by Leylah Attar
I stood with Jack in the middle of the railway track. The gravel under my feet pulsed as the train thundered closer.
Oh God. Please stop, please stop, please stop.
Jack threaded his fingers through mine. It was as if he could sense the tension building up in me.
“Hold tight and don’t let go,” he said.
He was holding the torch over us with his other hand. His eyes blazed and glowed with the light of the flames, but there was something more—something driven, and solid, and purposeful. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then it hit me.
Do you believe in your own magic? I had once asked Jack.
I stopped believing. After Lily.
But I was watching the profile of a man who believed, and I gloried in the moment we were sharing, come what may.
“Jack’s back,” I said.
“What?” His voice was swallowed by the metallic squealing of the carriages as the train’s headlights bore down on us. The tracks thrummed as the locomotive came hurtling along the tracks, full speed ahead.
Jack swore under his breath. “It’s not going to stop.”
“Why not?” I started waving my hand over my head. “I’m sure they can see us. We’re all lit up.”
“It’s a freight train. If the driver’s fallen asleep, or they don’t have eyes up front, we’re screwed.”
The train was approaching us at an alarming rate. And so were the cars. We could make out the rectangular patch of light reflecting off the number plate on the first one.
“Here.” Jack handed me his torch. “Get yourself and the kids out of the way.”
“What are you doing?” My stomach churned as he got his rifle out.
“Stay on the other side. All of you. It will take a while for the train to pass. The men won’t be able to get to you.”
“And you? Jack, you need to get off the track!” I was shouting so he could hear me over the rumble of the train.
“Go, Rodel. Now!” His command moved me to action.
“Keep your torches up.” I huddled the children to one side. “Keep them up there,” I said to thirteen kids who’d had to hide all their lives, and who, in that moment, needed desperately to be seen.
My eyes darted from Jack, to the train, to the van that was barreling for us. Pale ribbons of dawn were bleeding through the eastern sky. Jack pointed the rifle skyward. He fired a shot, opened and closed the breech to eject the casing, and fired another. The sound reverberated across the open plains like a boom of thunder.
The van came to a slow halt, its lights staring at us like a predator stalking its prey.
That’s right, you fuckers. We’ve got firepower, so BACK OFF!
The crack of gunfire seemed to have alerted someone on the train too because its powerful thrusts slackened. There was a loud screeching as the brakes hit, but it was still going way too fast to keep from slamming into the man on the tracks.
“Jack!” I cried out. There was a collective gasp from the children as it hurtled by us in a blur of rust and metal, snuffing out some of the torches in a blast of air. It came to a standstill, the front car stopping several meters from us.
The silence that comes after something loud and thunderous ceases is grand. It magnified the emptiness of the surrounding plains. The beast we had chased so hard to catch, groaned and creaked like a dragon that had run out of steam. Jack had managed to flag it down, but all I felt was a sick hollowness in my heart. I stood there frozen as the minutes ticked by, staring at the bright blue cargo that had halted before me, trying to remember how to breathe.
The sounds of metal sliding against metal jarred me out of my shock.
“Rodel. Over here!” It was Jack.
Relief. So profound that it jump-started my heart; the blood started flowing in my veins again.
The kids found him before I did.
“Haraka! Haraka! Quickly.” He put out the torches that were still lit, snuffing them in the ground as he lifted the kids into a boxcar. It had louvered sides, with slits instead of solid metal on all four sides.
“I talked to the driver,” he said. “I’ve paid him to get us to Wanza.” He was in full-on adrenaline mode, clueless about what he’d just put me through. He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it so he could hoist me into the car. “Come on, Rodel. Stop dallying around. I told him to get going. There’s no time to waste.”
“I’m not dallying around!” I wanted to weep, and I didn’t know if it was from anger or relief. “I thought that you . . . you—”
There was a sharp whistle, and then the train lurched.
“Rodel?” Jack rubbed his shoulder, rolling it forward and then back.
“You hurt the other one?” It wasn’t the shoulder he’d landed on when we’d encountered the van.
“I really need to stop getting out of the way like this.”
He said it so earnestly, the corners of my mouth tilted. “How do you manage to make me smile, even under the worst circumstances?”
“I’m glad my injuries amuse you.” He lifted me into the boxcar before hopping on beside me.
“There are goats in here!” I exclaimed. The floor was covered in hay, and goats were crammed in the pens around us.
“It’s a livestock car.”
“It smells like one too,” I noted. Jack had left the door open, so the stench wasn’t too overwhelming.
I did a quick head count of the children. All there, all accounted for. The little girl I’d carried had bloody knees, but apart from that, they seemed all right. They stared out through the slits, their pale eyes on the van that had inched closer, clearly visible in the early morning haze. It was the one we’d seen on the way to Magesa. The second one was coming up behind it, covered in dust.
“You scared them,” I said, as Jack leaned against the open hatch, rifle slung over his shoulder.
“I took a gamble. Two shots were all I had.”
“So if they get on the train right now—” We were moving at snail’s pace, the engine straining to get the cargo going again.
“They won’t. They don’t know I’m out. They want the children, but not enough to put their selves at risk. Once the train picks up, we’re golden. We’ll be in Wanza long before they can catch up.”
I was about to heave a sigh of relief when the car that had been trailing the first started speeding up. It didn’t look like the driver had any intention of stopping.
“What the fuck?” Jack straightened as it approached.
“He’s going to crash into us!”
But the driver rammed straight into the white van. Then he backed up and slammed into it again.
“Shit,” said Jack, when the clouds of dust settled. Both cars were banked up against the gravel mound by the tracks. “It’s Bahati.”
“Oh God. He must have come looking for us. But what’s he doing? It’s not like him to provoke anyone.”
We watched in horror as three men got out of the van and dragged Bahati out of his car. The driver stayed in the van, an ominously dark silhouette against the tinted glass.
“Scholastica.” Every muscle in Jack’s body tensed as he said it. “She’s not with Bahati. I told him to bring her. They must have her. It’s the only reason Bahati would follow them this far.”
“Jack.” I clamped his arm. He had to go. But I held on a few seconds longer. “You have no bullets. You have nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “There’s a little girl out there who needs me.”
In a thousand lives, I would die a thousand deaths to save her.
It wasn’t Lily, but Jack wasn’t about to let it happen again.
“Listen to me,” he said. “No matter what happens, you stay on the train. You get these kids to Wanza. You hear me?”
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“You can. You’re my rainbow-haloed girl, and you’re freaking magical. Don’t you ever forget that.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me like I was
the most beautiful thing he’d ever tasted.
And then I heard the crunch of gravel as he hopped off and headed for the circle of men who were kicking and hitting Bahati as he lay on the ground.
“Let him go,” he said, pointing his rifle at them. His tone left no room for argument. He knew he had no bullets, I knew he had no bullets, but as far as they were concerned, he meant business.
The men backed away from Bahati and lined up against the side of the van as Jack swung his rifle from one to the other, keeping them in check.
“Bahati, get on the train,” said Jack, as Bahati lay curled up. He was in bad shape, but he staggered to his feet. One eye was swollen shut, and he held on to his knee as he limped toward the train.
“You.” Jack tapped the driver’s window with his rifle. “Come out with your hands up and open the back door.”
At first, it seemed like the man hadn’t heard him, but he stepped out, one foot first and then the other. My heart contracted when I caught a glimpse of his face. There was a raw slash running across his forehead, splitting his eyebrow, and down to his cheek. The blood had just started to clot, a river of jagged purple against his skin. There was something wrapped around his wrist. A red bandana that flapped in the breeze. I’d seen him before.
Where?
When?
And then it hit me. At the police station. When I’d gone with Goma. He’d creeped me out. His eyes had said something completely different from his smile.
K.K. That’s what Inspector Hamisi had called him. I shuddered as I recalled the laughter I’d heard when he’d tried to run Jack over.
Keh keh keh keh. Like a hyena digging around dead bones.
I held out my hand as Bahati approached and helped him climb on board. A trickle of blood leaked from his nose.
“Open the back door,” Jack said to K.K.
K.K. walked to the rear of the van like he was taking a Sunday stroll, slowly and leisurely. “I don’t know what you think you’re—”
“Shut up.” Jack prodded him with his gun. “Let her out.”
“Let who out?” K.K. unlatched the door and stood aside.
I couldn’t see inside the van because it was angled off, but Jack didn’t look too happy.
“Where is she?” he asked. “What have you done with Scholastica?”
“Jack,” Bahati interrupted, nursing his jaw. “Scholastica’s at the farm. Goma wouldn’t let her leave until she got her glasses. I came alone.”
Jack shot him an incredulous look. “Then why are you locking horns with these fuckers?”
“Because they hurt my father. I came to get you, and I found him at the campsite instead. He wouldn’t tell them where the kids were so they tortured him and the morans. If I hadn’t got there in time . . .” Bahati squeezed his eyes shut. “Something in me just snapped, Jack. I didn’t think. I just came after them.”
“They’re scum.” Jack started retreating slowly from the men, his eyes staring down the barrel. “We’re leaving now. We don’t want any trouble. So get back in your car and turn around.”
I had to strain to hear him over the huffing of the train. It was picking up pace.
Come on, Jack. Wrap it up.
“Sure,” said K.K., his hands still up. “We don’t want any trouble either.”
He turned to get back in the van but stooped as if to tie his shoe laces. Something flashed as he straightened. By the time I realized it was the steely glint of a machete, it was hurtling toward Jack with a sickening whoosh. I gasped as he swerved to avoid it.
Two seconds later, he lurched. A blot of crimson stained his T-shirt and spread over his sleeve. Blood poured in red rivulets down his arm and dropped to the ground from his knuckles. He’d been sliced.
His knees hit the ground with a sickening thud. The rifle slipped from his hand as he clutched his shoulder, trying to stave the flow of blood.
“We don’t want any trouble either,” K.K. repeated. He walked over to Jack and picked up the rifle. Then he placed the sole of his shoe on Jack’s face and slowly, slowly, put his weight on it until Jack fell back under the mounting pressure. “What I want is to get my boots licked, for all the shit you’ve made me trudge through to find you. You see this?” He pointed to the gash across his face. “This is from that Maasai chief who stole my cargo. You know what I did to him? I broke his legs. My men asked me: ‘Why, K.K.? Why not kill the bastard?’” K.K. rubbed the spotty tufts of hair on his head, slanting his head one way, then another, as if listening to voices in his head. “See, that’s something most people don’t grasp. The intricacies of suffering. I suffer when I kill. Killing is easy, like putting out a cigarette butt.”
Jack flinched as K.K. rubbed his heel back and forth on his face.
“But to prolong it . . . ah. To transform it. That’s art. I made art out of that chief. A statement piece. What good is a nomad who can’t wander?” He broke into a spine-chilling gaggle. His men joined in. They stood in a semi-circle over Jack, laughing as they recalled what they’d done to Olonana.
“Fuck you,” Jack spat at K.K. A pool of blood was starting to stain the ground under him.
Get up, Jack. Run! Every fiber of my being screamed. It’s now or never. But I didn’t know if he could get up, or if he could run. All I knew was that with every second that ticked by, we were moving farther and farther away from him.
“Oh my,” said K.K. “There’s no need for that kind of language. You don’t want to lick my shoes? That’s okay.” He dropped the sinister mask of amusement he’d been wearing. He looked like the vulture he was, inside and out. “I’ll just cut your tongue out and polish my shoes with it while you watch. But right now, my goods are leaving, and it’s pissing me off. You—” he snapped at one of his team “—stop the driver. And you two, get the kids. Take the machete. Do it on the train. Slaughter them like the goats they’re hiding out with. The girl too.”
“You touch them and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” K.K. ground his shoe into Jack’s wound and watched him writhe in the dust. “You can’t even get up.” He patted Jack down and retrieved his wallet. “You’re no good to anyone, Jack Warden.” He read the name off Jack’s driver’s license before throwing it back in his face. “You know why? Because you’re dead, motherfucker.” He pulled the trigger.
For a second, he just stood there, blinking, when nothing happened—no splash of red on his shoes. “Your cock,” he said, pointing the gun at Jack, “has no balls.” He laughed deliriously. “All decoration, no bullets. And you . . . you walked up to us like you owned us. Keh keh keh keh.”
He was still laughing when Jack grabbed the barrel and hit him with the butt of the rifle. K.K. staggered back, holding his nose. Jack shouted something I couldn’t hear, the words eaten up by the growing distance between us.
He surged forward to hit K.K. again when one of his men clamped Jack in a chokehold. It was the guy K.K. had sent to stop the driver.
Fuck. He’d backtracked and come to K.K.’s aid.
Something caught the edge of my eye, and I swore again. I had been so concerned about Jack, I hadn’t noticed that the other two men K.K. dispatched to get the children had climbed on board the moving train. They were hanging on the rungs, a few cars down, and making their way toward us.
Everything was moving way too quickly to process. On the one hand, Jack was being pounded by K.K. while his accomplice held him up. On the other, death was coming for the children, shirts flapping in the wind, machete in hand. My heart raced like it was going to explode. I gripped the edges of the doorframe, my knuckles turning white as I tried to figure out what to do.
“Bahati.” I shook him. He was lying slumped against one of the pens, his body lurching with the motion of the train. “Shit.” He had passed out, and I had no idea if he was going to be okay.
I ran to the open hatch and looked out again. The men were clinging to the sides of the train, proceeding when they had secured a sure footing. Jack was slipping from vie
w. There was something wild and tempestuous in his punches now. He wasn’t just fighting two men, he was fighting the monsters that had taken Lily away from him. He was pouring all his rage and hurt and pain into it. But he was injured, and he held his wounded arm stiffly as they came at him from all sides.
No matter what happens, you stay on the train. You get these kids to Wanza.
I choked back a sob. I had to shut the door and lock it. I had to stop those men from getting to the children.
I slipped my backpack off and pulled on the hatch. It didn’t budge. I put all my muscle into it and tried again.
Nothing. It weighed a ton.
The kids watched me, eyes wide and overly bright. One of them had his hands jammed into his armpits and was hugging himself.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.” I was a liar. A dirty, filthy liar. “Come on. Give me a hand,” I asked them. “We can do this!”
I held on to the latch and pulled, tendons sticking out in my neck, while the kids pushed from the other end. It held for a while, and then it slid out of its rut with a great big jerk. The goats bleated as the carriage turned dark. The only light streaming in now was through the louvered sides.
“Good job!” I said to the kids, even though a part of me was dying to fling it wide open again, in the desperate hope that Jack would make it on, somehow, some way.
I looked for a way to secure the door, to keep it from sliding back, but there was nothing.
Shit. It locks from the outside. It’s a livestock car.
I wanted to pound my head against the door. My arms were shaking. I didn’t know how long I could hold on. I peered through the louvers. I couldn’t see the men, but I knew they’d be upon us soon. Sweat beaded on my lip.
Think! There’s got to be something.
A light bulb went off in my head. It was a long shot, but it was all I had. I let the door go. It slid open with a grating thump. I looked out. I couldn’t see Jack anymore. We had left him far behind. But I could see the men. And there was now only one car left between us.
I snaked my foot out, searching for a notch in the louvered sides. My fingers hooked around one of the pipes that ran overhead, and I swung myself around to the outside of the car. The ground under the train rushed by in a blur of gray. I squeezed my eyes shut, the wind beating against my face.