CHAPTER 20
John and the three youths moved through the jungle slowly. John could move a lot faster on his own, but though the other three had been living out here for well over a month, they still didn’t have the training to move stealthily. John also kept an eye on his scanner. It still told him that the cameras weren’t active, so he had no fear of being spotted that way. The satellites overhead were another issue, but as long as they stayed undercover, they should be hard to find.
He did his best to estimate the pace the Arab soldiers would set after the cameras went down. He still believed the soldiers would move towards the ambush site of the Russians to try and pick up the trail of the three youths. He didn’t want to come across them prematurely and get into a firefight without first being in an advantageous position.
Sylvester followed behind John, his face set. The young man had really matured during his time on the Island. He still carried a plethora of personal demons with him, but he didn’t act nearly as scared as he once had. He moved with more confidence. However, there was still a wary air about him, like prey that knew a predator was about, but unsure exactly where and so didn’t quite know which way to run.
Neesha came next. She stumbled often, her hands going to her head as stabs of pain caused her to reel. It was Ali who reached out to steady her and keep her moving. Neesha’s time on the Island had stripped away the little fat she had on her body, leaving her thin, nearly emaciated. John figured some of that was the result of the tumor in brain, and it caused John no end of concern. Still, her experiences had changed her profoundly. She no longer snapped at him or the others, and she even expressed gratitude towards Ali every time he came to her aid.
Ali probably had undergone the greatest change. His time on the Island had hardened his muscles, and his already lean frame seemed more angled and sharpened than before. He moved easily over the terrain, his muscles rippling under his worn shirt. Given half the chance, the young man would prove quite the athlete. But it was his attitude and perspective that had changed the most. No longer did he seethe with hatred towards people who did not share his faith. His entire demeanor seemed to have flipped. John suspected that what he was seeing now was the true personality that had always lain within the young man. If it hadn’t been for some twisted men who had deliberately warped Ali’s thinking, he would never have sought to hurt anyone.
Returning his attention back to the task at hand, John touched his ear. “Trigger, you back at the hut yet?”
“Yeah,” came Trigger’s voice. “I’m here.”
“Any luck so far?”
“Nothing. I’m scanning for their frequencies, but even if I find it, it will no doubt be encrypted.”
“I don’t need to listen in. I just need to know where they are. Once you pick up the signal, can you task a satellite to triangulate their position?”
“I said I’ll try,” Trigger grumbled. “Shut up and let me work, Cap.”
“Sorry.” He held his hand up. “Stop,” he whispered to the three youths trailing him. “We’ll wait here until we have a better fix on everyone’s location. If we stumble around out here, we’re likely to get ourselves killed.”
They nodded. Only Sty seemed to want to say something, but John shook his head. He pointed to a point halfway up a nearby slope. “Sylvester, go there and keep a look out. Ali, take a position about 100 yards further. Stay low and try not to move much. If you see anyone, try to signal me without warning them. If you fear being seen, just stay where you are.”
Both young men nodded again and moved past John and slipped into the trees. John winced as one of them stepped on a branch, the snapping sound seemed unnaturally loud to his ears.
Neesha sighed and sat down, her back to a tree trunk. She rubbed at her temples, and John worried about her ability to concentrate. He wondered if he should have sent her back with Trigger, but he had wanted her nearby where he could keep an eye out for her. Trigger had a priority problem and would often lose focus on the main task at hand unless directly supervised.
“Okay,” came Trigger’s voice in his ear. “I might have found something.”
“What?”
“I think I have isolated their frequency, but they are using one of those new dispersal signals that gets bounced around a lot. I’m not sure I’ll be able to locate them precisely, but I do think they are somewhere in your area.”
John’s skin prickled. Could they have moved so quickly? He had counted on the Arabs being more cautious in their approach. He hesitated, looking at Neesha, who continued to rest against the tree with her eyes closed.
Just then a shout echoed through the jungle and someone began shooting. Cursing to himself, John drew his handgun. “Neesha, crawl into that brush and don’t make a sound. Understand?”
The girl had looked up as soon as the shooting had begun. Her eyes looked haunted, but she nodded and crawled into the thick brush off to one side of the trail. John turned from her and slipped like a cat into the jungle, making his way to the shots. It sounded as if there were only two shooters. One of them was either Ali or Sylvester, and the other had to be one of the Arabs. But where were the other two?
A soft crunch of military boots on uneven ground was the only warning John had. He dropped straight down even as a staccato line of bullets clipped leaves and branches over his head. He rolled towards the shooter, knowing it to be harder to track someone who is inside the arc of your gun. He came out of his roll and fired three rounds into the Arab soldier who stood next to a tree. The man yelped, almost as if someone had just kicked him, not shot him. He looked at John in amazement and then fell over dead.
The shooting had no doubt alerted the other two Arab soldiers. Cursing under his breath, he stayed low, waiting and listening. The shooting had stopped further up the trail. John had no way to interpret that silence, but his imagination picked out the worst case scenarios to afflict his thinking.
Suddenly, someone was running frantically down the trail right at him. John leveraged himself to one knee and aimed his handgun in the direction of the sounds. Ali burst out of the underbrush, his eyes wild, his mouth moving in words that refused to find breath. John swore and jumped to the side to avoid being run over by the terrified young man.
And immediately collided with Ali’s pursuers. In a tangle of arms, legs, curses, and words in a language he didn’t understand, he fell to the ground with two other men on top of him. He kicked, scratched, and bit. One of his bites succeeded in ripping a chunk of flesh out of someone’s face. The man howled and struggled to back away.
An elbow caught him in the face and he nearly blacked out. Grunting, he shoved the other man off him and rolled to his feet. His gun was lost, dropped during the scuffle. He looked at his two opponents. Both Arab soldiers were struggling to their own feet. One looked unarmed, but the other was drawing a pistol from a side holster.
With a snarl, John flung himself at the greater threat. He jumped, twisted, and kicked the man full in the face. With a cry of surprise and pain, the kicked Arab went flying back to hit a palm tree. He hit it awkwardly at an angle and went spinning into more brush, his weapon falling from his hand.
And then the other soldier was on him. A blow to his nose flattened it, knocking him backwards. Blood spurted from it, running down his mouth. He tasted the salty substance and spat it out. He roared in anger, arrested his backwards momentum and lurched forward, trying to grapple with his opponent before he could bring either a gun or knife to bear.
He ducked a wild swing and tackled his opponent. They both went down hard. He heard the wind get knocked out of the other man, and John took full advantage of the opportunity. He jabbed his fingers into the Arab’s eye. He let out a screech of pain and flailed about violently. John fended off the blows and tried to jab stiffened fingers into the Arab’s throat, but the man dodged and flung him off.
John rolled to his feet only to dive frantically away as the second Arab came charging back in, having found his pistol. Bullets tore into
the ground behind him as he dodged behind a tree. Cursing, John drew his machete, wondering what good it would do against a gun. Two more rounds blasted chunks of wood from the trunk of the tree he hid behind.
A strangled cry of rage and fear turned both their attention to Ali as he came barreling back down the trail, his pistol raised in trembling hands. He pulled the trigger reflexively, hardly aiming. The Arab was well trained, and he recognized the threat instantly. He dropped to one knee and brought his own weapon to bear on the charging young man—and hesitated. This was the contestant they had been ordered to protect at all costs.
His hesitation cost him his life. Ali got a lucky shot off. The bullet ripped through the Arab’s jaw, spinning him around violently. He fell on his face, twitching violently. A sharp wail of pain began to rise from the injured man.
John jumped out from the tree and ran over to the first Arab soldier who was groggily trying to get back to his feet and slashed the man’s throat with his machete. A spray of blood splashed over John and the other soldier staggered back, gaping at him in shocked surprise. His hands went up to the cut reflexively, and then he lost all strength and collapsed to the ground. A pool of blood spread out from his neck.
Ali stumbled to his knees, breathing heavily. He was still pulling the trigger of his handgun, but it just clicked, out of ammunition. The man he had shot was still twitching, though his cries had turned into more of a gurgle as blood filled his mouth and throat. Finally, after seemingly an eternity, the Arab soldier shuddered and went still.
Exhaustion stole over John as the adrenaline rush began to fade. He dropped his machete and walked over to where Ali knelt on the ground. The gun had fallen from his hand and lay like a dead thing among brown leaves and moss. Reaching down, John hauled the young man to his feet. It felt like trying to lift a car.
Ali stood trembling, looking down at the man he had killed. “I didn’t want to do that,” he whispered. “But I couldn’t just let them kill you.”
“Glad you did, son,” John said tiredly. The words came out wheezy, since his broken nose refused to allow him to breathe properly. He snorted out a clump of blood and wiped his face with the edge of his shirt. He got rid of most of the blood that way. “Where’s Sylvester?”
Ali looked at him with haunted eyes. “I think he’s dead. I saw him get shot.” He swallowed. “That’s when I ran.”
With a sinking feeling, John turned away. “Find Neesha,” he ordered. “She is hiding back that way.” He gestured vaguely down the trail. He trudged up the trail. He stopped only long enough to retrieve his handgun. He spotted the tree Sty had been hiding behind by the fact that a splash of red now decorated its trunk. Swallowing his bile, he broke into a half jog up the slope of the hill.
Sylvester was dead. A single shot to the head had ended the young man’s life. John stood over the body for a long time, wondering where he had gone wrong. He had so desperately wanted to get all of them out alive. Now that hope was gone.