“That patrol boat had kids on it. Kids with guns.” It reminded him of Iraq. Kids… I don’t want to fight kids.
“Yeah,” said Jerusha. “It did.” He didn’t need to look at her to know how she felt. She was sad. Wally was getting to know her moods, the nuances of her emotions, just from the tone of her voice. Somehow that felt like a small bright spot in what was otherwise turning into a pretty bad deal all around.
“Do you think that’s what she meant? Turning the kids into soldiers? Like maybe they’re gonna do that to Lucien?”
“I don’t… Ouch.” She slapped at her neck, then flicked a squashed bug into the river. The sharp slap ricocheted down the river. “I’m afraid it might, Wally.”
“Me, too. I figure Nyunzu must be where they’re doing it. It’s where they’ve got Lucien at. But he’ll be okay once we get there. They all will, all those kids.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Wally fell silent, thinking. The river forked again. As always, Jerusha took the wider branch. A small island, just a sliver of brush and trees, separated them from the other branch. Wally could see the water on the other side. All around them, the jungle chattered, shrieked, and sang with life. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Or, I mean, you know, what I almost said.”
She was silent again. This time, he knew, she was cocking an eyebrow at him. An expression halfway between bemusement and irritation. He could picture it.
“Sometimes I say dumb stuff. But I don’t mean anything by it, okay?” As soon as the words came out, Wally realized this was a dumb thing to say, too. It could give her the wrong idea. Then she’d hate him, and he really, really didn’t want Jerusha to hate him. They were partners now, and had to work together. He needed her help. But that wasn’t all of it. He just… wanted Jerusha to like him.
“I mean, I don’t always say dumb stuff. Sometimes people think
… aw, heck. Remember that thing with me and Stuntman? Back when we were all on TV?”
Guardedly: “Yyyyyeeeeessss.”
“I didn’t say that stuff.”
Jerusha laughed. Not a real gut-busting laugh, but it was still the most he’d heard her laugh since they started traveling together. “I know, Wally. Everybody knows it.”
Wally sighed. That was a small relief. “Well, okay. That’s good. I just wanted to…”
He trailed off again as they passed the last bit of island. The two branches of the river rejoined behind them. Neat. It reminded him of canoe camping trips, back home.
Wally turned around just in time to see the boy on the prow of the hidden patrol boat leveling his rifle. “Get down!” he yelled. Jerusha must have seen his expression, because she was out of the pilot’s chair and diving under the gunwale almost before the warning passed his lips.
Tat-tat-tat. Tat-ping-tat. The boy squeezed off two bursts. One round cracked off Wally’s bicep and sent up a white spray from the river. Another shattered the windscreen. “Jerusha?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “I-”
But then Wally couldn’t hear anything except the howl of a motor. A big motor. Jerusha reached up from her hiding spot to wrench the wheel, aiming for the riverbank.
The Leopard Man yelled something. The patrol boat roared out of its hiding spot. It streaked like an arrow toward where they would make land. More bullets whizzed past them. Wally stood. Their boat rocked precariously, but he tried his best to shield Jerusha.
Ping-ping-ping. Hailstones falling on a tin roof.
Twenty feet to shore. Ten feet.
“Jerusha, stay behind me!”
At the last second, she wrenched the wheel again and killed the motor. They swung around, keeping Wally between her and the patrol boat as they bumped up against the roots of a massive mahogany tree leaning out over the water.
Pingpingpingpingpingping.
He crossed the boat in one stride, bullets pattering harmlessly against his back, and grabbed Jerusha under the arms. “Hold on,” he said. And then, as gently as he could, he hurled her into the jungle.
It nearly capsized the boat. Water slopped over the gunwales. A crash and an oof! emanated from somewhere in the brush. Wally spun to face their attackers, hoping to heck that Jerusha wasn’t hurt.
The Leopard Man shouted another order. The soldier at the wheel-the only other adult on the patrol boat-gunned the engine, wedging them between Wally and the shore. Two kids stood up front, along with the Leopard Man. The driver was in the middle; another kid stood in the stern.
Wally jumped onto the prow of the other boat, to keep them from going after Jerusha. The Leopard Man scrambled backward, out of the reach of Wally’s arms, yelling another order. All three kids (they’re just kids!) opened up with their rifles. All Wally could think about through the cacophony of gunfire was putting an end to this before a deadly ricochet killed one of the kids, just like what had happened to poor King Cobalt back in Egypt.
Wally called up his wild card power and lunged forward, reaching for a rifle with both hands. The kids tried to scoot out of reach. One barrel crumpled in his fist. The second rifle he didn’t quite manage to grab, but he grazed it with a finger, which was all he needed to command the iron inside the gun to disintegrate. It crumbled.
The third kid stopped firing, but the driver pulled his sidearm and extended his arm toward Wally’s head.
Cripes! Don’t you guys pay any attention? You could shoot one of these kids! Wally pushed the two disarmed boys into the river. It wasn’t entirely safe there, but it was a lot safer than standing next to Wally while people shot at him. Then he spun, grabbed the gun in the driver’s outstretched hand, and squeezed.
The driver screamed. Wally flipped him halfway across the river.
The third boy darted past him and jumped to shore, followed closely by the Leopard Man.
“Hey! Leave her alone!” Wally charged after them.
The kid hadn’t gone a dozen yards when the earth under his feet erupted in a mass of vines. They enveloped him in seconds. Right on, Jerusha!
The Leopard Man skidded to a halt. He spun to face Wally, and melted.
No, he didn’t melt. But his body flowed like soft wax, becoming low and sleek while the yellow-and-black spotted pattern on his fez oozed down, covering his body with fur.
The big cat snarled, revealing a mouthful of fangs. Muscles rippled under the fur with deadly grace as it prowled back and forth, growling. Then, like a spring uncoiling, it leapt. Fangs clicked against Wally’s throat. Inch-long claws scrabbled ineffectually at his shoulders and chest. The leopard fell off him and collected itself for another try.
“Aw, come on, fella. Give it a rest, would ya?”
The leopard lunged again. Wally caught it in midair with a punch to the nose. He heard a crack. The big cat dropped to the earth like a sack of potatoes. It wobbled to its feet, and crawled off into the jungle, mewling.
Wally called into the jungle. “Jerusha? You okay?”
Please, please, please…
“I’m okay.” She emerged from behind a dense screen of foliage, rubbing her armpits. “Just a little bruised.”
“Oh, cripes, did I hurt you? I’m real sorry.”
Jerusha shook her head. “Don’t sweat it. I’m pretty sure they didn’t expect you to fling me into the jungle like that.” The corners of her mouth twisted into a wry half smile. “Neither did I.” She touched his arm. “It was good thinking, Wally. But next time, try to give me some warning, okay?”
Wally blushed. “Okay.”
She nodded toward the rustling kudzu vines where the kid from the patrol boat struggled to free himself. “Well. Let’s see what he has to say, huh?”
12
Monday,
December 7
On the Lukuga River, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
Nyunzu. Nyunzu. Nyunzu.
Wally rapped his fingers on the gunwale, wishing their boat had a larger engine, the river a stronger current. He’d already pushed the throttle as far as it could go. Crack. Another hairline fracture appeared in the sun-rotted wood under his hand. He stopped tapping. But he couldn’t contain the anxiety; his leg bounced up and down, almost of its own accord. Soon the boat bobbed in time with the rhythm of his impatience.