Except that so far, he'd been even more ignored than he was back in NPR except when the others were making fun of him. Jibriil had been dead wrong-smarts didn't matter. Instead, questioning less and showing a will to do more, no matter how awful, was what put you in the good graces of the higher powers. Jibriil was more likely to become a leader than Adem.
The truck rattled again, turned left and lurched and Adem fell from his bench and onto Garaad across from him.
"Idiot!" He kicked Adem, the dusty boot catching him in the shoulder. Adem fought to get back to his place, pummeled by more kicks. "You like this? You like getting kicked around?"
It took Jibriil to reach across, grab Garaad's leg, and say, "Enough!"
They listened to Jibriil, everyone there. Treated him like some prophetic warrior forsaking the pleasures of the world to do his duty. They loved him.
Adem just got in the way.
Soon after everyone had settled down again, the trucks stopped. The drivers got out, slapped the side of the vehicle, woke the sleepers. They all unwound and climbed to the ground, most of them sitting down again, the others stretching. It was very dark, only glimpses of moonlight, making everything indistinct and shiny.
The leader of the raid called over his top men, Jibriil being one of them. He hadn't told Adem of any promotion. Was that on purpose? Concerned about Adem's morale? He hated to admit it, but this was a reversal of their friendship in the Cities, where Adem had been the one who made the plans, decided what they were going to do and when. Jibriil always went along, at least until high school began to pull them apart, bit by bit.
After the huddle, Jibriil called over the men from his truck, explained their part in all this. "We want to destroy their supplies. Not steal, but decimate. We want to kill the men."
"The women? What about the women?"
Jibriil, no expression. "Whatever you want, as long as it doesn't get you killed."
The rest-partners, streets, escape route, time of operation, Adem absorbed without really paying attention. It sounded as if they didn't expect much resistance. The middle of the night, everyone asleep, far away from the frontline. Jibriil said they would split into pairs when they reached the village. Adem assumed Jibriil would keep him close, but instead teamed him with Madoowbe. It wasn't what Adem had hoped for, but it was better than being stuck with Garaad or the guy who wanted to rape the women.
Adem tightened his grip on the rifle as Jibriil kept on in hushed tones. The air was cleaner than it had been in the truck. He sneezed, tried to quiet it. His nerves were on edge like sandpaper, hard to touch anything. He scratched a bite on his leg and thought he might pass out.
Tonight he would have to kill someone. Not like he had with the thief, because no matter the intent, he had to accept that yes, he had already killed a man. This time, no accidents. No way around it. Adem would lift his gun and end the lives of men who were not expecting it. He was grateful for that part-not at all looking forward to the day the enemy was coming at him with their own guns.
He wasn't ready, but that was the point, right? Suffering through these long days of trial, waiting to hear the voice of the Prophet, when maybe it took action to open the doors. Taking the hand was the beginning, leading him to this. If that's what it took, okay. He would bind his fears and leave them waiting in the truck for when he returned. Hopefully, he wouldn't need them anymore.
Jibriil pointed the way, a half-mile walk west, and the crew followed, footsteps and darkness. Adem lagged behind.
*
An hour later he was running for his life behind two other soldiers, Jibriil behind them laying down gunfire at the pursuing men. Adem was sweating, cold, hot, out of breath, all at once. He'd dropped his rifle a long time ago. The Ethiopians had been waiting for them.
They all heard the gunfire, the first truckload of men being taken out by the waiting soldiers, before they'd even made it to town. Jibriil rushed ahead, told the others to stick to the plan and hurry up. He had to go see what had happened.
Adem and Madoowbe continued on, taking cover behind a makeshift hut, sneaking around to find it full of women and children. Awake. Afraid. Babies crying. More gunfire from behind. Adem and Madoowbe looked at each other. Reading thoughts- No way. Not me.
A shout from behind them. "Murderers!"
Three men running, dressed like shepherds, already lifting their rifles. Adem and his partner ran. Flinching as the shepherds' guns behind them popped with automatic fire. Shaking too bad to even think of firing their own. They ran fast. The soldiers behind them gave up, and the two ran towards another pair of their own, further along.
Before they could meet up, the gunfire rattled again. Flashes of light ahead like strobe. Two Somalis flailing in slo-mo, falling. One of them Adem recognized-Abdi Erasto, just fifteen, always happy. Shot down without a fight. Beyond them, more of their soldiers running like Adem had done. Another standing casually behind a stone hut, edging up and firing blindly around the corner, even into his own people.
The wall next to Adem and Madoowbe pinged several times, pieces of rock flying, cutting Madoowbe's face. He screamed, held his hand to his eye. Too dark for Adem to tell if there was blood. More pings and cracks around them. He grabbed his partner, pulled him down to the ground. Half a foot away from a pile of donkey shit. The cows and asses in town were freaked, braying and howling. More gunfire overhead on the wall. Shards of rock flying, slicing across their backs.
Then it was dark again. The gunfire stopped. Adem's vision was filled with bright specks, changing colors, and darkness. He blinked. Kept on. Couldn't get rid of the flashing ghosts. Finally caught a glimpse of men in sandals coming their way. Ethiopians shepherds.
One said, "A couple of prisoners?"
Another. "No, no, we hang their bodies in the square and desecrate them. Make sure God will not accept them in heaven."
Adem pushed himself to his knees, grabbed the other boy's shoulder, pulled him upright. Still pressing the heel of his hand against his eye. Adem couldn't find his own gun in the dark. He reached for Madoowbe's gun.
His hands were slapped away. "You can't have it!"
"Hey, we're going to die!"
"That's mine! Let me kill them."
Madoowbe pulled his hand from his eye, a sliced up bloody mess, already beginning to swell shut. He lifted the rifle and let loose. The bullets sprayed everywhere, like a fireman's hose, no control whatsoever. Lighting up the whole wall, probably not hitting a thing.
Then the shepherds fired back. Knew exactly where to aim. Precise. Right at Madoowbe's chest and head, ten, fifteen, twenty. Adem jumped back, scuttled on the ground like a crab to get away. His partner's body animated like a marionette for a moment before collapsing under the barrage.
Maybe they hadn't seen him. He felt around carefully, quietly for his own rifle. Nowhere to be found. He didn't have a pistol on him, not even grenades. He'd been afraid they would blow him up without warning. At that moment, he wished he hadn't been such a baby. Quick shallow breaths. Afraid he'd need to gasp and give away his position.
The shepherds had made it to Madoowbe's body, one reaching over to lay the guy out flat, search his pockets, take his gun. Another lashed a rope around his head, tied it into a noose.
The third was keeping watch around them. Adem lay flat on his stomach, trying not to breathe. He was close to a thatched fence and hoped it was throwing enough shadow to keep him covered. If only he had a pistol.
The shepherd looked directly at him. Squinted. Eased his rifle up. "Another one."
Oh, no, please, God, no, I'm so sorry, Mom, Dad. So Sorry.