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

‘The rings,’ I said to Amelia.

‘What about them?’

‘Quick, give them to me.’

‘OK.’ She knelt, yanked open the neck of her left shoe, rolled down her sock, and pulled out a little roll of material which she’d wedged next to her ankle. With one eye on the negotiating adults, I unfolded it surreptitiously. Even in this dull light the rings glowed. I quickly balled the little parcel up again and turned to Mo.

‘Take these,’ I said.

‘Eh?’

‘Just take them. They’re more use to you than us. Help this lot with them,’ I said, taking in the abject kids around us. ‘Wait for the right moment, with the right guard, then buy their freedom.’

‘I can’t accept,’ said Mo, pushing the rings back at me. ‘They are your currency.’

‘Worth more to you,’ I said. ‘Please.’

Amelia said, ‘He’s right, Mo. It makes intrinsic sense and you know it.’

What she meant by ‘intrinsic’ I had no idea, but Mo nodded.

‘Just hide them before …’ Xander petered out as the adults swung their attention back to us. Mercifully Mo had already accepted the little package. He slid it behind his back.

The soldiers were in among us now, pushing and shoving, separating Xander, Amelia and me from the group. The Leopard stood to one side. He had his phone out and was tapping at it. Meanwhile his fat accomplice loomed over the three of us, one hand on the stock of his rifle, everything about him ordering ‘stay put’.

The tall guy with the rolled sleeves seemed to be in charge of the other government soldiers. He barked at Mo and his rag-tag group, prompting them to jostle into two lines. Mo was in the middle of the nearest one. I’ve never known a tougher, cleverer or more resourceful kid, but right then he looked small and weary and utterly beaten.

The tall guy with the rolled sleeves spat out another gout of red gunk and gave a further order, at which the phalanx of recaptured children started back the way we’d come. Mo turned briefly to the three of us as they were marched away. He tried to smile but his face was filled with despair.

54.

The fat, sweat-stained soldier used his gun barrel to point the way he wanted us to go. I hobbled along with the others in front of him. The Leopard followed last. My limping was pretty obvious. Still, he felt the need to point it out.

‘You’ve been in the wars, Jack.’

I said nothing.

‘Is it painful?’

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of a truthful answer, so opted for more silence instead.

‘Well, we don’t have far to go. I’m sure you can make it.’

He actually sounded quite concerned but was probably just worried he’d get less of a ransom for damaged goods. I gritted my teeth against the pain and kept going. I was feeling more and more light-headed. The relentless wind kept up its scouring. In my addled state it sounded like the sea, a jet, a chainsaw.

I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to Mo and the others, but it seemed to be all I could think about as we staggered on. He’d been right about the impossibility of escape. However General Sir punished them would be on me. I’d forced Mo to flee the camp, co-opted a band of innocent youngsters to come with us, and led the lot of them straight into a deeper danger than they already faced. I’d failed Xander and Amelia. I’d failed myself. But worst of all, somehow, I’d failed Mo and his helpers.

At some point my pace slowed so much Xander decided I needed helping. He dragged my right arm around his shoulders and took some of my weight. His shoulders were bony. Next, Amelia had hold of me from the other side. The three of us staggered on into the gale. It sounded like an engine now. In fact, it was an engine. A jeep was tearing up dust as it raced our way.

‘We should. Flag it. Need to. Down,’ I muttered. I could tell I wasn’t making much sense, but the jeep – which turned into a Land Rover as it got closer – seemed our last hope. If we could just alert the driver, maybe he’d save us. ‘Wave. Help,’ I managed, but nobody did anything about it.

Miraculously, not fifty metres away, the Land Rover slowed to a halt. We were headed straight towards it. Maybe its driver would in fact come to the rescue. A ridiculous hope, I know, but it took me an age to realise the obvious: the 4x4 was coming for us deliberately because the Leopard had called for it.

The very same soldier who’d accompanied him and his fat friend to buy boys for the army from General Sir was behind the wheel. We had marched back to the dirt road. Now the Leopard himself was opening up the Land Rover’s rear door and, since I seemed to be too weak to climb up onto the running board, helping Xander and Amelia bundle me inside.

The adults took the front seats and once everyone was aboard the doors shut with a clump-clump. This cut the wind dead. In the silence before the 4x4 took off Amelia whispered two words: ‘Poor Mo.’

A wave of guilt swept through me so hard I groaned out loud.

Xander patted my shoulder and muttered, ‘They have something to bargain with at least.’

‘Correct,’ said Amelia. ‘Taking the rings into consideration, they’re better off than they were beforehand.’

Xander was doing his best to be positive but his, ‘So are we, right?’ sounded tentative.

The Leopard was just there, right in front of us. He craned round in his seat to look us over, even managing to fake some concern with those steady, wide-spaced eyes. I wanted to ask him where he was taking us, what would happen to Mo now, and how he could live with himself