Eddie laid into the horn to get around a group of men carrying baskets of vegetables on their backs. They wore sarongs on the lower half of their bodies. They were shirtless. On their feet were simple pieces of rubber with straps. He edged around them, and was once more at speed. But it didn’t last. Suddenly, Eddie slammed on the brakes, stalling the engine. Had Yaya not put his foot on the dash, he would have smashed forward. As it was, Walker was unprepared for the sudden stop and slid from the seat into the front window. He struck with his shoulder, almost losing his grip on the pistol.
They slammed back into the seat.
In front of them lay an overturned vegetable cart and a motorcycle. Two men argued. The one in the motorcycle helmet was taller, but the other man seemed angrier, gesturing in great chopping motions at the produce. There seemed to be space to their left to drive around them.
A policeman approached and smacked the hood of their truck with a baton. He wore a black Mao cap and black fatigues. An orange reflective vest covered his torso. He struck the hood again and screamed in Myanmarese, gesturing angrily down the road. It didn’t take a linguist to understand the international symbol for
Eddie hastened to start the truck, turning the lever on the dashboard. The engine sputtered and stuttered. He glanced worriedly at the policeman.
Walker noted the policeman had a walkie-talkie on his left hip. A Chinese PM pistol rested snugly in a patent leather holster on his right hip. He held the baton in his right hand, so if he was to grab his pistol, he’d lose precious seconds either dropping the baton, or changing hands.
“Yaya,” Walker whispered. “See that walkie? Can you use it?”
“Maybe. Not getting anywhere with this damned software. Using our tablets, I should be able to use the phone’s SIM chip. I won’t know until I try.”
“Put that stuff away then. I don’t want it to get smashed.”
“What are you going to—” Yaya glanced at the policeman, and comprehension showed on his face. Then he hastened to shove his work into the extra-large glove box.
Walker reached out and put his hand over Eddie’s to stop him from trying to crank the engine. “Remain calm.”
The policeman’s eyes narrowed as he shouted for the truck to move. Traffic had begun to move around them as if they were a boulder in a creek. Eddie shook his head in fear. The policeman moved to the door and stepped onto the running board. He shouted into Eddie’s face. Then he noticed the others in the cab. His furious gaze focused on Walker as he took in the white skin. His baton hand disappeared. It was then that Walker made his move.
“Start the fucking truck,” he yelled, as he gripped the policeman’s collar and pulled him over Eddie and into the truck.
Eddie turned the lever and the truck began to sputter. But he couldn’t see anything. The policeman’s head and torso were in his face. The policeman struggled, kicking with his feet, elbowing Eddie in the face and chest.
Eddie screamed, but somehow continued trying to start the truck.
The policeman’s eyes were wide with fear and anger. He screamed like a woman. Walker shoved his pistol into the man’s chest and pulled the trigger three times. The man bucked with each shot, but stilled after the third. Walker pulled him the rest of the way in. At the same moment, the truck started. Walker and Yaya shoved the dead man into the space beneath their feet.
“Move! Move!”
Eddie’s face was wet with blood. For a moment, Walker wondered if the man had been hit, but then he saw two exit holes in the metal roof of the truck. Each hole was surrounded by an oval of dripping blood and gore. The truck jerked forward, then jerked again. Once it found gear, it rejoined the flow of traffic.
Eddie nodded as he wiped his face with his left hand. He pulled it away and stared at it. Tears welled from his eyes as he began to sob.
“You got to suck it up, Eddie,” Walker told him. “I didn’t see you crying when you were loading the bodies in the back of the truck or when you thought we were dead.”
The driver frowned, but didn’t say anything.
The last thing they did before they entered the expressway was to shove a naked body out of the passenger-door window. It rolled and fell at the feet of an old woman selling cheap plastic jewelry laid out on a blanket.
58
THE ROAD TO KADWAN.
Yaya was starting to find some success. He had wires stripped and attached to different parts of the inside of his tablet and the walkie-talkie. Every now and then it would erupt in a fit of static. Once they heard Myanmarese voices. Still, he cursed the steampunk machination he’d created. He even shook it once. “You should work, damn it!” He was rewarded with the staticky voice of an Englishwoman who was delivering the news. It brought a grin to Yaya’s face, but he didn’t stop there. He stuck his tongue in a corner of his cheek and bent over yet again.
After ten minutes he leaned back and flexed his fingers. He stared at the rat’s mess of wires and shook his head. “It should work. I’ve done everything I know to do. I just don’t understand why it’s not working.”
“Did you drop it?” Walker asked. Seeing the grin on Yaya’s face, he said, “I remember my father once telling someone that if it didn’t work, to give it the ‘three-foot drop test.’”
“No.” Yaya wiped his face and cranked his neck. “I didn’t drop it. I’m afraid to. I have so many wires and connections, there’s no telling what would happen. I’m close now. I don’t want to step backwards.”
“So now what?”
“Now I stare at it until I figure out what the fuck is wrong with it.”
The truck slowed. Walker glanced out the window. By his estimations they’d reached the southern edge of the city of Dawei. All traffic had come to a stop. A roadblock up ahead had a dozen police and military. Their guns were drawn. They were turning everyone away. Evidently the road was closed.
“What do you think?” Walker asked Yaya.
“Doesn’t look like they’re searching for us.”
“Just keeping people from traveling south.”
He turned to Eddie, but saw that the driver’s door was open. In the rearview mirror he saw their driver scurrying back the way they’d come, and Walker slid into the driver’s seat.
“Looks like we have to go to Plan B,” he said, shifting the truck into gear and turning off the road. He’d spied a side street, which he took for about a hundred yards until he noticed something. He backed up, then stopped the truck.
“I wasn’t aware we had a plan B,” Yaya muttered.
“I wasn’t either until I saw that.” Walker pointed to a vehicle parked in a side lot. He’d seen Indiana Jones ride one and could imagine himself doing the same. “I think we’ll take that.”
“That?” Yaya shook his head. “Hell no. I’m not going to let you drive me around like some sidekick.”
“Fine then. You drive. I’ll shoot.”
Ten minutes later, after Yaya had successfully hotwired the Russian Ural motorcycle with sidecar, they were riding through a forested area at about three miles an hour. Yaya no longer needed the sling. His shoulder ached, but was otherwise fine.
Walker had his Stoner out and lying along the cowl of the sidecar. He also had two AK-47s and his pistol, as did Yaya. The rifles were crisscrossed on his back, making him look like a Rambo samurai.
They found a dragon-fruit plantation where the trees grew far apart. They used this to bypass the roadblock. After half an hour they found their way back to the road. There wasn’t a pedestrian or vehicle in sight. Yaya cranked the engine and they were soon flying down the blacktop, swerving only for the occasional man-eating pothole.
The going was great until Walker started seeing things. At first it was movements out of the corner of his left eye. They were large and fast, but when he looked they were gone. Then it was out of the corner of his other eye, too. Soon he was able to make out some very large things keeping pace with them. He could never really see what
