And then the screaming began again. Pascal turned and heard his father’s voice telling him to run, telling him to run, telling him to run, before a loud explosion devoured his words and a wall of flame engulfed his ashen face.
‘Pascal. Wake up, Pascal.’
‘Papa?’ Pascal wrenched himself from his sleep. His father was calling. He had to save him.
‘Are you all right, Pascal?’
‘Yes, Papa, I’m all right. I can’t see you, though.’ Pascal felt around in the dark until his hands fell on warm shoulders.
‘It’s me, Kojo,’ he heard. ‘You were having a nightmare, Pascal.’
Pascal held on tight while he fought with the realisation that this wasn’t his father. It took him a moment to remember who Kojo was.
‘You were shouting and screaming,’ his friend said. ‘You scared the life out of me.’
‘You’re not the only one,’ several other voices joined in.
‘Sorry,’ Pascal mumbled.
‘That was a bad one, eh?’ whispered Kojo. ‘I haven’t heard you shout out like that for a long time.’
Pascal nodded. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and lay back down. He felt exhausted. He settled his thoughts and remembered that he had to stay strong. The nightmare convinced him more than ever that he had to go home and find out what had happened to his family.
‘Are we still going?’ Kojo whispered again.
‘Yes,’ said Pascal. ‘And very soon. You’d better be ready.’
‘I will be,’ Kojo replied. ‘You need me.’
Pascal smiled briefly at the suggestion that he should need someone so much younger than himself, but as he lay there in the dark he had to admit that he didn’t want to go on his own. He was scared. Scared, not of being caught, but of the demons that might return and swallow him up. He had come to rely on Kojo more than he could have imagined, just as Kojo relied on him. He had to make sure that he didn’t let his friend down. He had to plan their escape so meticulously that there was no chance of it failing.
‘Will you be scared?’ Pascal asked.
‘You bet. I’ll be pooing my pants. But anything’s better than staying here.’
‘Once, after we escaped from the rebels who took our village, we were on our own in the woods: me, Olivier – the cousin I’ve told you about – and my other cousin – Kamil, he was called. We needed to keep running, but Kamil sat down on a stump and froze. He was too petrified to move. When the rebels caught up, he screamed and cried and begged, and we told him to run, but he didn’t and . . . and yet he was a bully. He was always telling everyone else what to do, me especially.’
‘What happened to him?’ Kojo asked.
Pascal shook his head. ‘They took him. I don’t know. We legged it into the bushes and got away – that time. I never saw him again.’
‘Do you think . . . ?’ Kojo hesitated to ask.
Pascal closed his eyes. ‘One day I’ll find out, not just about him, but about Olivier and the rest of my family too.’
They had talked before about their families, Kojo much more than Pascal. For Pascal it was too painful to speak about anything in detail, other than his childhood days with his mother and father, Angeline and Bijou. Kojo had had to piece together what had happened to him since then through little snippets of information that Pascal dropped into conversations during unguarded moments, most of which came to an abrupt halt or change of subject.
‘I felt guilty, leaving him. We both felt guilty. But what could we do? We thought they were going to kill us. They had guns and knives. I was ten . . .’ Pascal’s voice trailed away again.
‘You had no choice,’ whispered Kojo.
‘I still feel guilty now,’ Pascal murmured. ‘I’ll always feel guilty. And not just about that.’
Kojo waited, scarcely daring to breathe.
‘There are things I’ve done, been forced to do . . . I try not to think about them. I don’t want to think about them.’ Pascal angrily turned in his bed, hissing this last sentence, and didn’t say another word.
Chapter 23
There were more missions. Olivier didn’t return from one. Seb said he had run away, but Pascal wasn’t sure he believed him. He didn’t think Olivier would have gone without him, even though Olivier had changed since they left home. Anything was possible.
Pascal was aware that he too had changed. He had needed to. He had become reliant upon the cigarettes and the drinks that Seb and his friends plied them with. They made him bold and dulled his sensibilities. They allowed him to cope with the boredom of daily life in the village camp and the constant hunger. They helped him to muffle the pain that random memories brought when they slipped through the barriers he had built. When he took part in a mission, they allowed him to embrace the character of Little Lion and disregard the quiet little boy who had failed to live up to his father’s expectations.
Pascal didn’t believe much of what Seb told him. During his more lucid moments, he doubted the purpose of the missions they were carrying out. He had heard women screaming. He had heard children crying. Were they the families of rebels? Did rebels put their cause before the lives of their children? What cause were Seb and his followers serving?
Pascal began to have nightmares. In them, Seb became inextricably linked with the death of his father. Sometimes the nightmares continued well into the day, leaving Pascal consumed with anger and hatred for the men who were controlling his life.
‘You’d better watch yourself,’ Seb had said to him one day, when Pascal refused to clean his rifle. ‘You’re not here to do as you please.’
‘Why am I here?’ Pascal demanded to know. ‘Why shouldn’t I just walk out and go home?’
‘Nobody’s stopping you,’ Seb said, leering. ‘But if you try, you might just get shot down by one of those nasty men who are prowling the woods in search of boys like you.’
‘You’re making that up, and anyway why would they shoot me?’ Pascal retorted. ‘I haven’t done anyone any harm.’
‘Haven’t you?’ Seb smirked again. He held up Pascal’s rifle and pointed it at him. ‘This gun says you have.’
‘Don’t point guns at people,’ Pascal said irritably, realising at the same time how ridiculous he sounded. He stormed away in an effort to prevent the demons Seb had conjured up from taking a grip on him.
Pascal’s thoughts turned more and more often to escaping. He no longer felt any excitement at going on a mission. The excitement had turned to dread. The only way he could cope at all was by drinking and smoking until he was numb. When the effects wore off, he didn’t much like what he was left with.
Little Lion is growing up fast and is desperate to leave the pride, he thought grimly, turning the word ‘pride’ over in his mind and knowing that it was a false pride he had felt when he wore his lion badge.
He hoped that by escaping he might be able to leave everything behind, and that when, finally, he rediscovered his family, he could close this chapter in his life and start a brand new one.
When they set up camp for a third time, in a village Seb and his men had apparently ‘appropriated’ from rebel supporters, Pascal began to make plans. The village was quite close to a road, whereas the previous camps had been deep in the forest. He was sure it would be easy to hitch a lift from a passing vehicle when the men were away on a recce or sleeping in the heat of the afternoon. He searched through some clothes that had been left in one of the village huts and found a black shirt, which he hid in case he needed it. He wished Olivier had been there so that he had someone to talk to – and someone to escape with. He didn’t know the other boys well enough to trust them, and had kept rather aloof from them while he was Seb’s ‘chosen one’.
The opportunity came more quickly than he expected. Seb and Gustav took a group of boys to scavenge for food in a small town nearby. The remaining boys ignored Pascal and began to throw stones at a target they had marked out on a rock. The rest of the men sat around drinking and smoking until, one by o
ne, they fell asleep. Pascal saw that this was his chance. He hesitated for only a moment. He snatched the shirt, wrapped his AK-47 in some sacking and slipped silently through the trees. As soon as he was far enough away not to be heard, he changed out of his T-shirt, put on the shirt and started to run.
Chapter 24
‘It’s this week,’ said Pascal.
‘What’s this week?’
‘What do you think?’
Pascal watched Kojo’s jaw drop.
They were sitting away from the other boys during a brief morning water break at the plantation. Pascal fiddled with a long piece of grass, splitting its shaft with his thumbnail then tying knots in it from top to bottom. Kojo was picking the dirt from under his toenails with a pointed stick.
‘How?’ he asked.
Pascal checked that nobody was close enough to hear. ‘Like a sack of pods,’ he smiled.
Kojo frowned.
‘Like a sack of pods in the back of a truck,’ Pascal elaborated.
‘Stop playing games and tell me what you mean!’
Pascal leant towards Kojo. ‘We steal two sacks, jump on to one of the trucks, hide inside the sacks and wait for the truck to leave the plantation. When it does, we get off the truck and away we go.’
Kojo pulled a face as he took in what Pascal had said, then sat in silence, poking his foot with the stick.
‘What do you think?’ asked Pascal.
‘We’ll never get away with it,’ said Kojo.
‘It’s worth a try,’ Pascal argued. ‘I can’t think of a better way, can you?’
Kojo shook his head.
‘We’ll go on Pigface’s day off. We’ve got a better chance if he’s not around.’ Pascal stared hard at Kojo. ‘You’re still up for it, aren’t you? It’s not too late to change your mind.’
Kojo stared back at him. ‘I won’t change my mind,’ he said firmly. ‘Put it there.’ He held his hand out for Pascal to shake. Pascal was about to reciprocate when he saw Tiene hovering near them.
‘What are you two plotting?’ Tiene wanted to know.
‘How to blow the ears off nosy people, ha!’ Pascal smiled coldly.
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Tiene. ‘I just wanted to sit with my friends, that’s all.’
The bell rang for them to go back to work.
‘Too late,’ Pascal said, standing up. ‘You’ll have to wait till dinner time.’
He strode away in the direction of the drying mats, where he had been detailed to spend the rest of the day filling sacks with dried cocoa beans, ready for them to be taken away. He couldn’t believe his luck when one of the overseers allocated the job to him, because normally it was carried out by the overseers themselves. He supposed he should feel proud to be chosen, since the work entailed sifting through the beans to ensure their quality and removing any that were broken or germinating, as well as any rogue matter. Instead, he felt excited, because it gave him the chance to decide how he might steal two of the sacks, and also to find out when the next trucks were due to transport the beans away from the plantation. He was happy to be on his own, able to follow his thoughts without being disturbed by chatter from the other boys.
As he squatted on his heels and rolled his hands over the hardened beans, Pascal became more and more convinced that his escape plans were feasible, even if there would be great danger every step of the way. The danger didn’t worry him. He was used to danger. And nothing that could happen would be any worse than what he had been through already. His only fear was of failure. He didn’t know how he would cope if they were caught and taken back to the plantation. He didn’t know if he would be able to summon up the will power to try to escape again. It had already taken him months to galvanise himself into action, to break out of the inertia that had enveloped him like a straitjacket since he had arrived and allowed his every action to be dictated once again. It would break him to fail. He would have one chance to escape, and one chance only.
Pascal immersed himself in his work. He couldn’t afford to fall down on the task and draw attention to himself. When he was happy that only the best beans remained, he dragged some sacks from a nearby shelter and began to fill them. As he did, he wondered how he could steal two of them without being spotted. Even now, he could see one of the overseers hovering in the shadows, gazing in his direction from time to time.
It’s got to be today, Pascal thought. I probably won’t be asked to do this job again, and I won’t be able to get near the sacks when the overseers are working here.
He continued to fill the sacks, checking to see how often he was being watched, and noticed that when the overseer wandered over to where Kojo and some of the boys were breaking open pods, a row of low trees formed a screen between them and the area where Pascal was working. Pascal realised that this would be his best opportunity to whip a couple of sacks from the pile and hide them until they were needed. He didn’t think it would be too difficult to take them, but he had to find a hiding place that would be accessible when he and Kojo were ready to go. He wondered again whether he was doing the right thing in taking Kojo with him. There was a far greater possibility of someone spotting two of them. But it was an extra risk he was going to have to take.
He straightened up when he heard the sound of an engine. A truck was being driven along the path towards him. Sitting in the passenger seat was Mr Kouassi. The driver brought the truck to a halt a few metres away from Pascal, and the overseer opened the cabin door and heaved himself out. He was sweating profusely. He stopped to wipe his forehead on his shirtsleeve before waddling in Pascal’s direction. Pascal thought how easy it would be to bowl him over and make him pay for all the hours of bullying he had inflicted, if it weren’t for the fact that, as usual, Le Cochon was carrying his bicycle chain and stick.
‘It must be your lucky day,’ the overseer puffed. ‘How did you manage to wangle this cushy little job?’
‘It must be my good looks, sir,’ Pascal replied. Then he inwardly cursed himself for goading the man.
‘One of these days, your arrogance will bite you in the bum,’ Le Cochon sneered. He moved over to the remaining pile of beans and inspected them meticulously, pushing and poking them with his stick.
Pascal watched him, hatred welling up inside.
‘What is that?’ Le Cochon said at last. He pointed his stick between two beans.
‘That’s a beetle, sir,’ said Pascal.
‘And what is a beetle doin’ runnin’ around amongst the beans that you are about to put in a sack ready to be transported away from ’ere and turned into chocolate?’
‘Looking for its mate?’ ventured Pascal, despite his resolve to stay on the right side of the overseer.
Le Cochon flashed him an evil glare, then, without any warning, swung the bicycle chain viciously against his back. Pascal fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
‘That’ll teach you to show me some respect,’ Le Cochon spat. ‘And that’ll teach you not to pick on the other kids.’ He kicked a shower of dust at Pascal. ‘Don’t think I dunno what you’re up to. The boss, he don’t take too kindly to havin’ his goodness thrown back in his face, so I’ll be watchin’ you twenty-four-seven.’ He kicked another shower of dust at Pascal, then grabbed hold of his T-shirt and pulled him to his feet. ‘Now get those sacks loaded on to the truck before I get really nasty.’
Pascal was too shocked to resist. He stumbled over to the row of full sacks and bent to pick one up. He winced and had to stop himself from crying out as he lifted it on to his back. He steadied himself, then focused his eyes on the truck and headed falteringly towards it. The next time he was this close to a truck, he would be leaping aboard and hiding amongst the sacks. That thought kept him from keeling over and earning more of Le Cochon’s punishments.
‘Get a move on, then,’ the overseer growled. ‘We ain’t got all day.’
Pascal heaved the sack on to the truck, noticing that the truck driver was flicking through a newspaper rather than paying any atte
ntion to what was going on behind him. He jumped up into the truck and pulled the sack to the rear, forming a new row next to one that had been collected from another part of the plantation. The driver turned his head, then stared at Pascal through the small window in the cabin and returned to his newspaper. That was the only time he looked round, until all the sacks were aboard and Le Cochon banged on the door to indicate that he could drive off.
Pascal watched as the truck crunched along the path and turned off right in the direction of the perimeter fence. He knew that further along was the entrance to the plantation, which was marked by a guard’s office and a security gate. The boys were never allowed near this area, but Pascal remembered it from when he had first arrived, in the back of a van, with the promise of money and a better life ringing in his ears. It hadn’t taken him very long to realise that the promises were worthless, but at least his stay at the plantation had provided him with some respite from running away. Now he was about to run away all over again.
Chapter 25
‘Where are you off to, then?’
Pascal told the driver the name of his village.
‘You don’t want to go there,’ said the driver. ‘There’s nothing there any more. Rebels destroyed it. Anyway, we’re going in the wrong direction.’
Pascal felt as if he were about to collapse.
‘Did you have family there?’ the driver asked, staring round at him.
Pascal didn’t answer.
‘How old are you?’
‘Eleven,’ muttered Pascal.
‘You look older,’ the driver said. ‘Are you in trouble?’
Pascal pulled a face. ‘Depends,’ he said.
‘You shouldn’t be on your own out here.’
‘I can look after myself.’
They drove on in silence. Pascal was glad. He didn’t want to answer any more awkward questions. Before very long, he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He fought as hard as he could, but, even though the bumpy road with its potholes and rocks bounced him ruthlessly up and down in his seat, he fell into a troubled sleep.
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