Paul spoke into the phone.
“I’m still in Ruteng,” Gavin said.
“Then this will be over by the time you can get here.”
“Paul, it’s not safe for you th—”
Paul hung up. Tell me something I don’t know.
He took his knife from his sample kit and slit the back of the tent open. He slid through, James following close behind. They crouched in the mud. Paul saw Margaret standing uncertain at the edge of the jungle. She was frozen in place, watching the men with guns, caught somewhere between running into the camp and running away from it. Paul moved his hand, a subtle gesture to catch her attention. Their eyes met, and Paul motioned toward the jeeps.
She nodded.
They all ran for it.
A dozen yards across the mud, moving quickly. They climbed into a jeep and shut the doors. The soldiers—for that’s what Paul knew they were now—the soldiers didn’t notice them until Paul started the engine. Malay faces swung around, mouths open in shouts of outrage. A gun came up, more shouting, and the message was clear.
Here was the choice, to comply or not. It always came down to a choice.
“You’ll probably want your seat belts for this,” Paul said. Then he gunned it, spitting dirt.
* * *
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” James whispered softly in the backseat, eyes closed in prayer.
“What?” Paul said.
“If they shoot, they’re not police.”
A round smashed through the rear window and blew out a chunk of the front windshield, spidering the safety glass.
“Shit!” Margaret screamed.
A quick glance in the rearview, and Paul saw soldiers climbing into one of the Daihatsus. He yanked the wheel to the right.
“Not that way!” Margaret shouted. Paul ignored her and floored the accelerator.
Jungle whipped past, close enough to touch. Ruts threatened to buck them from the cratered roadway. The Daihatsu whipped into view behind them. Shots rang out, a sound like Chinese firecrackers, the ding of metal. The land sloped downward, and for a moment the road dropped away from jeep’s wheels, maxing out the suspension. The jeep landed and slid and bounced through the mud. Paul fought for control, spinning the wheel in the direction of the slide. The jeep fishtailed, and Paul spun the wheel in the other direction, gunning the engine. Mud sprayed the windows, and they accelerated through another deep rut, going airborne again.
James braced his hand against the roof of the jeep to keep from slamming his head. Margaret screamed in the passenger seat.
More shots rang out, but none struck the jeep. Their pursuers were having the same problem with the road. Still, Paul knew it was only a matter of time. There was no way they’d outrun them.
They rounded the bend, and the river came into view—wide and dumb as the sky itself. The road sloped down to the water’s edge. Paul hit the accelerator.
“We’re not going to make it across!” James shouted.
“We only need to get halfway.”
Another shot slammed into the back of the jeep—a loud crack, the sound of hammer on metal.
They hit the river in a slow-speed crash, water roaring up and over and through the broken windshield, pouring inside in a single muddy glut, soaking the interior of the jeep, the smell of muck overpowering.
Paul stomped his foot to the floor.
The jeep chugged, drifted, caught gravel. The wheels churned across stone. They got about halfway across before Paul yanked the steering wheel to the left. The world came unstuck and started to shift. The right front fender rose up, rocking with the current. The engine died. Sudden silence.
They were floating.
Paul looked back. The pursuing vehicle skidded to a halt at the shoreline and men jumped out. The jeep heaved, one wheel pivoting around a submerged rock.
“Can you swim?” Paul asked.
“Now you ask us?”
“I’d unbuckle if I were you.”
The jeep hit another rock, metal grinding on stone. Then the sky traded places with water and everything went
“I’m still in Ruteng,” Gavin said.
“Then this will be over by the time you can get here.”
“Paul, it’s not safe for you th—”
Paul hung up. Tell me something I don’t know.
He took his knife from his sample kit and slit the back of the tent open. He slid through, James following close behind. They crouched in the mud. Paul saw Margaret standing uncertain at the edge of the jungle. She was frozen in place, watching the men with guns, caught somewhere between running into the camp and running away from it. Paul moved his hand, a subtle gesture to catch her attention. Their eyes met, and Paul motioned toward the jeeps.
She nodded.
They all ran for it.
A dozen yards across the mud, moving quickly. They climbed into a jeep and shut the doors. The soldiers—for that’s what Paul knew they were now—the soldiers didn’t notice them until Paul started the engine. Malay faces swung around, mouths open in shouts of outrage. A gun came up, more shouting, and the message was clear.
Here was the choice, to comply or not. It always came down to a choice.
“You’ll probably want your seat belts for this,” Paul said. Then he gunned it, spitting dirt.
* * *
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” James whispered softly in the backseat, eyes closed in prayer.
“What?” Paul said.
“If they shoot, they’re not police.”
A round smashed through the rear window and blew out a chunk of the front windshield, spidering the safety glass.
“Shit!” Margaret screamed.
A quick glance in the rearview, and Paul saw soldiers climbing into one of the Daihatsus. He yanked the wheel to the right.
“Not that way!” Margaret shouted. Paul ignored her and floored the accelerator.
Jungle whipped past, close enough to touch. Ruts threatened to buck them from the cratered roadway. The Daihatsu whipped into view behind them. Shots rang out, a sound like Chinese firecrackers, the ding of metal. The land sloped downward, and for a moment the road dropped away from jeep’s wheels, maxing out the suspension. The jeep landed and slid and bounced through the mud. Paul fought for control, spinning the wheel in the direction of the slide. The jeep fishtailed, and Paul spun the wheel in the other direction, gunning the engine. Mud sprayed the windows, and they accelerated through another deep rut, going airborne again.
James braced his hand against the roof of the jeep to keep from slamming his head. Margaret screamed in the passenger seat.
More shots rang out, but none struck the jeep. Their pursuers were having the same problem with the road. Still, Paul knew it was only a matter of time. There was no way they’d outrun them.
They rounded the bend, and the river came into view—wide and dumb as the sky itself. The road sloped down to the water’s edge. Paul hit the accelerator.
“We’re not going to make it across!” James shouted.
“We only need to get halfway.”
Another shot slammed into the back of the jeep—a loud crack, the sound of hammer on metal.
They hit the river in a slow-speed crash, water roaring up and over and through the broken windshield, pouring inside in a single muddy glut, soaking the interior of the jeep, the smell of muck overpowering.
Paul stomped his foot to the floor.
The jeep chugged, drifted, caught gravel. The wheels churned across stone. They got about halfway across before Paul yanked the steering wheel to the left. The world came unstuck and started to shift. The right front fender rose up, rocking with the current. The engine died. Sudden silence.
They were floating.
Paul looked back. The pursuing vehicle skidded to a halt at the shoreline and men jumped out. The jeep heaved, one wheel pivoting around a submerged rock.
“Can you swim?” Paul asked.
“Now you ask us?”
“I’d unbuckle if I were you.”
The jeep hit another rock, metal grinding on stone. Then the sky traded places with water and everything went
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