the Lord’s name in vain.’
‘I warned you this would happen.’ Maxwell threw open his door and rushed outside.
Thomas staggered out after him, full of near-death dizziness, and flopped down to recover under the dappled shade of one of the trees. His nose, when he felt it, wasn’t bleeding or broken, but it hurt. He wondered how bad an injury had to be before they sent you home. He hoped he didn’t have to find out.
Skeletor shouted over the truck: ‘You did this on purpose, didn’t you?’
‘You should have listened to me.’ Maxwell was looking at the torn tyre. ‘The damage could have been worse.’
After a series of heavy footsteps, Skeletor dropped down to the ground beside Thomas. ‘Surfer boy, you see what he did? I’m telling you, man, he did it on purpose.’
Thomas kept his eyes on the torn band of rubber around the front right wheel. ‘Skeletor, you really should have listened to him.’
‘Not you too.’ Skeletor sighed. ‘This is all I need. A mutiny.’
They sat and watched while Maxwell fetched tools and the spare wheel from the back. Ordinarily Thomas would have helped him, but he was still recovering; the fiery pain across his face only now turning to a dull throb.
‘Hurry up,’ Skeletor shouted as the equipment was carried to the front of the truck. ‘We’re not sitting out here for our health.’
Maxwell shot Skeletor a sharp glance then went back to work, spinning the handle of the jack, raising the nose of the truck skywards. He undid the old wheel and rolled it off into the desert, then bolted on the new one. After letting the truck sag back to the ground, he went into the back.
‘One way or another,’ Skeletor whispered, ‘I’m going to sort him out. He’s too cheeky for his own good, that boy.’
Thomas could hear clanging and the sliding of boxes as Maxwell replaced his tools. Then he heard another sound, a clicking noise that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Skeletor shot to his feet. ‘What are you doing in there?’
Maxwell reappeared, his face grim.
‘I knew it,’ Skeletor said, raising his arms.
Thomas sat rooted to the spot, waiting for the shot that would end all his dreams. Good artists died young, he knew, but he would die before he even became an artist.
In his hands Maxwell carried an AK-47 assault rifle, the very weapon they had been warned about in training: the gravedigger, the insurgent’s friend.
‘You’re a terrorist, aren’t you?’ Skeletor asked.
Maxwell shook his head.
‘Then put the gun down,’ Thomas said. But as the AK swung towards him, he quickly added, his voice a squeak, ‘Please.’
‘This is Sector 10,’ Maxwell said.
‘So what?’ Skeletor‘s skinny body was drawn to its full height, but a telltale film of sweat had broken out on the back of his neck.
‘It’s not safe here.’ Maxwell twirled the AK-47 around so that it sat horizontally in his hands. Then he sent it flying through the air towards Thomas and Skeletor.
Skeletor caught the rifle with the practised ease of a rugby player.
‘Keep that with you at all times,’ Maxwell said, delving once again into the back of the pickup.
‘Yes,
Thomas got to his feet and skulked towards the cab, anxious to be out of the way as Skeletor went through the workings of his new toy.
Maxwell, brandishing a rifle in each hand, intercepted him. ‘Do you know how to use one of these?’
‘I think so.’ Before Thomas could say that he didn’t actually want one, a rifle came spinning his way. He reached out and grabbed, but the thing slipped through his fingers. Picking the AK-47 off the floor, blowing away the dust, he found it lighter than his R4, and smaller too. He looked down the barrel, at the metal wedge on the end, hoping he would never have to see that view again. Startled at a sudden thump of gunfire, he cried out, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Making sure the black didn’t sabotage my weapon.’ Skeletor fired off another round, aiming for the more distant of the two trees.
‘Stop it!’ Maxwell shouted, waving his own assault rifle.
A look of delight on his face, Skeletor rattled off a burst of three bullets, chopping tree bark into splinters.
‘You must stop,’ Maxwell pleaded. ‘Someone will hear.’
‘Come make me, boy.’ Skeletor held his rifle high against his shoulder, like a huntsman after big game, as he searched for another target. The weapon may have been a gift, but that didn’t mean he was going to be grateful.
Thomas was about to intervene when he caught sight of something out of place in the landscape, a faint puff of cloud hanging low on the road behind. He watched for a few seconds, to be certain that it was what he thought it was, then shouted: ‘Car!’
The other two abandoned their standoff to follow the line of his finger along the road. The dust cloud was heading their way.
Thomas and Maxwell rushed to their seats. Maxwell shoved his rifle into the gap between his body and the door, before starting the engine.
Thomas kept his own rifle on his lap.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Skeletor was still outside.
‘Get in.’ Thomas leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘They must have heard you firing.’
‘No.’ Skeletor stayed put. ‘I’m in command and I say we wait right here and see who it is.’
‘Come on, bru. If it’s terrorists they’ll kill us on sight.’
‘What if it’s not? I’m not running from our own soldiers.’
Maxwell revved the engine.
Thomas tried once more: ‘How do you think this looks, bru? We’re out of uniform, near the border and armed with AK-47s. Our guys wouldn’t think twice before shooting us.’ He didn’t say it, but that’s exactly what Skeletor would have done.
On the tips of his toes, Skeletor watched the approaching cloud. Then he scrambled to his seat and shut his door. ‘I’m only going along with you because the mission comes first.’
Maxwell reversed, changed gears and slammed down on the accelerator, clearly more worried about their pursuers than potholes. They shot off down the dirt road, the truck’s chassis rattling from the abuse, its old engine straining to bring them up to top speed.
Leaving his rifle on his seat, Skeletor leaned out the window to get a better look.
Thomas stared up at the rear-view mirror. Through the dust and smoke spewing out the back of their own vehicle, it was difficult to tell exactly what was behind them. All he could see was the top of the trailing dust cloud as it approached. A sensation gnawed at the pit of his stomach, what it must feel like to be a farmer seeing a swarm of locusts growing in the sky. ‘They’re getting closer,’ he said.
‘I know.’ Maxwell was watching the mirror too.
‘Faster!’ Skeletor screamed from outside, his T-shirt fluttering like a black flag.
Maxwell’s leg was stiff against the accelerator. ‘I’m going as fast as I can.’
‘Then pass my rifle,’ Skeletor shouted.
‘But you said they might be on our side,’ Thomas shouted back.
‘At this stage I don’t care who they are,’ Skeletor screeched above the wind rushing past the window. ‘I’m a reasonable man, but if they want to follow me they must expect to get shot.’
The last thing Thomas wanted was to witness was another killing. ‘Come inside, bru.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘Sir,’ Maxwell called, ‘we don’t want to get into a fight if we don’t have to. Remember the message.
