The four soldiers fled through the forest and the rebels pursued.
Jallo was hurt from the ambush at Bayawe; a bullet had lodged between his ribs. He slowed them down.
“Just gimme ammo and let me die fighting, “he said.
“Not happening,“ Sira scowled.
“I don’t think I’ll make it. “
“We’ll carry your corpse then, “ Diya said.
“Three of you can’t even lift me! ” Jallo exclaimed.
“We’ll drag you along the ground, “
“My ghost will kill you. “
Diya , Sira and Bony laughed. Jallo tried to laugh and ended up coughing
They had been running for two days since the ambush that killed thirteen of their squad. Information said Battalion 6 needed reinforcements on the nearby Gibusa border , but Information neglected the part about passing through Bayawe, the stronghold of Sené, the boy bandit king.
“There’ll be a mutiny in camp when we get back,” Jallo spluttered. ‘Somebody will pay.”
Sira scoffed. “Somebody has paid already. Thirteen somebodies...”
“And counting, “ Jallo smiled bitterly.
In the distance, gunfire echoed; Bayawe boys letting them know they’re still on the chase.
“Bad, bad boys are coming dooooown. “ Bony sang.
They kept going.
And night fell.
The problem with darkness is not that you can’t see, it’s that you don’t know what the hell you’re looking at.
They suffered ghost sickness. Everything took on threatening shapes; trees grew hands that reached for them, climbing plants that tangled their feet were deadly snakes that made them stamp.
Bony died first.
The explosion lifted him up , ripped his right leg and his spirit from his body and flung him over the heads of the others who had thrown themselves to the ground.
“Oh shit! Landmines.”
A ripple of gunfire answered him. ‘Landmines or us, take your pick,’ the bullets seemed to say.
“Let’s keep going,” Sira decided, “Jallo, stay in the middle. Keep back from each other at least fifteen paces. “
They went slower now, each step taken with pulse-pounding terror.
“This stinks,” Diya spat in the darkness. “Let’s just wait for them and fight like men. “
“Fight? That’s a massacre you’re asking for. They are not even going to shoot , they’ll throw grenades. I’ve crossed them before. Those sick little fuckers are armed for world war three. ”
“Then let’s give them world war three! “
Sira laughed. “We’re not even armed for a cult gunfight. “
“Fuck this shi... “ Diya was saying.
The explosion swallowed his words.
It tore Diya’s leg from the hip and left the other hanging from his knee like a tree branch broken in a storm, dead but somehow hanging on.
Diya clawed at his shrapnel embedded body and howled.
“Sira! My eye! “
“Don’t move!” Sira told Jallo as he retreated towards his wounded companion.
Sira wanted to raise his torch to see the extent of his friend’s suffering. But he knew from the screaming that what Diya needed was peace not light.
Sira shot him.
They kept going. Anger took away some of their dread and they moved faster. Daring death.
Dawn came and they inched closer to camp. Jallo moved sluggishly, worrying Sira.
Sira was so focused on his friend that he didn’t see when he stepped on the mine.
“Shit, “ he froze.
Jallo turned. He stared at Sira then at his feet. At the shiny object poking from the ground, barely concealed by leaves.
“Damn! “
They exchanged glances. Their eyes had a brief conversation.
I don’t want to suffer like Diya, Sira's eyes said.
Jallo moved back and raised his weapon. His heart trembled, but he steadied his hands and shot Sira.
There was no explosion when Sira fell.
Incredulous, Jallo approached the spot. It was a dud. Sira was dead and it was no bomb!
He looked at Sira and cried.
Gunfire rumbled again.
He was tired of this game. He wanted to just sit and wait. Let them come.
But he couldn’t . His friends would want him to keep going. To survive. To spite Bayawe bullets. Twenty more minutes and he should be in camp. They had probably heard the explosion and were coming.
The shots came again, and he somehow found in him the strength to run.