied up, we roll this way and that as we swing around the corners. Walid is still wriggling like a worm.
*
At last! Praise Allah, it has been a long journey for it has given me time. Now to Ad-am.
‘Walhumdillah!’
I roll over again as we go around yet another corner, and I hear Walid praising Allah. I can’t exactly see anything to be thankful for.
‘Ow!’ I complain, as I feel the ropes being jerked hard against my wrists. Then, suddenly, the pain is gone. I wriggle my hands. I can move them. The rope isn’t there. It takes me a second or so to work out what’s happened.
No wonder Walid was fidgeting so much. He’s managed to get the knife out of his pocket, open it up and cut the ropes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LATE EVENING IN ABUDAI, DAY THREE
What a kid! Walid just doesn’t know how to give up. Thank God.
I pull the rag out of my mouth. Now we’ve got a chance of escaping. As soon as we stop, we can jump out of the truck and run for it.
‘Bas – enough,’ says Orange Beard. ‘This is being it.’
Baggy Pants grunts and slams the brakes on. We jerk to a halt.
‘Go!’
Walid and I leap up and, before the two men in the front can even turn around, I’ve opened the car door and I’m jumping out into the dark street with Walid right behind me.
‘Allah! You crazy Ad-am. You have forgotten your bag.’ But as I grab the bag of Ad-am, Old Goat is seeing and he is holding fiercely to the straps.
‘This time, Walid, you are being dead for sure,’ he is hissing, and his eyes are bulging with anger.
My thoat is too parched to be spitting and my heart is thumping, yet never am I letting go. We cannot leave our food and water – and all that chocolate.
‘May your heart be picked out by one thousand crows,’ I screech at Old Goat.
As I take off, with my feet hardly hitting the ground, two things register in my head. Walid is screaming like a stuck cat and the gate I’m running towards is the gate to our compound.
I can’t believe it. They have brought me home.
But why? This can’t be happening! It’s got to be some trick. But it is my home. I can even hear Tara barking – going crazy like she does when she thinks somebody is near our house.
‘Tara!’ I yell, and next thing she jumps the high concrete fence around our house and is hurtling towards me, her tail going like crazy. She’s whimpering and squealing the way she does when any of us get home after being away for ages.
At first, I am thinking it is one wild dog attacking Ad-am and that he is in great danger, but I hear him call the name of Tara and I know this must be the one he loves too much.
‘Kill the mad dog!’ Old Goat is screeching to Breath of Dog. He will shoot her, just like Shirin.
‘No! Ad-am!’ I am screaming, screaming.
I hear Walid scream like he’s being stabbed or something. I quickly turn to see what’s happened. Oh, no! Walid is trying to get my bag from Old Orange Beard.
‘Just leave it!’ I yell at him, but, of course, he doesn’t understand me and he just holds on tighter.
Then Baggy Pants jumps out of the truck. He smacks Walid over the head with the end of his gun. Walid jerks backwards, but he still hangs on to the backpack. He’s one tough nut, this kid.
‘Let him go!’ I scream at the men, and I feel so angry I don’t even care that Baggy Pants is ten times bigger than me, and has a gun.
I start to run back towards the truck – to help Walid. Tara’s right behind me, barking.
But, as I take the first step, I see Baggy Pants put his gun to his shoulder. He looks down the sights. But he’s not pointing it at me. He’s pointing it at Tara. And he won’t miss at this range.
‘No! Tara!’
There’s nothing I can do to stop him.
Always killings. Too much killings. And Ad-am will cry and go crazy like after the death of the goat. I won’t let them kill this dog the way they killed my Shirin.
Suddenly I see Walid let go of the backpack, leap up on Baggy Pants’s back and pull at his arm. There’s a cracking sound as the gun fires.
Tara yelps. She hits the ground, hard, and rolls over. It’s only then that everything seems to speed up and all the action happens at once.
Tara takes off, yelping like mad, holding one leg at a funny angle. She streaks past two soldiers running out of our compound. One of them shouts something in Arabic.
‘Halt!’ I hear someone yell, in English this time. I stop, but Baggy Pants doesn’t. He jumps back into the truck and, with a loud squeal of rubber, he and Old Orange Beard take off. Walid comes running towards me, yelling.
‘Policemen! We must run fast away or they will be catching us and we will go to prison.’
If nobody else is halting, then I’m not either. I have to find Tara and see if she’s okay. She might be bleeding.
‘Ad-am! Do not go that way for the policemen will catch you.’
Suddenly something leaps onto my back. I know it’s Walid. I can hear him screaming at me before I go head first into the road.
PART THREE_THE NADIR
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MORNING AT THE AMERICAN MILITARY BASE HOSPITAL, DAY FOUR
When I come to, the first thing I see is Walid’s grin. He’s eating a chocolate ice cream. He’s finally taken the jocks off his head and he’s wearing a baseball cap instead. It’s big and makes him look smaller, somehow, and younger, than when he was wearing the underduds.
‘Where are we?’
At last! Now I know for sure Ad-am is alive, for, like always, as soon as he awakens he begins to talk. But he has been asleep for so long he doesn’t know anything of what has happened.
‘The policemen have caught us and now we are in prison,’ I tell him. ‘But it is not as Old Goat is always saying. The prison is a good place – just like Paradise.’
Walid tells me something in Arabic. I see now that he has a large white bandaid on his neck and iodine all over his arms and face where he has cuts and scratches. The bruises on his arms and legs from the car accident have turned blue, and he’s got a black eye from where he hit his head. But he looks happy.
‘Where are we?’ I ask him again, even though I know he can’t understand me.
‘You’re in hospital – the American Military Base Hospital,’ a voice tells me in an American accent. I look up and I see, behind Walid, a tall man wearing a white coat and a crewcut hairstyle. ‘Do you know your name?’
I tell him.
‘Okay, Adam,’ he says. ‘What day of the week is it?’
I’m not too sure about that because it seems such a long time ago when there were normal things like days of the week. I can’t even think what day it was when this whole nightmare started. I shrug and he frowns.
‘What school do you go to?’
I tell him that and he seems pleased.
‘Can you count my fingers? He holds up three so I tell him that too.
‘That’s good, Adam.’ I don’t understand why he’s asking these dumb questions.
‘Just tell me what happened,’ I say.
‘You had an altercation with a road and the road won. And, boy oh boy, you’ve got a beautiful black eye. Along with a very bad case of sunburn. But don’t worry, you’ll live. And I know what I’m talking about because I’m a doctor.’ He’s speaking to me in that way adults do when they think they’re being jokey with kids.
I put my hand to my head and feel an egg-shaped bump on my forehead.
‘How did we get here?’ It feels
like ages since I heard proper English, so I should be happy, but the way he’s carrying on is starting to irritate me. Whether he senses that or what, I don’t know, but he becomes a bit more serious.
‘You were both brought in last night by one of our soliders who was on patrol with the local military checking out the compounds, making sure there were no Unfriendlies lurking about. What were you two kids doing wandering around in a war zone anyway? Don’t you know wars are a health hazard?’
‘The war … what’s happening?’ I shake my head to jiggle my memory back into some sort of order, because, at the moment, scraps of conversation, thoughts and images are as messed up as a well-shuffled pack of cards.
‘It’s almost all over,’ the doctor tells me. ‘It’s only taken three days, but it’s been a pretty crazy three days.’ He shakes his head, then looks from Walid to me. ‘I don’t know what you kids were up to – you and your friend here were in pretty bad shape – but I guess you’ll have a story or two to tell your folks later. Now, someone will be in to see you both soon and find out all your details. We don’t even know your pal’s name yet because no one here speaks Arabic. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up and tell us the full story.’
‘But I haven’t got time to tell you everything,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got to get out of here and find Tara.’ I try to get out of bed, but the doctor holds me down.
‘Whoa there, sonny,’ he says. ‘You’ve had concussion. You can’t be out leaping around the place looking for people.’
‘But Tara was hurt and she could be bleeding to death.’
‘Who’s Tara? What happened?’ Suddenly the doctor’s joking manner has gone. I’m pleased.
‘She’s my dog and Baggy Pants shot her. Or at least he tried to shoot her, but Walid pulled his arm down and he only shot her in the leg.’
Then I remember it was Walid who jumped me. I look at him. He’s got chocolate ice cream all around his mouth.
‘You idiot,’ I say, but in a friendly way. I can’t stay mad at him. He saved me when I was ready to give up. And he tried to make sure Tara wasn’t shot.
‘Oh, for a minute I thought you were talking about your sister or a friend.’ The doctor sounds relieved. ‘The dog will be alright.’
‘But I’ve got to find her. I’ve gone through so much to rescue her. I’ve got to get out of here. She was shot in the leg and she’ll be scared.’ The doctor mustn’t have understood what I said before.
But he did. He just didn’t care.
‘Look, young man, let’s get this straight.’ His jokey tone is completely gone. ‘You are staying right here. It’s only a dog and we have people – soldiers and civilians – to worry about. Besides, even if you hadn’t had concussion we wouldn’t let you out of here. You’re both much too young to sign yourselves out. You’ll have to wait until your parents or some other relation or guardian comes to pick you up.’
‘That could be days,’ I say, but he isn’t listening.
‘Now, here’s the Liaison Officer. If you give all your details to him, he’ll help find out where your parents are. They must be worried sick.’
The Liaison Officer looks about Sarah’s age. He isn’t interested in hearing our story, either. All he wants are the basic facts. Name, address, nationality. He writes everything down on a big form.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘That should be enough detail to find your parents. Now what about your friend.’ He turns to Walid. ‘Do you speak English – Inglizi?’
Walid grins and nods.
‘Choc-o-late!’
‘That’s the only word he knows,’ I tell the Liaison Officer, who doesn’t see the funny side.
‘They didn’t tell me he couldn’t speak English. They should have sent an interpreter with me. Do you speak Arabic?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really.’
The Liaison Officer looks confused.
‘He is with you, isn’t he? They said you came in together.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘We came in together.’
‘Do you know his name and where he’s from then?’
‘His name’s Walid …’ I start to say, and then I realise I really don’t know anything at all about him. I know he can spit like a champion and ride a camel really well, and that he can slit a goat’s throat and that he doesn’t give up even when everything looks hopeless, but I don’t have a clue what his real name is or where he’s from. I don’t even know what his relationship is with Baggy Pants and Old Orange Beard.
I hesitate.
‘He is your friend, isn’t he?’ The Liaison Officer asks, sounding impatient. ‘Or is he your maid’s son or something?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘He’s not Chandra’s son. He … he’s …’ How can I tell this person that Walid is better than any mate I’ve ever had? If I’d been stuck in the desert with Jason or Nigel or Jean-Marie or any of the others we’d have all ended up dead. But it’s not just that he saved my life. Walid’s got guts. And he’s funny and smart. I guess it doesn’t matter that I don’t know his real name or where he lives.
The Liaison Officer is still looking at me like I should have all the answers.
‘Walid’s my friend, but I … I …’ I just don’t feel like trying to explain it all to this officer so I take the easy way out. ‘I’m feeling tired now.’
The doctor, who is still there, immediately steps in.
‘He’s had concussion. I think it’s best if you leave the questions for later. As long as you’ve got enough to find at least one of their parents. This one needs to rest.’
‘Okay,’ the young officer stands up. ‘I guess I’ll bring an interpreter back when I can and we’ll get this other kid’s details then. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with the Australian Embassy and pass on this information. Your mom and pop’ll be pleased to know you’re safe.’
I nod, but don’t speak. What’s the point?
‘I have to go, too,’ says the doctor, ‘but I’ll make sure you both get your medication – that is, chocolate ice cream, of course.’ And he winks at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MORNING AT THE AMERICAN MILITARY BASE HOSPITAL, DAY SEVEN
‘Somehow we’ve got to get out of here,’ I say to Walid. But I know we can’t escape this time. ‘They’ve told me we have to stay here until someone arrives to claim us. It’s like we’re lost property or something.’
But it’ll be days before Mum and Dad get here. When they found out where I was through the embassy, they rang me. Even though I really wanted to speak to them, I was a bit scared because I thought they’d tell me off. They did. But, luckily, they didn’t have a lot of time to talk because I was on a hospital phone.
‘We’ll try to get on a plane as soon as the airport reopens for civilian flights,’ Mum told me after she calmed down. ‘But at the moment no one but essential personnel and, of course, journalists, are allowed back. Now, you stay put until we get there. No more brilliant ideas, please.’
‘We’re as much in prison in this hospital as we were in the village,’ I say to Walid. ‘They’ve even locked the door to make sure we don’t run away. Can you believe it? How could we get this close, and yet still be as far away as we were when we were in the mountains. I could kick something.’
And I do, because if I try to keep it all in, the top of my head is going to blow off with frustration.
Walid holds out another ice cream to me. He hasn’t stopped eating them since I woke up. I suppose that’s all there is to do. And it is good ice cream – thick and creamy. Maybe it will even help to cool me down. My skin is still sore from the blisters.
Then the door of our room opens and in walks …
A princess! Never have I seen such a jameelatun – such a beauty. She has hair like the shining sun and eyes more blue than the sky.
It’s my sister. I can hardly believe it. ‘Sarah?’ I ask, because, although I know it’s her, she looks different. No kidding, she’s trowelled the make-up onto her face and she’s wearing a
fancy suit. It makes her look so old – at least twenty-two or something.
‘What are you doing here?’
She waves some papers at me.
‘I’m here to get you out, and take you home,’ she says. ‘I’ve signed everything and they’re letting you and your friend here go into my care.’
‘But where’s Mum and Dad?’ I ask.
‘I guess they’re probably on their way back here by now,’ says Sarah airily.
I shake my head because I still can’t quite grasp what’s going on.
‘How did you get here?’
‘On an aeroplane, of course,’ says my smart-alec sister.
‘Yeah, alright,’ I say, guessing that she’s either used the return ticket Mum makes us keep or even bought one with the credit card Mum lets her have for emergencies. ‘But you know what I mean. How come you’re here? Mum said they’re not letting anyone back into the country yet.’
‘When I heard that you’d done your usual dumb thing of running away, I figured you might need some help so I skipped school myself. I knew the Australian authorities would never let me go if I said I was trying to get here so I dressed up a bit, put lots of make-up on and bought a ticket to Singapore. It was easy from there. They don’t care where you go as long as you have a ticket, which I did thanks to Mum, and I was able to get on board one of the first flights back here, not long after the airport was reopened. I didn’t think I’d find you safe in hospital.’
‘But how did you get priority?’ I ask. ‘There must have been heaps of people trying to come back in.’
‘Well, they did think I was a journalist.’ She flashes an impressive-looking press badge at me.
‘Hey! That’s the badge Dad made for you on the computer; for that Compound News Network project of yours.’
‘Well, as you can see, I’m a reporter for CNN, or at least that’s what the people at the embassy who signed my papers believe.’