Jack grinned and hooked his arm around my hip. “I love all her faces. Every single one of them.”
“Then you should marry her and keep all the children.” Olonana and themoranslaughed.
That was how we left them that night—Olonana grinning with his two bottom teeth missing, the fire silhouetting his perfectly round head, and themoransstanding by his side. That night, my definition ofherogrew bigger and wider. Sometimes heroes were found between the pages of a book, and sometimes they stood on a hill, their checkered togas fluttering in the wind, holding fort for the rest of us.
NIGHT VISION SETTLEDin as we moved away from the campsite. The sky was dark and clear, speckled with asters of silver. We moved silently over the barren plains, guided by the light of the moon. It was eerily quiet, considering we had thirteen children in tow. Except these children were no ordinary children. They had all been touched by death, and now it was stalking them. A survival instinct had kicked in and they moved collectively, not asking, not talking. Even the youngest of them clamored to keep up, holding on to my hand, or Jack’s, when the going got tough. There was an urgency about their movements that broke my heart.
“Not far now,” said Jack. “We should be coming up to the railway tracks soon.”
It was progress, but we still had a long way to go. The next station was miles away, and once the sun came up, it would be easy for anyone to spot us.
“You think Olonana and his crew are all right?” I scanned the area behind us. The flickering light of the fire had long disappeared.
“Ona!” One of the kids that Jack had hoisted on his shoulder pointed to something.
There was a faint glow in the distance, a few miles away. It appeared and disappeared.
The headlights of a car, lurching through shadow and shrubbery.
Panic rioted through me. There was no other reason for anyone to be there at that time. They had found us, out in the open, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They wouldn’t let the kids slip away this time, and worse, they might not even try to get them back into the van. It wasn’t the kids they were after. It was their body parts. They could massacre every single one of them and still collect their blood money. And they wouldn’t leave any witnesses behind either.
As the lights moved closer, my nightmare flashed before me.
Blood rain.
Dove children.
A mangled crown.
The sound of my own pulse throbbed in my ears.
Oh God, talk to me, Mo. Say something. Say anything.
There was nothing but silence.
Vast and deep.
And then, from across the plains, on the other side, a shrill cry pierced the air.
The whistle of a chugging train.
“There’s a train coming! We need to get on it. Fast!” I said to Jack, but he was gazing at the train and then at the car. “Jack? What are you doing? There’s no time to waste.”
He shifted the child off his shoulder and started unzipping his backpack. “Do we have any rubbing alcohol left in the first aid kit?”
“Yes, but—”
“Catch.” He hurled the bottle my way. Then he pulled out a couple of his T-shirts and started ripping them apart. “We need to stop that train, and there’s no way the driver is going to see us in the dark. We need to light some torches.”
He gave some of the cotton strips to a couple of the kids and pointed to a dead thorn tree that had fallen victim to the harshness of the plains. “Leteni tawi.”
They rushed off, gathering branches from the tree, wrapping the ends with the strips, so the thorns didn’t scratch them.
“Jack. Look!” I exclaimed. Another car was now trailing the first one, its headlights glinting like snake eyes in the dark.
“Fuck. They’ve brought reinforcements.” Jack was whittling the thorns off the branches, all except for the ones at the top. He wrapped those in cotton and doused it with the rubbing alcohol. He assembled more torches in quick succession, racing against the cars that were getting closer and closer. The air was thick with urgency and desperation. It soaked through my skin, leaving a thin film of sweat. The kids stood by, still and silent, as if their voices had already been muted.
“Hold them high,” said Jack, handing out the torches to the older kids. “Don’t be afraid.” His thumb struck the wheel of the lighter as he set them on fire.
