The Rescue (23 page)

The truck was just a few metres away now. Rap music blared out from its window, mixing with the gunfire from the compound and Nico’s yells as he continued to tell Dylan to get out of the way.

I closed my eyes.
Stop. Stop. Stop.

‘Noooo!’ A high-pitched scream jerked my eyes open.

My whole body froze. Ketty was in the road. Arms outstretched, pleading with the driver to stop.

But the truck wasn’t slowing. I went to move, to push Ketty out of the way, but time slowed and my leg had barely left the ground before the truck was here.
Here
. Almost on top of her.

‘Ke—!’ My own yell had barely left my mouth when the truck screeched to a halt, just centimetres in front of Ketty.

She stood glassy-eyed, as the truck driver stuck his head out the window.

‘What the hell you doing, stupid little bitch?’ he shouted.

I raced round. He looked up.
Whoosh.
I was inside his mind. Ignoring all his panicky thoughts, I focused on preventing him from moving or speaking.

‘Nico,’ I yelled. ‘We’ve got a ride!’

With a whoop, Nico was there. In a flash, he’d teleported the driver out of the truck and back down the road. Using the side of the truck as cover, he resumed his defence of us. The guards – and there were at
least
ten – were pouring out of the exit.

My heart raced. No way could Nico deal with all of them on his own. For a moment it struck me that Nico and Dylan had been right about the attack and defence training we’d had back at school. We’d needed more of it, not less – so that Ketty and I could help too.

‘Get in, Ed.’ Dylan was dragging Ketty into the truck. Her eyes were still glazed over. What was wrong with her? A vision? Or had the truck hit her at the last minute without me realising? I scrambled into the driver’s seat, feeling numb, as Dylan pushed Ketty into the passenger seat.

‘Drive!’ she yelled, hauling herself in next to Ketty.

‘
What?
’ I only knew about cars and stuff in theory. I’d never actually
driven
so much as a go-kart.

‘Do it,’ she ordered.

Between us, Ketty was groaning, coming to.

‘Hurry up,’ Nico’s yell rose up from the back of the truck, barely audible above the gunfire. ‘They’re shooting at the tyres.’

There was no choice.

I turned the key, still in the ignition. The truck roared into life. I checked the gearstick and pushed it into first position. Then I pressed down on what I hoped was the clutch and the accelerator pedals. Dad had gone on about the clutch to me many times – how you had to use it to make the car change gear.
Yes.
It worked. The truck bucked and spluttered.

‘Ease up on the freakin’ gas,’ Dylan shouted.

I lifted my foot off the accelerator a fraction and we sped away.

24: Mahore

‘Change gear!’ Dylan yelled. She stuck her head out of the window and looked back at the compound.

I pressed down on the clutch again, then reached for the gearstick and wrenched it into the slot marked 2. The truck made a horrible, grinding sound, but – to my intense relief – kept going.

‘You’re driving?’ Ketty said, weakly.

‘Yeah.’ I gripped the wheel and moved the gearstick into third position. ‘How’re we doing? Anyone following?’ I glanced in the wing mirror, but all I could see was the dust our own wheels were throwing up behind.

‘No . . . wait,
yes
. They’re turning out of the compound now. Two jeeps.’ Dylan withdrew her head from outside the window. ‘Step on the gas, will you?’

‘You told me to ease up a few seconds ago.’

‘This isn’t a freakin’ judgement on your driving,’ Dylan shouted. ‘We just need to go faster.’

‘Stop yelling,’ Ketty cut in. ‘I feel sick.’

I glanced sideways at her. She did look very pale.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, not looking round at me. ‘I just had a horrible vision.’

‘What of?’

‘A fire . . . it doesn’t matter.’

‘
Faster
, Ed,’ Dylan urged.

I gritted my teeth, deployed the clutch and wrenched the gearstick into the slot marked 4. I pressed down on the gas pedal again. The truck zoomed forwards. I checked the speedometer on the dashboard. We were going at 60 miles an hour. I pressed harder on the accelerator and the dial rose to 70. Ahead I could see a crossroads. It wasn’t mad busy, but there
were
other cars. I was going to have to stop, which meant right now I needed to be slowing down, not speeding up.

I took my foot off the gas and squinted into the fierce African sun, concentrating hard on the oncoming traffic. The road ahead shimmered with heat.

Dylan turned round, enraged. ‘What the freakin’ hell are you
doing
?’ she shouted. ‘Carson’s men are, like, two metres behind us.’

‘Okay, okay.’ My heart was thumping fit to jump out of my chest. I pushed down on the accelerator again, forgetting to change gear. The truck bucked and rattled. The engine made a horrible grinding noise.

Beside me, Ketty sucked in her breath – a fearful gasp.

‘
ED!
’ Dylan swore.

‘Don’t stall, don’t stall,’ I muttered under my breath. Sweat was pouring off my forehead, my shirt sticking like a damp rag to my back.

The truck zoomed off again. The gunfire stopped.

‘Have we lost them?’ Ketty asked.

‘No.’ Dylan turned from the window. ‘They’re reloading.’

Oh, God.

‘Is Nico okay?’ Ketty asked.

‘Fine,’ Dylan said. ‘He’s trying to bang the two jeeps into each other. He’s making them swerve, which is why they haven’t shot out our tyres, but he can’t make them crash.’

The crossroads up ahead was almost here. It suddenly seemed
full
of traffic. I was going to
have
to slow or I’d hit a car.

The gunfire started up again.

‘Shit, that was close,’ Dylan shrieked.

We passed a sign. Mahore was clearly signalled as a left-hand turn. I gripped the steering wheel. Up ahead the road was clear, just a lorry chuntering along in the distance. My heart leaped. I could slow a little and still make the turn before the lorry reached us.

‘Careful, Ed,’ Ketty warned. ‘The traffic drives on the right.’

‘Okay.’ I focused on making my turn.

‘Just get us onto that road,’ Dylan yelled. ‘
Hurry!
’

I slowed the truck, ready to turn.

‘They’re right on top of us,’ Dylan shrieked. ‘They’re aiming at Nico.’

‘
No
,’ Ketty gasped.

I looked left, at the oncoming traffic.
Oh God
, the lorry was thundering along much faster than I’d realised. I hesitated a fatal second, unsure whether to wait for it to pass.

‘TURN!’ Dylan screamed.

I pushed down on the gas again and surged forwards. The lorry was right on top of us. I swung the wheel sharply.
Too
sharply. We spun into the road. Cars honked. The lorry was coming. I pressed the gas flat on the floor.

‘Come
on
!’ I roared.

Horn blaring, the lorry’s brakes screeched behind us.

Smash!

I froze. But it wasn’t us the lorry had hit.

‘Yes!’ Dylan was leaning right out of the window now, looking back, yelling out what she saw. ‘Both jeeps rammed into that huge truck,’ she said. ‘I can see Carson. All the men. They’re out of the jeeps. So’s the truck driver. We’ve done it. We’ve got away!’

I nodded, my hands still clutching the steering wheel. Traffic was zooming towards us. Terrifying.

Ketty put her hand on my arm. ‘You can slow down a bit now.’

I checked the speed dial.
Christ
, I was driving at eighty miles an hour. I gently released the gas pedal, feeling my body relax a little. The truck slowed to fifty miles an hour. There was still plenty of oncoming traffic, but the road straight ahead of me was clear.

After about twenty miles, there was another sign for Mahore. I waited for the traffic to clear completely, then took the left-hand turn. We travelled on, along another dusty, straight road for miles, but there were no more signs, despite a number of turnings.

The landscape around us looked like nothing I’d ever seen before. Unlike the desert in Spain, which had been full of bushy scrub and rocks, we were now surrounded by drifts of soft, yellow sand that spread out in all directions. There were no mountains on the horizon, just a few isolated trees, some shacks and houses in the distance and, beyond them, the huge, blue sky that met the land at right angles.

‘Maybe we’ve missed the turning for Mahore,’ I said uncertainly.

‘We should stop over there and find out,’ Dylan said as we approached a row of tin-roofed shacks.

‘She’s right,’ Ketty said.

I nodded. Slowing, I pulled the truck over to the side of the road and pressed down on the brakes. The truck juddered to a halt. I bent over the steering wheel, suddenly completely exhausted.

‘Come on,’ Ketty said. ‘Let’s check on Nico, then find another ride.’

‘Yeah, and when we get back in,
I’m
driving,’ Dylan muttered.

Nico turned out to be fine but exhausted – and openly impressed by the way I’d swung the truck into the road just in front of the big lorry, not giving the jeeps following us time to slow down. I didn’t tell him that the whole thing was really down to luck – and Dylan urging me to make the turn after I’d hesitated.

At least I hadn’t crashed. Hopefully the truck would, at some point, find its way back to its owner. Remembering him reminded me of my failed attempt to mind-read him remotely. Why was it that the only people I seemed able to communicate with at a distance were the other people with the Medusa gene – and my sister? Well, there wasn’t time to think about that now.

We wandered over to the row of tin-roofed shacks. In the speeding truck I hadn’t realised how hot it was. Now we were outside and moving more slowly, the sun felt like a laser on the back of my neck.

One of the shacks had various stalls set up outside selling an array of produce, from rice to melons. Just inside the door I could see a pile of golden loaves and a row of water bottles.

My mouth watered at the sight of all the food. Nico saw me gazing hungrily at a tray of bananas. He glanced round, checking the coast was clear, then held up his hand. A thick bunch of ripe, yellow bananas zoomed into his palm. He walked on, whistling just a little self-consciously. I glanced at the stall. It seemed wrong to take food without paying for it – though I was absolutely starving and we had no money.

Ketty must have sensed my anxiety. Maybe she felt it too. Anyway, she whispered something to Dylan who rolled her eyes.

‘You can’t have my freakin’ ring,’ she said. ‘But I guess I can spare this.’ She slipped one of the silver bangles off her wrist and handed it to me. ‘Go on, pay with that, Mr Ethics. You can ask for directions to Mahore at the same time.’

I smiled. At least Mr Ethics was an improvement on Chino Boy.

Dylan grinned back. ‘That was a great move with the truck earlier, by the way, even though you and I both know that you choked before you turned.’

I rolled my eyes at her, then went inside the shack. A man in a wide straw hat was sitting on a stool by the counter, fanning himself. He looked up, lazily, as I came in. I offered him the bangle.

‘We want some food,’ I said, uncertain whether he would speak English. ‘We took some bananas. We’d like some bread too. And water.’

The man frowned at the bangle, examining the hallmark and biting it a couple of times. In the end he shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said.

I took two loaves of bread and a bottle of water each.

‘Where you going?’ the man said as I turned to leave.

‘Mahore.’ I pointed up the road. ‘That way?’

The man nodded. ‘I take delivery now. For another silver bracelet I take you?’

I nodded eagerly, then went outside to tell the others. Dylan agreed to hand over another bangle and we sat in the shade of the shack to eat the food while we waited for the shop owner.

The sun was fierce on our heads. My eyes stung from the glare and I could feel my skin burning. If Mum was here she’d have been nagging me about putting on suncream. Once she’d got over the fact that I’d just driven a truck and caused a car crash, that is.

Imagining Mum’s outraged face almost made me smile.

‘We should get to Mahore well ahead of Carson’s men,’ I said.

‘Yeah, we should.’ Nico raised his eyebrows. ‘Their jeeps looked completely written off.’

‘How was the lorry they smashed into?’ I asked.

‘Not a scratch, as far as I could see.’ Nico laughed, then yawned. ‘Jesus, I’m knackered.’

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

‘Tell me again why we have to go to Mahore?’ Dylan demanded.

I explained my promise to help Tsonga . . . to save his daughter. Thoughts of Luz filled my head as I spoke – of the promise I’d failed to keep to help her. I swallowed, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to rise up from my guts whenever I pictured her.

‘But why isn’t Geri helping?’ Ketty asked.

I told her what Geri had said – how our priority was to get Carson and not get sidetracked by Djounsou’s local ambitions to take over the region.