Page 28 of Risk It All
Chapter Ten
Madeleine
Max eats quickly and returns to observing the mine. I watch him. His face doesn't hide any of the horror, anger, or anguish he feels. I wish I could make it go away. Several times I think I should make him stop because he's only tormenting himself. But then I remember how he said experience was important to his being able to solve problems, so I didn't disturb him. Instead, I pull out my notebook and jot down notes.
I'm not sure how much time passes when I feel a tap on my boot. Turning, I see Bastu with a worried expression.
“Someone's coming.” His eyes dart side to side.
I nod and tap Max. As we practiced before, we slowly move from our spot and take shelter in the shadows. But this time I hear voices and whoever is talking seems to be following us.
We pick up the pace while continuing to move as quietly as possible. The rustling behind us stops, but almost immediately it picks up in front of us. I grab Max's arm to stop him.
“We must hide, split up.” Bastu's eyes frantically scan the area.
“No.” Max grasps my arm. “We stay together.”
I had told Max that no matter what, we needed to stay together, but now I wonder if maybe it would be better to split up.
As if he knows what I'm thinking, Max says, “I'm not leaving you.” His tone is hard, telling me there's no discussion.
Before I can make any response, shots shatter the silence.
“Run!” Bastu yells as he takes off.
I grab Max's hand, pulling him deeper into the jungle. It's difficult to move quickly through the lush forest, even with the machete.
“Do you know where you're going?” Max asks.
“Hopefully away from danger.” I pull him along, oblivious to the scrapes and slaps of the foliage. It seems like we've been moving for hours, when I finally slow to catch my breath. Max stops with me. I'm about to tell him I think we're safe, when a man steps out from behind a tree and points a rifle at us.
He waves the gun at us and speaks in a language I don't understand. I have a knack for languages, having learned to speak several fluently. But a little bit of Swahili is all I've been able to learn of the African languages, and unfortunately, Swahili isn't spoken in Nigeria. English is the official language, but many Nigerians speak only their tribal language.
“Speak English?” I ask.
He shakes his head and waves the gun again. He's eyeing our machetes. They appear to make him nervous even though his gun is faster and more lethal.
“We should put the machetes down,” I tell Max.
We both drop the machetes to the ground and the man grabs them.
Slowly I reach for my breast pocket. The man's eyes narrow, but he doesn't stop me. I pull the volunteer ID Dr. Knowles gave us from my pocket and hand it to the man. He looks at it, but it doesn't change his demeanor. He hands it back. Then he waves his gun, motioning for is to move.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?” Max asks.
“I don't know.” But I don't have a good feeling about it. One of the curses of a curious mind and being a writer is knowing all sorts of obscure facts, including poachers kill an average of two rangers a week. We aren’t rangers, but I doubt that will matter to them.
We follow orders, but my mind is whirling to find an escape route. I'm certain this man is a poacher and that he's probably not alone. Is he taking us to his friends? Another shot rings out, stopping all three of us in our tracks.
“Bastu.” My heart thumps hard in my chest, terrified he's been caught or killed.
Our captor motions us forward again. I determine our best bet is to try to get away. If we can put enough distance between ourselves and the man, maybe we can hide in the dense foliage.
Hoping that Max will catch on, I feign lightheadedness. I stagger, and bring my hand to my forehead.
“Madeleine?” Max rests his hand on my back.
“I just need a minute.” I take off my pack, letting it slide down one arm until I have the strap in one hand while I bend over taking a breath.
Max crouches down beside me. I turn my head to look at him, willing him to understand what I'm about to do. His eyes narrow, but before he can respond, the man pushes him with the butt of his gun.
Holding the strap of my pack, I use all the force in my legs and arms to stand up and swing the pack. I hit the man with a loud whap, knocking him off balance.
As he staggers back, I yell, “Run!”
With the strap of my pack still in my hand, I grab Max's arm with my other hand and pull him down a steep incline. Although downward momentum helps, the plants and vines slow us down. A shot rings out and pings against a tree as we pass it.
“Faster!” Max yells. I'm certain he can run faster than me, but he stays right behind me. I want to tell him to save himself, but my lungs burn. I can barely breathe, much less speak.
I change direction, hoping the man can't see us. I have no idea where I'm going when the ground drops away and we fall, rolling down an incline. When we stop, I scoot under a dense vine-like plant. I pull Max with me until he's nearly on top of me. I don't say a word out loud, but I stare at him, hoping he understands that he needs to remain still and quiet.
