Thunderbolt by Wilbur Smith (reading strategies book .txt) 📕

keep up, because keeping up was all I could do to get back to Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum. The word was a drumbeat in my head. Without it I could not have carried on.

Mum.

Mum.

Mum.

Out of nowhere an almighty thunderbolt blew the whole world a brilliant, deafening white. It was louder and brighter than any lightning strike I’d ever witnessed, and it stopped us dead. We all cowered. The lightning bolt had struck the ground just behind us. The air smelled of burnt earth.

I turned, expecting to see a scorch mark or leaping flames, but in the immediate aftermath of the thunderbolt the gloom had thickened again. Despite this, I saw the men in the distance. This was no random car or wandering goatherd. It was six armed men, rifles slung across their midriffs, purposefully headed our way.

53.

The men were two hundred metres behind us, two-fifty at most. We’d never outrun them. Or at least, not all of us would. I was reeling from the lightning blast, pulsing with poison, delirious with exhaustion, but I still saw the situation for what it was. The men were coming for us all, but we weren’t all of equal value to them. Xander, Amelia and I could be ransomed; the others were cannon fodder. And let’s face it, in my state I was the slowest across this terrain. I grabbed hold of Mo and shouted, ‘Run for it! You and the rest. The three of us will hold them here.’

‘What?!’

‘They’re less likely to hurt us.’

‘You think?’

‘We’re just money to them. For ransom, not war. You guys might still get away. Go!’

Mo stepped closer, put both hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the face. ‘I’m not leaving you here,’ he said simply.

‘Go!’ I repeated. ‘We’re wasting time …’

But none of the other kids had moved off. They were all still rooted to the spot, watching the men approach. I knew it was hopeless, but I couldn’t do the same. I grabbed hold of Mo with one hand and Amelia with the other and staggered forward into the howling gale. They came with me, and Xander followed too, and a few of the other kids trailed in our wake, but I was limping so badly I couldn’t even run properly.

There was a metallic pop and the rushing wind split above us. Another shot followed, fizzing overhead. On I limped. But I was dragging the others now.

‘Jack,’ said Xander. ‘It’s OK, Jack, we tried.’

The next shot hit the ground to our right, sending rock chippings and dust into the air.

‘We can’t outrun bullets,’ Xander said, gently pulling me to a stop.

‘Or indeed them,’ said Amelia, who’d turned to face the advancing men.

I turned too. They’d halved the distance between us and they weren’t even running at speed, just jogging steadily towards us. As they came closer our little group gathered together. I looked from child to child. All of them had their eyes on the ground. They were so utterly resigned to whatever was coming next, I could have wept. The escape plan, such as it was, had failed, and since it had been my plan it was my fault.

I lifted my gaze to meet the approaching men. Now that we’d stopped, they had slowed to a walk. They were close enough for me to see them properly. I expected to find General Sir among the six, possibly with Kayd and Liban. They would want revenge. So be it. It took me a second to realise that none of the three were there.

‘Uniforms,’ Xander murmured.

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ said Amelia.

In my befuddled state I was slow to catch on, but yes, I recognised the uniform too. These guys were Somali military, dressed like the men who’d visited General Sir’s compound. In fact, the nearest man was the heavyset soldier who’d accompanied the Leopard guy to buy recruits. He had big sweat patches under his arms and a sheen across his forehead.

But he wasn’t the reason my skin was crawling. That was the fault of the last man who came into view as the soldiers fanned out. Also wearing desert fatigues, but not the same government issue, this man was unarmed, white and unmistakable: Mr Leopold – the Leopard – whose photograph I’d first seen on Mum’s laptop screen. Unlike the big soldier, he wasn’t puffing. He looked us over with a hint of amusement in his deadpan grey eyes.

‘Jack, Amelia, Xander: great to catch up with you,’ he said at length. ‘And on such a lovely day. Quite a lightning strike, eh?’

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he turned to the assembled soldiers and conversed with them in their own language.

‘What’s going on?’ Amelia asked Mo.

‘They’re working out who takes who.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘The Leopard guy wants to split us up,’ he muttered. ‘He’s going to take you three on. We’re being dealt with separately.’

The negotiation, if that’s what it was, seemed not to be going entirely smoothly. There were raised voices. A tall soldier with neatly rolled shirtsleeves appeared to object to what the Leopard was proposing. He was chewing something red and spat it out at the Leopard’s feet, both hands cradling his gun across his chest.

‘This doesn’t feel good,’ Amelia said beside me.

I knew what she meant, but something about the Leopard’s calm was reassuring: he seemed more bored than upset about the tall soldier’s objection. He held himself very still and upright, as if to say the situation was simple as he saw it.

By contrast, a million thoughts were piling through my head. How had they tracked us down so easily? Was it a tip-off from the goatherd, or had we been seen from the road, or was our route that predictable?

If they were splitting us up that had to mean the Leopard had decided to claim the ransom money after all. We were in his hands now. Although I hated him for it, I had a reluctant sense this was