Page 17 of Mayflower

“Come on, get up,” he orders me sharply and, with his spare hand, starts yanking me to my feet.

I wobble, grind my teeth, and make an effort to stand despite the searing pain in my stomach.

He swings my arm around his shoulders and turns toward Ayana when a shot zooms through the air, making us duck. I almost fall to the ground, but he holds me up and sends a string of shots in that direction.

Voices come from another direction, then more shots.

“We are cut off,” Ali murmurs. “Hold still for a second.”

I can barely see anything, rain and blood dripping into my eyes. It’s getting darker because of the downpour. The rain wall all around is getting thicker.

Ali moves away from me, takes the baseball hat from one of the thugs on the ground, and puts it over my head. Then he puts one on himself.

He swings my arm over his shoulders again. “Move. Quickly. We don’t have time.”

I move by inertia, following him, leaning on him, stumbling.

When we try to move in Ayana’s direction, another shot cuts us off, so we lunge into the jungle and veer away in the opposite direction. It’s hard to see, but in five or so minutes, I can tell we are not going toward the resort. In ten, we are in the thick of the jungle.

“Where are we going?” I ask, barely able to walk, grinding my teeth through pain.

“Shh.” Ali yanks me to a halt and presses his forefinger to his mouth so that I will shut up.

Voices come from thirty or so feet away. Trucks and ATVs are approaching.

Ali motions for me to sit down, and I almost fall but fold into myself, holding my hand to my wound.

He sits on his haunches next to me, his eyes on the ground, head cocked as he listens. “Looks like right now, we don’t have many options.”

Pain sears me from the inside, and I shut my eyes, trying to breathe in shallow breaths. Just for a second. Just to collect my strength. I think that’s how long it was. But when I open my eyes again, I lie on the ground. My middle feels tight, and I see a cloth—part of Ali’s shirt—tied around it, soaked with blood.

Ali rises from the ground and checks my wound. “You are still bleeding. No good.”

My head is splitting from pain. My nose and lips are crusted with blood. My entire body is burning up. And it’s dark. And still raining.

“How long have I been out?” I ask in a whisper.

“A long time. I was waiting for a chance to slip back to Ayana. But we can’t. Butcher’s guards patrol the jungle. They have posts here, it seems. Can you walk on your own for a little bit?”

With Ali’s help, I manage to get to my feet. Like a crippled zombie, I follow him through almost complete darkness, branches whipping in my face, my feet sliding on wet foliage.

There’s a haze in my head. There are lights ahead. I’m not sure if that’s what it is or if I have a concussion. So, I keep stumbling through the rain, following Ali.

Voices start approaching us, and the sound of the engine. Ali pulls me into the bushes, and we see the blinding strobe lights of an old safari jeep riding through the jungle trail toward where we just were. Shots are fired into the air in warning.

“Head low,” Ali says. “There are no cameras on this trail. Not until farther ahead.”

“Why are we walking away from Ayana?”

“Because we can’t go there. Butcher’s men are everywhere. That’s their hard line, next to Ayana’s. We can’t fight through. Not with you like this.”

I notice he is missing his rifle. “Where’s your rifle?”

“We won’t be able to get through if we look like guards.”

“Get through where?”

“Come on. Let’s move.”

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