* * *
The pantry is used to store food for the entire school and is almost as large as the kitchen. I don’t see the stairway entrance right away but finally spot a small door at the very back, behind a line of two massive refrigerators and a walk in freezer. Before going in, I open a refrigerator and take four trays of wrapped sandwiches. I tear open a fifth tray, grab a handful, and wolf them down. I’m starving and do it again. This time I wad them up and shove the gooey mess in my mouth. I leave the little terrorist behind a refrigerator. “I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere,” I tell him in so he doesn’t feel lonely.
I stumble going down the narrow steps, land hard, and drop the sandwiches. It’s hard to keep my balance carrying the M16, the bag of medical supplies, and four trays of sandwiches. I see the survivors huddled around a large oak table in the middle of the cellar illuminated by a hanging bulb. I have to stoop to keep my head from scraping the ceiling and when I get there I see Arnie laying on his back and Dr. Mason, using his good arm, picking fragments of shrapnel from his leg with a pair of needle nosed pliers. Rita is holding a flashlight.
“Got some supplies that might help.” I open the sheet and spread it across the floor.
“Thank god and thank you Layla,” says Dr. Mason. “Rita, get that disinfectant and that black surgical kit from my bag. You’re going to have to stitch him up after I finish.”
“Then we’ll have to do a better job on your arm,” says Mrs. Selby. “You can walk us through it.”
“Brought some sandwiches from upstairs. On the floor over there. Wrapped up so they’re not dirty. The good news is that there’s more stuff up there. The bad news is that you need to get it soon because the power won’t last and they’re going to burn down the building.”
Mason stops his work and turns to me. “You’re amazing. Full of contradictions and surprises.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that for years,” says Andy.
Maybe he didn’t mean what he said. No time for that now, got things to do.
“I can’t stay. I’ve got to get over to the dorms while I can. See what happened to the girls and the volunteers.”
“It’s Boko Haram. I never thought they’d come this far south. They don’t want girls to be educated. If they get them, it will be terrible,” says Rita.
“I’m going with her,” announces Andy.
I’m not the only one full of contradictions and surprises.
“It’s not safe. Stay here. They won’t find us,” says Mason.
“He’s right Andy. I don’t know what I’ll find over there and I’ll have to get through the fire.”
“No, the last time you needed my help, I said some awful things. I hurt you, wasn’t there for you. I’m not doing that again.”
“I won’t allow it,” says Dr. Mason.
“Allow, Dad? Allow? I won’t allow you to put her down anymore. Won’t allow you to keep controlling me. I’m a grown-ass man and it’s time I proved it. You’ve never read her right. She’s got her faults, but she’s the best of us. I’m going.”
“Can’t waste any more time. Got to do it now.” I shuffle across the room. Andy’s right behind me. “You sure?”
“I’ve always been sure, only stubborn sometimes,” he says.
I take another handful of sandwiches, wad them up, and stuff them in my mouth before going up the steps.
“You look like a female Rambo and you eat like Conan the Barbarian,” he says, following me up.
The midget terrorist is where I left him. “Wait a minute. You’ve got to get this kid down the steps. Maybe your dad can do something about his leg. See if you can get me some kind of a shirt. It’s going to get hot and it’s not nice to only go around in a bra through fire.” Andy carries him down, drops him on the floor, and returns with Arnie’s old work shirt. It’s big but it’ll have to do. “Dr. Mason,” I shout down the stairs. “When you’ve got nothing better to do, take a look at his leg. Keep him doped up. He’s like a prisoner of war.”
* * *
Before we get out of the kitchen, the power goes off. Thick, acid smelling smoke clogs my lungs and my eyes water and sting. I see flames coming from where I think the porch should be. The stairway has collapsed and the upstairs hall is an inferno. It won’t be long before the roof collapses. I look down to where the little man landed and I’m glad I got him out of there. We need to do the same, and fast.
“Close your eyes and take my hand. Try to hold your breath.” We move fast in the direction of the flames. Andy stumbles, lets go of my hand, and I lurch forward. I can’t see him in the thick smoke. The floor is littered with ruble. I lose my balance and land on a heap of ceiling tiles that are starting to smolder.
“Andy, tell me where you are” I shout.
“Here, follow the light.”
I make out a dim spot of illumination through the black smoke and head for it. Before I get there, I trip over a collapsed beam and fall again and almost land on top of him.
“Lucky I brought the extra flashlight from the wine cellar.”
“Turn it off. Give it to me.” I put it in the pack and drop the M16. I don’t need it and we have to move fast to stay alive.
“Hold your breath. Aim for that dark spot across the room. I’ll hold your belt and stay behind you. Keep moving even if you can’t feel me. Bend low, keep your feet wide, and make short, choppy strides so we don’t fall.”
My aim is good. We hit the porch where the front door was. The wood’s burning but we blast through the flames and run twenty yards into the front yard. We’re on the ground coughing and clearing our lungs when I notice there’s no sound of explosions or gunshots. The only thing we hear is the popping and cracking of the fire that is destroying the main house.
The porch is almost gone but the right corner is still standing. “Wait here, I have to get something.” I need to stretch and Arnie’s shirt keeps me from scorching my arm on a burning ember, but the 30-30 is where I left it. Rather have an old fashioned Minnesota deer rifle than a fancy M16 any day.
We run across the yard toward the dormitories. We don’t see any Boko Haram soldiers and there’s no sign of fire in any of the other buildings. “Looks like they only burned the main house,” says Andy. “Maybe the kids are safe.”
I take out the flashlight and scan the cubicles in the girl’s dorm. It’s the same set up we have but the cubes are bigger with dressers and closets. I see that most of the beds are tipped over, drawers pulled open, and clothes strewn across the floor. The walls are riddled with bullet holes and empty 7.62 millimeter cartridge cases litter the hall.
“Look at this,” says Andy. He points to a pile of books in the end cubicle. They must have brought lots of ammunition because I see that they are riddled with bullet holes. “God, the smell!” I move closer and it hits me too. It’s worse than widow White-Hawk’s shithouse in August back in the hollow. They must have dined on prunes and beans before attacking because the books are covered with fresh piles and the flies have already arrived.
We don’t find anyone in the volunteer dorms. My cube is trashed but they left my clothes and didn’t find my hidey hole. Andy watches while I pry open the loose tile and take out my five hundred dollar emergency fund and the .22 I stole from the troll. “Ever shot a pistol?”
“Dad is always worried about break-ins at his office or at home, people looking for drugs. He made mom and me take lessons. I got pretty good, better than either of them.”
“Take this, there’s a full clip. It was a gift from a friend in Abuja. You might need it and I’m sure you can shoot it straighter than me.” Before we leave, I check my own arms inventory. Youssef’s Glock, Olson’s .45 and lots of ammunition for the pistols and the 30-30 are in the pack I took from Youssef. Between Jack, Gus, and my Desperation Hollow hunting friends, I know a lot about a variety of firearms—good thing because I’ve got a feeling I’ll be using some. Youssef’s backpack is bigger than mine and I’ve got a full load, so I commandeer his. I’
m ready to fight back.
“Let’s see if we can find some food. Either an early breakfast or a late midnight snack,” says Andy.
The cafeteria kitchen is eerie. No noise from the equipment and no lights. Andy opens a refrigerator door and aims his flashlight inside. I hear a muted shuffling sound from a row of cupboards across the room, pull out the Glock, and signal to him to get down. He goes to his knees and cocks the .22. “Too loud,” I whisper. “They heard the click.”
This time the sound is louder. We both hear it. It seems to come from under one of the cupboards, behind a double door. I wonder if one of the kid terrorists is in there with a grenade or pistol. It’s too small for an AK-47. We move to the cupboard. Andy levels the .22 left of the door and I stand to the right with the Glock. I reach across and jerk it open. We see two girls holding each other and crying.
They take one look at me and try to crawl back to the corner. I stand back and Andy gets them to come out. They recognize him from their English class. “They’re both eleven,” he says with tears in her eyes.
The girls are dirty, cold, and hungry. I take them back to my dorm. The hot water still works and there is soap and towels in the bathroom. I help them clean up and find them some clothes that are too big, but clean and warm. I also help them wrap up in blankets. I find a warm green sweater that I think belongs to Zoe and get rid of Arnie’s dirty shirt.
Andy’s found some bread, milk, hardboiled eggs, and lunch meat. The four of us sit at a table illuminated by Andy’s flashlight that he’s hung from the non-functioning lamp. I’m ready to dig in when one of the girls, Helen, says, “Stop. We need to give thanks.”
The other, Annette, does the honors. “Thank you god for saving us from the bad men. Please help our friends that they took. Thank you for this food, and most of all, thank you for our good teachers, Andy and Layla. Amen.”
I can’t eat. The only thing I can taste is the salt from my tears. I sob so hard, I start to shake. Andy puts both arms around me and whispers, “I Thank god for you, too Layla and I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
I take the girls back to my dorm to get some sleep. I’d like to stay with Andy but the girls will feel safer with me in my dorm. I’m surprised there’s still hot water and soak in the shower until it turns cold. I’m there for a long time but I can’t wash away my sadness and anger. Why would anyone want to steal innocent girls?
I go back to my cubicle and lay out clean clothes for tomorrow, curl up in my blanket and think about my next move. I don’t fall asleep until I have a plan to get them back.
Chapter 34
The morning air feels moist and hot. There’s no wind and I’m sweating before we get halfway back. Black smoke still hovers over what’s left of the main building and grit sticks to my skin. The acid smell makes my throat sore and I keep hacking up mucus. The girls are more refined. They turn their heads and spit delicately.
“Oh my god, look,” says Andy. The body of one of Arnie’s assistant guards is lying face down on the ground. I can see a bullet hole the back of his head and flies are swarming over the blood. “Turn your heads girls,” he says, holding their hands and hustling them past.
We head for the open sided tent in the front yard. Arnie is standing by a camouflaged Humvee watching a soldier talk on a radio phone. His leg is bandaged but he seems unfazed.
“One of your guys got shot. He’s out there, about 200 yards,” Andy says. They executed him. He probably died fast.”
His lower lip twitches and he takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says softly, and limps across the yard.
We move inside the tent and I hear the low hum of a generator. It powers two fans that blow the smoke away and keep it somewhat cool.
“Thank the lord you’re here. We thought they might have taken you last night . . . and you brought . . . two girls back,” says Rita. She hugs them both at the same time, then embraces Andy. Finally, she throws her arms around me and gives a long squeeze.
Dr. Mason, Rita, Mrs. Selby and a skinny Nigerian in a military uniform with short hair, leather gloves and a soul patch, form a circle around us. They look at me like I’m supposed to say something.
“The two girls are all we found. Dorms are empty.”
They keep staring, expecting more. “I don’t know where they took the rest,” I finally say.
“There’s a reconnaissance team on its way over there now,” says the soul patch soldier.
“This is Colonel Yambou. The Nigerian army is taking over the investigation,” says Dr. Mason. “Colonel, this is Layla Peterson. She saved our lives last night.”
“Quite the woman.” I can’t tell if he’s congratulating me or being sarcastic. He reaches out to shake my hand. Something tells me I shouldn’t, but I take it—glove and all. His mirrored sun glasses hide his eyes.
He moves closer and puts his other hand on the stock the 30-30 I’m holding. “Where’d you get the rifle?”
“Long story.” I push his hand away and step back.
“We’re in charge now and want to maintain control of all weapons. I’ll take it. You can get it back when we’ve finished our fact-finding.”
“I’m keeping it.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.” He reaches out while two other solders move closer.
“You don’t need to be screwing around with fact-finding. The only fact you need to know is that the Boko Haram took those kids and you need to get them back.”
“I’ll decide what to do. The rifle, now!” He clutches my arm with his left hand and tries to pull away the 30-30 with the other.
I pull the glove off and yank the rifle away. His hand is wrinkled and boney. “No wonder you wear gloves in this weather. They hide your ugly hands.” I’ve had enough of this guy. I’m in no mood to be nice. He’s on a power trip and he’s wasting my time.
Rita and Dr. Mason get between us. “She’s had a trying time. Let us talk to her,” says Rita.
“Make it fast. We can’t locate the head of your local police force, but he filed a complaint against this girl. It claims she attacked a deputy. We have to take that rifle, interrogate this woman, and determine the facts.”
“If you’re so hung up on facts go over to the main house and do some fact-finding. You’ll find pieces of Constable Clarence all over what used to be the living room. He wrestled a grenade and lost.”
They walk me to a corner of the tent away from Colonel Yambou. “Don’t irritate him. He’s stupid but dangerous,” says Rita. “The Army needs to cover their rear end. They’ll waste a lot of time trying to find someone to blame before they actually do anything. They’ve been continually saying Boko Haram is no danger this far south. Now they’ve got a national scandal.”
“An international scandal,” says Dr. Mason. “American volunteers were abducted. I expect the TV news crews here by noon. They’ll want to interview you.”
“There’s no time for interview. I have to find those kids before the trail cools off.”
“I’m with you. They’re going to take Arnie and me to the hospital any minute now. Anything you need before we go?”
“I need that midget Boko Haram kid with the broken leg and a car. I want Andy to come along but that’s up to the two of you.”
“I’m going dad. I can help. Don’t make it difficult.”
“As if I have a choice.” He nods his head, then points to a cot on the lawn where they’re loading the little terrorist into an army ambulance. “The kid’s going with us. I set his leg but he needs more work.”
Colonel Yambou is moving across the tent. I turn and tear open the scabs on my arm from the nail scratches last night. I dig until there is lots of blood and smear it around. “Tell him I’m hurt and need to go to the hospital.”
Dr. Mason gets it. “This woman is injured. She has to get on that ambulance with us.”
“Only a little blood. She looks all right to me. Leave her here.”
“What this woman did last night is big news. The U.S. pres
s will put her on TV. Do you think the general or your president would like to hear that you refused to give her medical attention?” says Rita.
He fingers his soul patch and raises his sun glasses and looks at me with black, expressionless eyes. “All right, but give me the rifle before you go.”
“No, that’s not going to happen.”
The ambulance backs into the tent. They load Arnie and the little terrorist. Before getting in himself, Dr. Mason says, “Colonel, there’s no time for this. We have to go now.”
Rita gets it, too. “Dr. Mason’s son has to go with him. There’s not enough room for everyone in the ambulance. I’ve found Constable Clarence’s car. I’ll follow the ambulance. I need to take care of the girls and Mr. Mason and Miss Peterson will, as they say in the movies, ride shotgun. She needs that rifle to protect us. Unless you can guarantee we won’t run into any Boko Haram on the way and are willing to tell the reporters you failed to protect the headmistress of the school they burned and the only two girls that weren’t captured.”
Yambou pulls off his gloves and slaps them against a tent support. “Go,” he says, glowering at us, then putting his gloves back on and walking away.
* * *
Rita waits until we’re at the gas station intersection before swerving in front of the ambulance so abruptly that it almost rams us before stopping. She runs to the driver’s window. “We have orders to take the young Boko Haram soldier back. The colonel called and wants him right now.”
Andy doesn’t wait for an answer. He picks him up from up from the ambulance and drops him on the Audi’s back seat. He stocks up on medical supplies and lots of pain meds from his dad. Rita gets in the ambulance. She reaches through the window and takes my hand. “Bring back my girls. You’re their only hope.” She squeezes hard and doesn’t let go. “You’re a good woman Layla. Save them. Give them a life and you’ll save yourself—give your own life meaning.”
Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love Page 19
