I turned right, and was running like a motherfucker for the lobby and the hospital. We had sixteen patients occupying beds in that ward, and I had to get them out. As I approached the lobby I could hear shrill cries of terror, and the racking coughs of people who are dying from smoke inhalation. The doorway leading to the hospital was a sheet of flame. I'm as brave as the next man, but I'm not suicidal. It was clear a second fire had been started in the ward, and if I tried to save them I would only succeed in joining them in death.
The fire was advancing from both fronts now, about to capture me in Hell's own pincer. The sounds of agony faded from the hospital. I turned and raced for the front doors.
They were locked.
Panic was hammering in my throat. Sixteen people had died because someone was trying to murder me. My knuckles were white as I gripped the push handle, and rattled it impotently. But they had not considered one fact. I'm a joker with the body of a pony. Pit ponies in the mines in Britain can pull up to three times their own weight. I'm strong.
Whirling, I lined up my ass with the thick glass, and let fly with both hind feet. The glass starred and cracked. One more kick, and glass formed a crystal waterfall. I had to jump the access bar. It was a little like threading a needle. I caught my hindfeet, and fell into an ungainly heap on the steps of the clinic.
As I lay there panting, and hurting (my burned tail hurt like hell), a bullet sprayed concrete dust into my face. I was on my feet and running in an instant.
I don't know how I thought of this in my terror and pain, but I found my hand going to the pocket of my lab coat, and the precious pipette of serum. Amazingly it was still intact. There was a mind numbing crash of thunder from directly overhead, and the heavens opened up. Within seconds the dusty streets of Kilango had become rivers of sticky mud. I was slogging for my van. I had to get out. Get to Nairobi.
And do what? I wondered. In an instant a lifetime of loving support from friends and family had vanished. I was a joker and I distrusted all nats. I reached the van. Yanked open the side door, and clambered in. My hooves sounded like a chorus of castanets on the metal floor. Trembling I pulled the keys from the ashtray, thrust them into the ignition, and turned.
Silence.
These assholes thought of everything. I was out of the van, and running for the steep incline of the Ngong Hills. The high wire fence which surrounded Kilango looked intact, but there was a place where the kids had clipped out an opening, and then carefully folded the wire back into place to hide their sin. I had used it myself, and had kept the secret. There was the sharp report of a high powered rifle being fired, and an angry supersonic bee ripped along my hip. I shrieked, bucked, and resumed running.
Where were those fucking guards? I wondered. Of course, there were only two of them, and they might be drugged or dead, or maybe just not give a shit because I was a joker, and someone had just declared open season.
My lungs were laboring, and my legs felt like four pillars of jelly by the time I reached the ridgeback. I thought about heading north along the ridge toward Nairboi, then realized that my hunters had probably thought of that. Machakos, Konza, Kajiado — all were too distant for a tired centaur to reach. I stared down into the shadow well of the Rift Valley. The game preserve was below. I'd take my chances among the flora and fauna of Africa. Hide out until the heat was off, make my way cautiously north, then climb back over the Ngong to Nairobi. I again reassured myself of the safety of my precious pipette.
I stood dithering on the edge of eternity — literally in my case — and wished for a flashlight. My pursuers threw some light on matters. If you've never seen a high powered rifle fired at night it is a sight designed to stand your hair on end. A tongue of flame several feet long gouts from the barrel of the rifle. Macho military types are always telling you how great this is because it pinpoints the bad guys for you. Well, that's swell if you're a macho military type, and you also have a gun, but I was a terrified doctor who'd never fired a gun in his life, and I fucking knew where the bad guys were — they were chasing me!
I dove off the crest of the hill, and in a shower of pebbles and dirt began my skittering descent into the Great Rift Valley.
***
By ten o'clock I was a wreck. The sun looked like a polished bronze disk in the sky. Heat and dust hazed the horizon. I had no water. No sun screen. No lip balm. My face and scalp were cooked, my lips blistering. The burned dock of my tail was agony, and without a tail I was tormented by flies.
Occasionally I had passed a watering hole, but the film-encrusted, muddy water looked awful. I'm also a doctor. I knew it was the little gollywogs swimming around in that ugly water that were going to tap dance in my bowels. But sooner or later I was going to have to drink, and then the real fun would start.
My grand plan about hiding wasn't working out so great. The Rift Valley is pretty sparse. Expanses of grassland are occasionally dotted with spreading, flat-topped trees which sprout like desiccated mushrooms. Despite the Long Rain season there was a lot of dust, and that was what kept me running. My hunters were in vehicles, and the dust rose like a peacock's plume from the spinning wheels, pinpointing their location and warning me that despite my best hopes they were not giving up. The pursuit continued.
I was nearing the end of my strength, so I sank down in the sparse shade of a Jacaranda tree, tried to regulate my breathing. I closed my eyes trying to relieve their burning, and wished for dark glasses. A Snickers bar. A Coke. A miracle.
Like a half-remembered song I could now faintly hear the drone of the jeep engines. Wearily I unfolded my legs, and lurched to my feet. I had to grab for support from a low hanging branch as a wave of dizziness took me. The agonizing run continued.
Thankfully God looks out for fools, little children, the United States of America, and jokers. My miracle occurred. As I trotted through a stand of thorn trees I struck gold. The grasslands on the other side were dotted with impala. I hesitated just under the branches of the final tree. Compared. Our hides were an almost perfect match. I gave an experimental sniff to my armpits. Very much a human scent. Rubbed a hand across my side. Sniffed again. Not human. Not animal. Something different — joker scent. Would the impala accept me?
Bending at the waist, I dropped my head as close to the ground as possible, attempting to present the profile of a grazing impala, and edged toward the herd. A big buck lifted his head, snorted, and shook those lyrate horns. The entire herd tensed for a moment. The buck and I regarded each other. With the highlight of white over his liquid brown eyes he had the quality of a lovely and frightened girl. I tried to appear non-threatening. It worked better on the impala then it's worked on most women I've tried to date. The buck snorted a final time, and resumed grazing.
I slipped into the center of the herd, and cast about for any shed or broken horns. Yes, I know, it was a dumb idea, but I wasn't thinking too clearly at that point. Needless to say I didn't find any.
The droning of jeep engines began to break up the quiet of the afternoon. The impala herd came to quivering alertness, and then I saw the inherent flaw in my plan. The hunters would come. Spook the impala. The impala would run. If I couldn't keep pace with them Finn would die.