As the girls stood, Nasha, gripping a road spike, burst from beneath the desk, screaming like a banshee. Makao tried to catch her. She jammed the spike into his hand. He jumped back, swearing. She charged full force into the other man, driving the spike into his arm. By the time he realized what was going on, she was through the door.
The guard spun around, trying to catch her, but Remi blocked his path. He shouldered her into the doorframe, knocking the breath out of her.
“After her,” Makao yelled.
Nasha leaped to the drive, darting around the goats as the guard lunged toward her. Within seconds, several other guards appeared and the chase was on. She escaped them all, sending the goats into a panic, running in every direction.
Makao, looking at the blood dripping down his hand, swore again, finally calling the guard back. “Jimi.”
When the guard returned, empty-handed, Makao nodded at the girls. “Load them up.”
“Her, too?” he said, jerking his head toward Amal, her expression still empty.
“Send one of the other men back for her.” As Jimi took Remi by the arm, forcing her out the door, Makao added, “If you find that other girl, kill her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When you see a turtle on top of a fence post, you know he had some help.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Amal started to come to the moment the other guard arrived to help. Makao, blood dripping down his fingers, didn’t move from the door until Jimi led the hostages to the truck. The moment the Fargo woman was safely in the cargo bed, he returned to the office, looking for a first aid kit. He found one in the bathroom, and was applying a bandage to the gash, when he heard someone traipsing around on the gravel outside the office. Pressing the bandage tight, he walked to the door, saw Jimi searching for something on the ground.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m looking for the truck keys.”
“I gave them to you.”
“And I put them in my pocket. They must have fallen.”
“The hostages?”
“They’re tied up in the back of the truck.”
Makao glanced across the graveled drive, inspecting the canvas secured over the cargo area. “You left them? Alone?”
A loud crash somewhere in the courtyard startled the goats and sent them running.
“The girl.” Makao took a step in that direction and stopped. “Get back to that truck.”
“What about the keys?”
“Forget the keys. We have two cars. Three prisoners in each. The rest of you can ride in the back of my pickup.” He started toward the courtyard.
“Why us? Put them in the back of your pickup.”
Makao stopped in his tracks, resisting the urge to smash his fist into the man’s head. “Imagine some farmer sees the girls as we’re trying to smuggle them out—without being seen. Get over there. Now.”
Jimi hurried toward the truck, searching the ground as he walked. Makao took one last look around, then left for the courtyard to investigate. He had a sneaking suspicion about those buckets, almost certain he’d seen them earlier in the day, stacked inside that round building. The girl who attacked them in the office had to have moved them. Maybe she was in there now, he thought, pulling open the door to the shed. Moonlight angled in, casting its pale glow across the trail of dirt tracked across the floor planks.
He felt along the wall for a light switch, found one, flicked it on. A bulb overhead lit up the space and the dirt trail seemed to disappear in the light. He turned it off and the trail reappeared, and led to a pallet on the far side of the room. On top of it were stacked empty burlap sacks, the pile looking disturbed . . .
A child that size could easily be hiding beneath, he thought, stalking over and lifting them. Finding nothing, he tossed the sacks to the ground, distracted by the sound of a heavy engine starting. Jimi must have found the keys, he thought, seeing the footprints leading toward the pallet. Too many footprints for just one girl . . . He squatted for a closer look, his suspicion rising when he realized that all the prints seemed to disappear right there. A knothole in one of the floorboards caught his eye and he started to reach for it.
“Stop! Stop!”
Makao jumped to his feet, racing out of the shed, and through the courtyard, in time to see the Fargos’ truck rolling toward the open gate, Jimi running beside it, trying to open the driver’s door.
The rest of his men ran into the yard. “Pili,” he called to the closest. “Climb in the back.”
Pili ran toward the truck and vaulted onto the back bumper. The canvas whipped open. Amal, her hands no longer tied, kicked out as Pili reached for her. He missed, tried again, but she kicked him in the chest and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
Jimi raised his gun, ready to shoot. “No,” Makao called out. “No guns.”
“They’re getting away.”
“After them,” Makao shouted as he ran to his pickup.
He shoved his key into the ignition, starting it, waiting for his men to jump in the back, while Pili and his group got into the SUV. They sped out the gate, but Makao had to lean to his left in order to see around the egg dripping down his windshield. He accelerated, gaining on the truck, swearing at the dust kicking up, all of it sticking to the egg. When he turned on the wipers, the blades smeared the sticky substance across the glass, turning it into mud. Just able to see through a small patch on the left of the windshield, he stabbed at the gas, glad the truck was four-wheel drive. When he approached the first hairpin turn, the back end started swaying, then fishtailed as he hit the brakes.
Figuring it was the rough road, he attempted to steer into it—until he heard the steady thump-thump of the rim and rubber hitting as they rolled down the hill.
“What’s wrong?” Jimi asked.
“Flat.” He slowed to a stop, got out, and saw both rear tires almost peeled back from the rims. He waited for Pili to catch up, watching the headlights bouncing wildly as it came to a stop behind his. He ran up the hill, saw the mess of egg and dirt smeared across the windshield, and knew without a doubt the rear tires would also be flat.
Pili got out, swearing.
Makao looked over the damage, realized they’d have to cannibalize the wheels from Pili’s SUV to get his truck working. He ordered his men to change the tires.
“We’re going after them?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” He walked to the side of the road, looking down the steep slope, catching a glimpse of the headlights through the trees before they disappeared farther down the hill. The sight angered him.