Page 48 of Soul on Fire
Elliot creeped from the mountainous tree roots and crouched low, darting from tree to tree back to the ruined village. In the center of the ruined village, two fighters were unloading their rifles in a spray of bullets at the knotted roots of an agba tree. Bark and woodchips blasted in all directions, a rain of debris.
Neither were looking behind them.
He moved silently, striding behind both fighters, and sent two bullets through the back of one fighter’s chest. His friend shouted, turned—
Elliot aimed his pistol at the center of his head.
This was the one in the UN beret. He was massive, over six feet tall with tree trunks for legs and arms and a neck as big around as Elliot’s thigh. His hatred was an ugly, oozing venom rolling off him and flooding into Elliot like a dam had broken.
“Hands up!”
Scowling, he raised his arms and held his rifle over his head.
Ikolo appeared from behind the agba they had been trying to obliterate, his Kalashnikov up and trained on their remaining fighter.
“Drop your weapon,” Elliot barked. He spoke in English, taking a chance that the fighter was Ugandan.
The fighter tossed his rifle down. He kept his hands in the air. Kept glaring at Elliot.
“Who sent you here?” Elliot backed up a step but didn’t lower his pistol. Ikolo moved in from the side, keeping the man under both of their watchful trigger fingers. A curl of relief ran through Elliot as Ikolo approached.
Silence.
“What were you doing here? Why did you come to this village? Why did you kill these people?”
“They were in the way.” The man’s voice was raspy from smoking, rough, and filled with hate.
“In the way of what?”
The fighter blinked. He looked from Ikolo to Elliot. “In the way of killing two travelers: an American and a traitor.”
Elliot’s teeth gnashed together, and his hands squeezed on his pistol’s grip as his arms shook. He saw red, felt the rush of adrenaline, the ice wash that always raced through his body a split second before he pulled the trigger in battle. But he forced that back, kept his finger from squeezing any further. There was no more slack in his trigger. “Who told you to kill us? And why?”
“You’re chasing someone with a purpose. A mission with a glorious cause. You got too close.”
“He was here. Majambu was here. He’s who you’re working with.”
“You will never catch him. He’s too far ahead of you now.” The fighter smirked. “Even if I cannot tell him you’re dead, I’ll still die knowing you failed.”
Elliot snarled, but the fighter lunged, throwing his massive weight into Elliot’s waist. They went down hard, and the air punched out of Elliot’s lungs. He gasped for breath that wasn’t there and struggled in the dirt as the man’s solid weight pushed him down and forced his head to the side, trying to smother him in the charred dirt and ash. One hand wrapped around Elliot’s neck as the fighter grabbed the barrel of his pistol and twisted it, twisting until his bones were about to snap, but he couldn’t let go, and he couldn’t breathe—
Two shots fired. Blood spattered across Elliot’s face.
The fighter’s grip went slack. He slumped sideways, hitting the ground face-first and sending a puff of ash into the air.
Ikolo helped him sit up and grabbed his head, ran his hands over his neck and checked his throat. “I’m fine,” Elliot croaked. “I’m fine.”
“He might have crushed your windpipe.”
“I’m still breathing.” But he rolled to his knees and coughed, coughed so hard he thought he was going to rip himself in two. Ikolo waited, his hand on Elliot’s back, until the spasms stopped and Elliot collapsed, sighing as his ass hit the ash-covered dirt.
“I’m sorry,” Ikolo said. “You wanted to keep questioning him.”
“Don’t apologize. You saved my life.” He reached for Ikolo’s hand and squeezed. “Besides,” he said, pushing slowly to his feet. “I was seconds away from shooting him myself.”
“He was a horrible man.”
“He was a dick.”
