Chapter 37
They drop me off behind an empty brick building not far from where I left the Audi. I pay off Shelia and give rheumy eye another fifty of Olson’s money. He tries to shake my hand but when I look at his grime coated paw I pull away. Shelia attempts to give me a farewell kiss and I pull back even faster. The parting rituals concluded, I keep low, skulk through the shadows, stay close to buildings, and end up at the edge of the dirt parking lot where Shelia says the convoys start. The rising sun hurts my eyes but when I squint, I see four army trucks lined up. Eight men stand in front of the first truck, smoking and drinking out of paper cups. Four have AK-47 assault rifles. I circle the parking lot until the sun is behind me.
The last truck is parked next to a narrow alley between two shops. Crawling on my belly with the 30-30 balanced on my arms, I reach the opening and stay down. After a half-hour on the ground, I see four guys get in the trucks. The other four, the ones with Kalashnikovs, each go to the back of a truck, untie the canvas opening, look inside, tie it up again, and join a buddy in the cab.
I hear the motors kick in and, from my snake’s perch, inhale a lungful of exhaust fumes. I have to make my move now. Two steps and I’m behind it. Untying the flap, I toss the 30-30, and follow it in. Crawling over stacks of wooden containers, I get to the front corner and pull two coffin shaped boxes over me.
I hear three blasts of a horn and the truck starts to move. I feel it turn a corner, hear three more horn bursts, and the truck stops so fast a small container slides across the floor. Both doors slam and a voice shouts, “Did you forget to tie the canvas? It was flapping in the wind.”
Another voice says, “I could have sworn I tied it. Stay outside, I’ll check.”
Someone’s in the truck, lifting and sliding containers. They’re halfway to my corner and coming closer. The 30-30 is jammed under a box and I can’t get at it. He’s now banging boxes in the opposite corner. I’m next.
A horn blares and the boxes stop banging. Two more horns join the chorus. “Come on. There’s nothing back there. We’re going to be late.”
“Thought I tied it, must have stayed up too late last night.”
I hear the flap being tied and doors slamming. The truck moves and I push off the boxes. My heart’s pounding and my chest hurts from the weight, but I’m on the way to Jeffery’s camp.
Standing to retrieve the 30-30, I notice the name on one of the containers: Olson’s Hardware & Building Supplies. I pry open the top and it’s filled with brand new M4 carbines.
* * *
I feel the truck lumber up a steep bumpy hill and come to a stop. We must be at a gate and I don’t want to be inside when they unload. Forcing my hands through the seam I untie the flap and see the slope behind me and thick bushes to my right. I’m ready to jump when the truck jerks forward and stops again. They must be checking each truck before letting it through and there are only two more ahead. I have to get out and take the chance that they’re not looking in the rear view mirror. The truck starts to inch forward and I make my move. Holding the 30-30, I drop to the ground and scramble on my hands and knees into the roadside brush. I lay there watching the trucks get searched by two guards, then disappear down the other side.
The thick bushes are covered with barbs that scratch my skin. I try to avoid them and follow a ridge for a quarter of a mile before finding a narrow ledge that’s hidden by a row of short, gnarled trees. I crawl to the edge and have a clear view of what lies below.
What I see is closer to a small, well-equipped military base than a terrorist hideout. From the number of tents, jeeps, and Humvees I estimate Jeffrey’s army at a couple hundred. There’s an elevated platform next to a large tent close to the cliff wall.
I want to get a better look and crawl along an animal trail until I’m halfway down the slope. It must have been made by small animals because my face and hands are bleeding from more scratches. I can’t risk getting closer so I veer off the trail and find an opening in a stand of tall thorn bushes.
The man I see wearing army fatigues must be Jeffrey. He’s in his late-twenty’s, about six feet tall with long black hair and a short beard. It looks like he’s presiding over a community viewing of the school girls. They’re spread out in three rows in front of the platform and a group of what must be thirty soldiers surround them, poking, shouting, and using their rifles to look under their black robes.
The 30-30 almost moves of its own will and draws a bead on Jeffrey’s head. At this distance, I can’t miss. I feel my trigger finger tighten, then let it relax. If I kill Jeffrey, they’ll capture me and either kill or divide up the girls. I need to save them first, then Jeffrey’s time will come.
I watch them load the girls on the back of a truck and drive away. When they’re gone, I climb back up to my outpost and scan the camp again. It looks more like a large crater than a valley. I can see guards to my left and right on the rim about five hundred yards apart. There must be more, encircling the entire camp. The walls look steep, cliffs in some areas. Jeffery chose well, it’s hard to get in or out of the camp unnoticed.
It’s difficult to make out the details but I notice something to my left, below a cliff, that looks like the kind of circular cage used to display lions and tigers in a circus. I worm my way through the brush, crossing below the guard station to my left until I’m directly above the object. Moving down the hill, I’m dead ended by a cliff that drops fifty feet but I have a clear view. It is a cage and Sammy’s inside.
Chapter 38
I can see six Boko Haram soldiers—really just teen aged boys—throwing rocks through the steel bars. I watch one jab at Sammy with a long stick. They’re passing around a canteen and drinking whatever’s inside. An old guy carrying an M16 rifle comes up and yells at them. They run away laughing and the old guy follows.
Sammy’s curled up in the center wearing only a pair of dirty shorts and mud stained running shoes. I can see red welts on his legs and back where the stones and pole have done their damage.
To get to Sammy, I have to get down the cliff. I can’t go around because the guards up above will spot me. I don’t like closed spaces but I like heights less. Jack used to torment me by forcing me to climb trees and go to the edge of building roofs. That stopped when I got big enough to defend myself, but I didn’t outgrow the fear.
I tie the 30-30 to my pack, and look over the edge. My stomach does flip-flops and I feel dizzy but I force myself to scope out the cliff. There’s a few places where I can grip ridges and get toeholds but it’s mostly smooth and straight down. My heart is racing but I have to chance it. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I slip over the edge. My left foot finds an indentation and I grip the edge of the cliff with my fingertips.
I let go with my right hand and slide it down the rough rock until I feel an opening at shoulder level. Gripping the opening, I let go with my left. My foot slides out and I’m hanging by one hand forty feet above the ground. My hands are strong, but I can’t last long. Desperately, I slide my legs against the rock, trying to find a foothold. My fingers start to slide when both feet find a ridge. I re-grip with my right and my left hand finds another opening.
Then, I panic. I can’t open my eyes, the cliff starts to spin, and I freeze. I’m stuck and my mind won’t let my body do anything to help. I want to scream but my mouth is dry and my jaw is clamped shut. I don’t know how long I dangle there but I begin to feel weak and have an urge to let go and end it.
Slowly, the image of those little girls being abused by Jeffrey’s thugs forms in my mind. Gradually, I calm myself, force a hand to find another ledge, a foot to discover an indentation. The vision of what those monsters will do to those little girls—to my classmates—drives me. I’m still afraid but I’m angry and a little ashamed that I froze. The cliff levels off and it’s easier toward the bottom. When I’m ten feet away, I push off, hit the ground, roll over, and spring to my feet. I turn and see four kids who’ve come to taunt Sammy.
* * *
“Must be some kind of girl super hero,” says the one with the long stick, poking it at me.
I grab the stick, pull it away, and swing it behind his knees. He falls and looks up at me. His eyes are bleary and his jaw is slack. Whatever’s in that canteen isn’t water.
The other three move back behind him. Up close I can see that they’re much younger than I thought—no older than fourteen. I jab one in the gut, hard enough to push him down and swing the stick against another’s ass.
“Sit down, all of you.” I toss the stick away, level the 30-30 and point at the cage. “Key, give me the key.”
“No key, lady. Just outside latches,” says the ex-stick holder.
I look at the cage door and see two latches, one on the top and the other toward the bottom that can only be opened from the outside.
“Stand up and get in line. Put your hands on the shoulders of the kid in front of you. First guy, put your hands on your head.” They stagger and flounder—obviously been hitting that canteen too long—but eventually get lined up. They look so young they could be a group of eighth graders on a playground.
I walk them to the cage, open the latches, and march them in. Sammy gets up and limps out. “Welcome to my cage—little slow getting here!” Our hug lasts too long considering we’re in the open and surrounded by terrorists who want to kill us. “Follow me. We can talk in the guard’s tent,” says Sammy. “They won’t be back until dark.”
The tent smells like a mixture of onions, urine, and pot. “Is everyone in this terrorist army a stoner?” I ask.
“Jeffrey uses all kinds of stuff to make them dependent. A lot are just kids that he captured and hooked.” Sammy sits on a camp cot across from me. His voice is weak and I have to lean forward to hear.
“What happened? Why the cage?”
“They don’t like gays—strange because it’s pretty well known that Jeffrey likes boys. Once they found out, they put me in that cage. Kids get high and taunt me. One guard, Mahmood, is the worst. Did this to me,” He points to a large welt on his side. It’s dark in the tent and when I move closer, I see that it’s infected.
Once again, I’m glad I took a supply of medication. I swab his welts with disinfectant and bandage the one that looks infected. I know it hurts, but it’s Sammy: he doesn’t say a word. I rummage in my pack and pull out an old t-shirt. When he puts it on, it comes down to his knees and the sleeves reach his elbows but it covers his wounds. “Last service from Dr. Peterson. Take one of these for the pain but don’t do it now, I need your mind to be sharp.” I hand him two oxy pills.
“Rumor is the Army’s planning to attack. They want to get rid of me before they come. An old guy said they were going to stone me to death but the kids said they were going to lop off my head.”
“How’d they find out?”
“. . . That I’m gay? Olson told them.”
“I can’t believe that even Mia would do that—rat you out so they’d kill you.”
“Not Mia, her dad.”
The hair on my arms tingles, my shoulder muscles tighten, and I can’t help clenching my fists. I have to stand. “Rolf Olson, he’s here?”
“Got his own tent. Right next to Jeffrey. I don’t know how he did it, but they didn’t make Mia a prisoner. She’s with her father. We don’t have a lot of time. They’re bound to find those kids in the cage and come looking for us.”
“Where are the girls?”
“On the other side of camp. They’re in a tent set against a cliff. There’s only one way in and it’s heavily guarded. Jeffrey planned on marrying them off or selling them tomorrow. Because the army’s on the way, I don’t know what he’s going to do now.”
“The guys?”
“All but Levi are in a separate tent, next to the girls. My guards told me Andy was brought in yesterday. Levi’s missing. He cozied up to Jeffrey and the rumor is that he’s keeping him as private stock. Jeffrey plans on holding the guys for ransom but he won’t let them go even if he’s paid. They’re dead either way.”
Shouts are coming from the direction of the cage. People are arguing. “We’ve got to get out of here now. Are you okay, can you run?”
“It’s that or get my head chopped off. Bet your ass I can run.”
“I don’t know where to go. Any suggestions?”
“I’m starved. Let’s steal a food truck. No need to run. We’ll go in disguise. Quick, put a pair over your clothes.” He points to a rack of military fatigue shirts and pants against the far wall. The waist is too big and the arms are too short on my pair but, with the help of a belt, I make do. Sammy looks like a little boy playing dress up in his dad’s outfit, but I help him roll up the pant legs and sleeves. He throws me a cap. “Cover up your hair. Jeffrey’s troops don’t have such long, luscious locks.”
“Sammy, these fatigues smell worse than Chester Blue Duck after he comes back from a three day drunk.”
“Great disguise. We smell like them, too.”
We march out the tent like we belong and Sammy leads me to a cluster of trucks and jeeps parked under a stand of scruffy trees about two hundred yards away. The drivers are sleeping in the shade. Sammy heads for one on the far side and climbs in the cab. He starts it and we slowly drive away. Boldness pays off. The guards don’t stir. He drives half way around the camp, keeping to the edge of the cliffs and pulls over between some bushes and the cliff.
“Time to eat.” He gets out and climbs in the back. He’s right. We stole a food truck, if you can call the gooey noodles and green globs of stewed vegetables food.
“If that’s what they feed these guys, no wonder they look so scruffy.”
“Ummph . . . ,” says Sammy. It’s all he can manage with his mouth full.
Sheila made me a big breakfast and between the smell of the truck’s food and the guard’s fatigues, I’m about ready to throw it up so I sit on the back of the truck, looking away and gulping fresh air while Sammy gorges himself. I feel a tap on my shoulder, turn and see a new Sammy. He has remarkable recuperative powers. He looks fresh and there’s a twinkle in his eyes.
“Sammy Phillips, reporting for duty. What’s the plan boss lady?”
“Two of us won’t be able to break out the prisoners. Even if we did, we couldn’t get them out of the camp. The army has to attack today so we need to keep Jeffrey away from them—cut off the head of the snake. I need to have a talk with Olson, too.”
“Their tents are next to each other. We can kill two snakes with one stone.”
“Damn you’re clever. Get us there.”
Chapter 39
We can’t risk a direct route so we sneak, often crawl, around the edge of the crater. We move slowly. It takes us the rest of the day to get there. I’m hot. I’ve got another dose of scratches from the thorns. Flies and little bugs keep landing on my sweaty skin and I can’t stop itching.
“Something’s not right. It’s been too easy. All we’ve run into today are scared kids and old men. Where are the real fighters?” I say when we stop for a break behind a truck near Jeffrey’s tent.
“Look at that convey of trucks. Maybe that’s the answer.”
Squinting against setting sun, I see at least twenty canvas covered trucks snaking up the road out of camp. When they get to the top, they fan out in opposite directions. They’re spreading out around the rim, getting ready to defend the camp.
I hear the faint thumping of helicopter blades from the other side of the crater. The sound gets louder and I see three emerge over the rim, swoop across camp and circle back. I hear someone emptying a clip as they pass over but the choppers soar by unharmed. I don’t know much about helicopters, but these are big, probably carrying soldiers or equipment.
“They’re landing troops and equipment over there,” says Sammy, pointing west to the lower hills to our west. “Listen, they’re using mortars. They’ve got way more soldiers than Jeffrey. This isn’t a fight. It’s show business.”
I can hear the thuds moving ever closer to the c
amp’s center. If they’re not careful, they’ll hit the girls they’re trying to rescue. Sammy’s right, they’re more interested in impressing the media than saving the captives.
“Find out who’s in those tents Sammy.”
He slithers to the back of first one, then the other. In a minute he slinks back.
“Jeffrey’s not there but Mia and her dad are home.”
“We’ll start with them.”
We sneak to the front of the tent. Sammy snaps open the flap and I leap in, Glock first. He follows with the 30-30.
* * *
They’re sitting side-by-side at a card table looking at a map. Rolf is the first to react, reaching inside his jacket to draw a pistol. I react faster and knock it to the floor.
“Mia, nice to see you again. The friends you abandoned must miss you.”
“Give it up Indian,” says Rolf. His voice is calm and controlled with an edge of sarcasm. “Jeffrey’s got plans for your self-righteous college cronies and those worthless, snotty little Nigerian girls. He’s moved them to their final location.”
“Where are they?” asks Sammy.
Olson talks to me and ignores Sammy. “If you must know, Jeffrey took them to his bunker. He wants to keep them safe for the time being. He’s got a fascinating plan to get rid of them before the army takes over.”
“Daddy, you didn’t tell me. You can’t be serious. Those are my—”
“Shut up Mia,” interrupts Olson.
“But, you wouldn’t—”
“I said shut the hell up girl.”
I feel my heart pounding and see Sammy’s face go pale. I fight for control. Can’t worry about them right now—got to do this first.
I sit across from them and Sammy stands by the door with the 30-30 at ready. The medallion feels warm between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand and the Glock feels cold and heavy in my right. Both give me comfort. I can hear the sound of rifle fire but it’s a long way from us so we’re safe unless a mortar lands on us. “Time for a history lesson,” I say.
Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love Page 22
