compass. If we’re lucky, this track will keep heading east and cross the main road. If it does, thenwe 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.
“Then I think we’ll have to go faster,” Nathan answered, smiling. “Gas, Richard?”
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
“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.
“Then I think we’ll have to go faster,” Nathan answered, smiling. “Gas, Richard?”
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
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