Adesina raised herself up onto her back legs and put her front legs on either side of Michelle’s face. Amazing warmth and happiness spread through Michelle. Then Adesina said, “Thank you.”
Tears began to pour down Michelle’s face and she reached out and touched Adesina’s cheek. “You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’m so sorry.
…”
Adesina kissed Michelle’s cheek. “You saved me. I held on because I knew you would find me.”
Michelle couldn’t speak. It felt like there was a golf ball in her throat from the tears. It had been so long since she’d felt… since she felt happy. She wondered if she had ever really felt happy before.
“Michelle,” Adesina said. “Michelle, now you need to go help the others, you need to go to the Red House.”
“I don’t want to leave you!” Michelle replied, alarmed. “I just found you.”
Adesina cocked her head to one side like a praying mantis. “This is the other reason why I brought you here. It wasn’t just to help me. It was to help them. I’ve been in their dreams, too. I know what has been happening to them and so do you. You must go soon. Because I’ve been in his dreams, too.”
And then Michelle saw a barrage of new images. A compound in the jungle. Children being rounded up and given shots. Then there were images of Tom Weathers killing people. Lots of people.
She didn’t need to see more. She sighed. “Of course I’ll go,” she said. Adesina removed her front legs and the wonderful warmth and happiness slid from Michelle. And she felt cold inside again.
“What the fuck was that all about?” Joey asked.
Michelle held Adesina up to Joey. “I need you to take care of her for a while. Take care of all of the children here.”
Then Michelle got up. She brushed past Joey and went to find someone who knew where the Red House was-and who would take her there.
33
Monday,
December 28
On the South Bank of the
Aruwimi River
Near Bunia, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
Ghost loved peanut butter.
She sat behind Wally, on one of the long, low benches that lined the interior of the APC, silently scooping peanut butter out of a jar with her fingers. She still hadn’t spoken, but neither had she become insubstantial since letting Wally hug her. If anything, she followed him more closely than ever now.
The APC wasn’t the easiest thing Wally had ever driven. He knew how to drive a stick, and even some mining equipment, but this thing had more gears than he was used to. And it handled strangely, too. But he more or less managed to keep it on the bumpy, muddy roads leading to Bunia. They’d passed another roadblock this morning, but the soldiers and Leopard Men had waved the PPA vehicle through without a second glance.
Which suited Wally just fine. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight while Ghost clung to his side. Also, it gave some of his wounds time to heal.
Wally chanced taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the booklet he’d found in the APC. It was a wire-bound booklet of laminated map pages. Together they covered the greater Bunia area, depicting topographic details, roads, power lines, garrisons, military installations, trains… everything he might have needed to make a strategic assessment of the area, if only he could read French. If only Jerusha were here.
A green “X” had been marked on one map page with a grease pencil, at what appeared to be a compound on the outskirts of town: the central laboratory for the PPA’s child-ace project. Wally figured he’d make it there in a few more days. This river road along the Aruwimi would take him most of the way. He was in the homestretch, now.
But with every mile, Ghost became more nervous, more agitated. She inched closer and closer to him. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. Whatever they’d done to her, Wally guessed it had happened at Bunia.
Wally pulled over for a bathroom break around midafternoon. He parked the APC in the shadow of a trestle bridge that spanned the tall embankments on either side of the river. Ghost followed him into the brush. It took a lot of gesturing before she got the gist of what he was up to, but he finally managed to convey enough that she backed off a little bit to give him privacy.
He’d just finished and was washing his hands when Ghost came running back. She grabbed his hand, pulling frantically toward the APC. Tears glistened on her cheeks, dripping from eyes wide with terror.
Wally knelt, so that she could look at him face-to-face. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did you see something?”
With one hand, Ghost gave his arm another panicky tug. With the other, she pointed at the bridge. Wally looked up, suddenly worried they’d been spotted. The bridge was empty.
Somewhere not far away, a train barreled down a set of tracks. The sound echoed faintly across the grassy plains: tikka-tch-tch-tikka-tch-tch… It goaded Ghost into deeper panic.
“You’re afraid of the train? What’s on the train?” Wally asked. Maybe she’d been taken to Bunia on a train. He pointed at the bridge, then at Ghost, and shrugged. Is that how they took you from your family?
Ghost shook her head. She pointed in the direction of the approaching train-it was louder now-and then curled her lips into a snarl. She held two fingers in front of her mouth, like fangs, then contorted her hands into the semblance of claws.
Leopard Men. There were Leopard Men on that train.
Wally thought about the maps. Of course. They’re pulling reinforcements back to defend Bunia.
The first smile in many days spread across his face. He laid his hands on Ghost’s arms. “Wanna see something neat?” He winked.
First, he backed the APC a ways up the road. Just in case. Then he scrambled up the embankment to the bridge truss and started to climb. The wooden boards creaked precariously under Wally’s weight, but they held. By the time he pulled himself atop the rail bed, he could see sunlight glinting off the approaching train.
Wally laid a hand on one rail, concentrating. The steel turned orange beneath his palm. He willed the rust to spread; like a lit fuse, it streaked up the rail past the end of the bridge. Wally stomped his foot, hard enough to shake the bridge. The ruined rail sloughed apart. In a few seconds there was nothing left but flakes of corroded metal wafting down to the river.
The train was close now. It rounded the bend. Wally jumped onto the embankment, then half slid, half tumbled down to the road. He carried Ghost back a safe distance, behind the APC.
The crash was spectacular, if Wally did say so himself.
Cyrene, by the Nile
Old Egypt
The Nile sighed, gurgled, and whispered as it flowed past. The moonlight coaxed silver from the ripples, and seemed to edge the fronds of the date palms with pale halos. A desert wind rattled in the palms with a sound like castanets.
Noel, pacing along the river, paused and took a deep breath, savoring the scent of dust, dung, river reeds, and dried lemons simmering with lamb. He let the tension leach out of his muscles.
It was done. Nshombo was dead. The Chinese and Indians were pulling out of the PPA, viewing it as a bad bet. The conquered African nations were beginning to exert local control again. Noel had come to Egypt, and still in a manic high, fueled by quarts of whiskey-laced coffee and not enough sleep, he had poured out the entire story to Niobe. She had been appropriately admiring of his cleverness.
The bad news-Weathers was still obsessed with Noel Matthews, and seemed to care not one jot that the PPA was collapsing. Of course Weathers had killed the hero of the Revolution. Perhaps it had occurred to him that
