Gentle squinted his left eye as he aimed the weapon. The aircraft’s 7.62MM machine gun opened up again as the small fighter jet finished its circuit. Dirt erupted from the ground in a single line as the pilot corrected his aim toward the pickup truck and Harold Pearson. The tall man raised his right hand and extended his middle finger. About a hundred feet behind the defiant Pearson knelt Thomaston and Gentle.
The blast from the Stinger shot out the back of the tube. The heat singed slightly the left side of Thomaston’s face as the missile left the tube. The missile curled upward toward the approaching aircraft. It was going to be a hard shot. The Stinger was an old handheld antiair missile, designed for infrared detection. The jet engines pointed away. He held his breath as the white contrail of the missile looped and swirled, seeking a target. If the heat signature of the jet engines was masked sufficiently, the missile would be past the aircraft before it could lock on.
The Dragonfly stopped firing, flipped to the left, bringing the aircraft almost vertical to the ground. The missile passed along the bottom of the jet fighter. The A-37 shook from the near miss. The aircraft continued its turn. The wings whipped down suddenly, bringing the aircraft level. The sound of engine power increasing reached their ears. The light-attack and reconnaissance aircraft disappeared behind the community center and out over the rain forest. The pilot was leaving. An explosion from behind the community center announced the impact of the Stinger missile.
“Good work, Sergeant Major,” Thomaston said, patting Gentle twice on the shoulder.
“Shit, it was,” Gentle said angrily. “If it had been a good shot, it would have splashed that son of a bitch across kingdom come.”
People emerged from where they had taken cover.
“The good news is no one got hurt,” Thomaston said. “They have you to thank for that.”
Sergeant Major Gentle stood. He tossed the useless antiaircraft-missile canister to the ground. “The bad news is, it can come back anytime it wants.”
“That’s true. But now that they know we’re armed, they won’t be as willing to come,” Thomaston said. He also knew if he were on the other side, he would increase the number of aircraft, change the tactics slightly, and mount a combined infantry and air assault.
The option of heading toward the Ivory Coast was available. But when was the question. The Ivory Coast was a smaller African country east of Liberia. The French Foreign Legion provided the security for the Ivory Coast. If the people in Kingsville reached the border, they would be safe.
* * *
Jamal reached up and with the back of his hand wiped the dust from his eyes. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of the jungle casting rapidly changing shadows of deep brush and trees into shades of greens, black, and brown. Along with the coming dawn came a better view of what Jamal and the others called “the road.” The leafy limbs of a bush splashed through the open window as the SUV passed it. Morning dew splattered the three in the backseat. The few feet of separation between the lead SUV, where Uncle Nathan rode, and Jamal’s revealed two deep ruts leading farther into the jungle ahead of them. Jamal looked at the driver, who yawned and cupped his fist against his mouth. In the center of the front seat was a young man who Jamal didn’t know. The man was sleeping, his head tilted back against the seat, lightly bouncing with the bumps, dead to the world in his exhaustion. Riding shotgun was a man Jamal had met during one of the American picnics — he couldn’t remember his name, but it didn’t manner. His mom and dad always told him to call grown-ups Mister and Missus. The older man blinked his eyes several times, reached forward, opened a bottle of water, and splashed some of it on his hand to wash around his eyes.
Behind Jamal, in the compartment area, were rows of plastic containers full of gasoline and water.
The engine sounds of the four SUVs and one pickup mixed with the loud cacophony of waking Africa. They weren’t going fast. He leaned forward and saw the speedometer wasn’t even registering a speed. The car hit a hole, throwing everyone up off their seats. If he hadn’t been belted, his head would have hit the ceiling. As it was, the edge of the rifle barrel clipped his chin, bringing water to his eyes from the brief burst of pain. He touched it, discovered no blood, and moved his jaw back and forth. It was sore. Mom told him he bruised easily.
The wheels tore up the slight vegetation, sending gray dust whirling around the vehicles to settle on the ones following. Jamal rolled the window up another half inch, shut his eyes again, and waited for sleep to come again. At least with his eyes shut, nobody bothered him with cute questions grown-ups enjoy asking kids his age. He didn’t feel like a kid his age anymore. And, he sure didn’t want to feel forced into a series of Yes’ems and No’ems with a bunch of grown-ups. He concentrated on slowing his breathing as his cousin taught him. She told Jamal that you could go to sleep if you lay on your back, relax your muscles until they feel like jelly, and slow your breathing. He never figured out if it worked because he always fell asleep. With his eyes shut, and morning wakefulness fighting off further sleep, thoughts and travails of last night whirled around his twelve-year-old mind. After several minutes, Jamal decided having his eyes open was more comforting.
He turned in the seat to look behind them. Selma should be in that Land Rover. The dust was thick across its windshield. Jamal could only make out the outline of the driver’s face. It wasn’t only dust that made it hard to see. The jerking of the vehicle made his head bounce, and the light haze of the African rain forest morning wavered a few feet above the ground, almost at eye level. Probably wouldn’t have been able to see the driver if the man hadn’t been leaning with his face nearly against the windshield. Jamal faced forward again, resting his hands on his knees.
The driver had the window down with an elbow propped through the window. He had turned off the air conditioner hours ago to save gasoline. They had two choices: roll down the windows and suffocate on the dust, or leave them up and suffocate from the heat. Jamal was hot and dirty. He held his hands up, amazed at the dirt caked on them. He’d never thought he would wish for a bath.
The SUV slowed, and then stopped to the sound of emergency brakes being set. Uncle Nathan got out and walked back along the convoy.
His uncle leaned down at the driver’s window. “Richard,” he said to the driver, patting him a couple of times on the arm as he looked around at the others inside the SUV. “Rest of you, just talked with the radioman at Kingsville. They know our situation and will try to keep in contact with us. It’s going to be hard during the daylight according to Beaucoup Charlie. Sunspot activity and all that. We should be able to regain contact tonight. Meanwhile, we keep moving. Richard, how is your gas situation?”
“They going to come out and meet us when we get closer?” the man sitting on the other side of the nice lady asked. He was heavyset; a slight paunch hid his belt. The short-sleeve shirt revealed a dark tattoo on the deep black skin. “Don’t he know how few we are and how we need some help?”
Uncle Nathan looked at the man, but didn’t say anything.
“You’re leading this bunch, aren’t ya, Nate.”
Uncle Nathan nodded. “Yeah, George, I guess I am leading this bunch. But this back road—this trail, or whatever we are on—none of us know. You know where it goes?”
“Nope, guess not,” George replied, leaning back.
“George, if you haven’t traveled it, you know none of the rest of us have.” Uncle Nathan sighed. “We’re all in the same boat. All I can do is keep following this trail we call a road and keep an eye on the compass. If we’re lucky, this track will keep heading east and cross the main road. If it does, then we can jack up the speed to a blinding ten miles per hour and maybe get to Kingsville by tomorrow night.”
“And what if we reach the main road and find rebels have it?” Richard asked as he reached up with a cloth and wiped the dust and sweat from his face.
The young man in the center woke up, stretched, and leaned forward to listen to the conversation.
The driver looked at the gauge. “Just under half a tank, Nate.”
“Man, we ain’t gonna make it,” George said, his voice high.
“We’re going to make it, George.” Nathan patted the driver on the arm a couple of times and walked away, heading toward the third vehicle. The men in the pickup had laid their weapons in the bed of the truck and were stretching.
Jamal looked at the man Uncle Nathan called George. What if they didn’t make it? What if he never returned to Monrovia? How would he know for sure if Mom and Dad escaped? Jamal leaned back against the seat, his head turned upward, feeling the heat working its way down from the roof. Though the movement of the vehicle had been slow, it had at least provided some circulation of the air and kept the heat manageable.
The lady reached over and put her arm around Jamal, startling him. He jerked away, opening his eyes. Staring at him, the woman said over her shoulder to the man called George, “You quit that type of talking, sir. Even if you’re not scaring the young man here, you’re scaring me.”
Jamal saw the man open his mouth to speak, apparently think better of it, and close it. Instead, George shook his head as if the whole thing exasperated him.
Jamal looked at the attractive woman, admiring the thin lips, light complexion, and Roman nose. The caked dust did little to hide the natural beauty.
Richard spoke from the driver’s seat. “You’re right, Victoria. George, don’t be an ass—”
The huge man’s eyes narrowed. Victoria turned in her seat and touched the giant once on the arm. “We’re still alive and we’re moving toward General Thomaston and his group. That’s all any of us can do. There’s no safety behind us and there may be no safety around us.”
“Yeah, George,” Richard added. “None of us even know when we reach Kingsville if we’ll be safe. All we know is that there are fellow Americans ahead. Brothers and sisters who we can join and offer mutual protection. To do that, we’ve got to get there. We’re all right.”
Jamal leaned back again as the woman removed her arm from the top of the seat.
“We’re all right?” George shouted. “You trying to tell me we’re all right! If we’re all right, then why in the hell did only five carloads of us make it out of town? I’ll tell you why,” the heavy man said, leaning forward, bringing his face close to the back of the driver’s neck. “Let’s be truthful,” George went on, his voice low, powerful. “The fact is, it’s going to be awful hard to make Kingsville. I think we know that by the time we near Thomaston and his band of merry men, the rebels will be between us and him.”
Jamal turned his head and watched the man. He jumped when George jerked his thumb at him. “And you, boy, might as well get used to the fact that none of us may make it out of this hellhole.” George’s head twisted from person to person as he continued. “If we’d been smart, we’d’ve listened to Thomaston when he asked us to move to Kingsville and help them build his dream out of the jungle. But no, we hadda believe that bullshit about living in the capital. We had to listen to our State Department geniuses who told us how much influence we could have if we just lived in Monrovia.” The man pulled his M-16 up from between his legs and pointed it out the window. “Don’t worry. I’m just shifting the weight a little.” The man paused for a moment.
“There may be others,” the woman said.
“Woman, they’re all dead but us. They are dead, dead, dead, and the only reason we ain’t dead is those assholes were having so much fun killing the others that it gave the rest of us a chance to escape.”
The woman reached over and touched George’s arm. “That may be true. Is it Mr. George?” she asked.
“Just George. I don’t use my last name.”
“Well, George, that may be true, but sometimes we must face our fears and put our concerns aside until we have time to worry about them. If we make it, then it’ll be because of people like you who help us through this jungle.”
George opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but instead he looked down at her arm and stared at it until she moved her hand. “And who in the hell are you?” he asked. “I ain’t seen you around before. And don’t patronize me, woman. Just because I say it like it is, doesn’t mean I’m gonna run off into this jungle and leave you, the brat, or anyone else to those fanatics. I may bitch, but don’t confuse my bitching with being afraid.”
The man leaned back against the seat, his face turned toward the open window. Branches from a nearby bush trapped against the side of the SUV freed themselves, swinging through the window across George’s face. Big George reached up and pushed the broad leaves outside and away from the vehicle. “This ain’t gonna be a good day,” George muttered, just loud enough for those inside the SUV to hear. He spit out the window a couple of times, clearing plant trash from his lips.
Silent minutes passed before Nathan worked his way back up the convoy, past their SUV.
“We have to keep going, Richard,” Nathan said as he walked by, leaning inside the window. “Just keep going. We’ll refuel later when we reach a more open area.”
“Nathan, this is farther than we came three months ago.”
Jamal’s uncle straightened, his chest even with the open driver’s window. Jamal couldn’t see Uncle Nathan’s head above the window, but he heard his reply. “I know. Back then, Richard, we were just seeing where the road led.”
“I think we both knew we would need a way out if something happened in Monrovia.”
Nathan patted the arm again. “Yes, I think we did. We just never said it. Now, we’re committed to what is becoming more of a foot trail than a road.”
“It’s an old logging road,” George said sharply, his head stuck partially out the window. “I’ve also heard it’s an old diamond mining road. It could be either, but I know that we’ve been using it to identify woods with export value. Just never used it to haul them out because it wasn’t wide enough. Wish I had come farther down it.”
“So do I,” Uncle Nathan said. “So do I. Either way, we know we’re heading in the right direction and those ahead of us know we’re coming. It is the best we can do.”
Jamal watched as Uncle Nathan faced the huge man. What if this man reached out and grabbed his uncle Nathan? Jamal looked at his gun. He wondered if he would be able to shoot—
A scream pierced the jungle noise, startling everyone. Even Uncle Nathan whirled with his M-16 pointed toward the jungle.
“Relax,” Victoria said. “That’s just the red colobus — a long-tailed monkey. Lots of animals out here, and that won’t be the first we hear or see. This rain forest is also the home of the bongo antelope, and when we cross the Cestos River, which should be ahead of us, we may be lucky enough to see a pigmy hippopotamus.”
“I can hardly wait,” George said, shaking his head.
Uncle Nathan’s face appeared in the back window. His eyebrows bunched. “Hi, you’re new, aren’t you?”
“Victoria Pearl,” the woman replied, reaching forward to shake Nathan’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pearl. Didn’t realize we had a conservationist along with us.”
“Probably explains why we’ve hit it off so well,” George said roughly.
“Jamal, how you doing, my favorite nephew?” Uncle Nathan asked, diverting the conversation.
“I’m fine, Uncle Nathan.”
Nathan smiled and winked at him. “Your sister Selma is doing great. She’s in the Land Rover with Miss Jenny. You and everyone here are going to be okay.”
“Right,” mumbled George sarcastically.
Nathan’s face disappeared. “Richard, we’ll go another hour. Should reach the Cestos River by then, if the obstacles in front of us don’t grow any worse. We’ll stop out of sight of the river; take a short break. Top off the gas tanks and give everyone a chance to hit the bushes before the sun sets. Then we’ll decide whether to ford it tonigh
t or wait until morning. Either way, we’re going to be in Kingsville in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Sounds like a plan, but I think most of us would like to take a quick pee break now,” Richard said. “Me, for one.”
Uncle Nathan looked both ways. “No place to go, Richard. Let’s move up until we find a place where people can step away from the vehicles.”
Nathan inched his way toward the lead vehicle.
“We’ll do fine,” Victoria said. “We haven’t seen a soul on this road. Most likely, those rebels don’t even know we’re here.”
“What you smoking, woman? And they ain’t rebels. They’re fucking terrorists. And of course we ain’t seen anything on this road. That’s because you can’t see anything on this road. What are those things sticking through the windows? They’re bushes. Hello!” George slapped his palm against his forehead. “That’s why we haven’t seen anything, woman.”
“You know, Mr. George, if you really try hard, you may turn out to be quite the conversationalist.”
“I ain’t no conservationist. I already told ya that.”
“Take it easy, George,” Richard said. “She said conversationalist,” he drawled out.
The young man in the center turned in his seat. “I’ve seen you fight, Mr. George. It was in the—”
“Yeah, we’ve seen him fight,” Richard interrupted. “But I don’t think we’ve seen him do it sober.”
“Man, I’m gonna rip your lips right off—”
“You two leave Mr. George alone,” Victoria said. “He’s as concerned for his safety as we are for ours.”
George stared at Victoria for a few seconds, his face twisted in anger, before turning away to stare into the wall of vegetation that blocked his vision. Jamal shivered involuntarily. The man was scary. Jamal looked forward. Uncle Nathan slid into the backseat behind the driver of the lead SUV. The high screams of monkeys skittering overhead among the limbs and vines of the rain forest drowned out the idling engine sounds.
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