The other two dropped the dead Somali. Turned. Rifles ready. The lookout pointed at the fence. Adem's exact location. "There, you see? He's trying to be still. See?"
One of them set off a flurry of shots. Puffed the ground in front of Adem, the fence behind. Grazed the backs of his legs. Stung like a bee. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep from calling out.
But he failed.
"Jibriil! Help, God, help me!"
More gunfire. Adem covered his head and rolled out of the way, through the donkey dung, wondering how he was not yet dead.
He looked up. More strobe. The shepherds turned and fired at someone else. Six or seven Somalis on the attack, running right towards the shepherds, one of them falling.
Someone grabbed Adem's shirt and began yanking hard, yelling, "Get up! Get up! Move!"
Jibriil's voice. Adem rolled onto his feet and followed Jibriil and two others out of the village. Jibriil turned, running backwards, firing until his clip ran out. The others-Garaad and a tall, caramel-skinned man from another unit. More Somalis sprinted away towards the other trucks as the last of the three shepherds fell, new men coming out of the darkness to replace them. Gunfire lit up the road behind them, zipping by or thudding into the ground all around.
Garraad, supposedly the baddest of the crew, ran fastest. Far ahead of the others, not looking back. Adem guessed that was how he had survived so long in this war-hit em hard and get out quickly. Just ahead of Adem, the tall man kept looking back, asking if Adem was alright. Checking on Jibriil, who had finally run out of ammo and was catching up fast, pistol in hand. Too dark to see how many followed, but bursts of rifle-fire lit up the black.
No way they were going to make it. No way. Adem's legs were way past cramping, now burning. The fire moving up his thighs into his chest. Garaad out of sight. The tall man still keeping pace with Adem, rifle strapped to his back. Surely he could run faster than this. But he was determined to make sure Adem and Jibriil made it.
Shouted, "We either all make it or none of us do!"
Jibriil shouted back, "No! You go! I'm in command now! Get Adem out of here!"
Jibriil in command? Then the leader was dead. The leader's right-hand man, dead. Jibriil now the highest ranking, holding it together. Adem could see what he was about to do. As soon as Adem and the other soldier were far enough along, he was going to turn and make a stand with his pistol. Total suicide. It was the only move they had left.
Adem wanted to slow down, talk Jibriil out of it. But he couldn't. He was on automatic pilot. Pumping those exhausted legs. Jibriil already slowing, giving them space. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be! They were going to fight together, discover what made them Somali to the core. Not this. A shit border town, an ambush, and a humiliating retreat.
Adem looked over his shoulder. Jibriil, still slowing, flashed him a smile and wink. Then Jibriil stopped, turned, and started firing.
Adem looked ahead on the road. Saw taillights heading for him fast. Way too fast, going to slam into him. He stopped, leapt to the side of the road as the truck screeched to a hard stop. It was their truck. Garaad leaned out the driver's window.
"Get up, you ass! Get in!"
Adem pushed himself off the ground and stumbled for the back gate. The tall soldier was already there, helped Adem inside. He fell on his shoulder. Hurt like hell. He hurried around and grabbed the soldier's hand as the truck lurched backwards again at high speed and made another jarring stop right before it hit Jibriil. He turned, tossed the pistol into the truck and grabbed their waiting hands. Bullets zipping by, slapping into the metal of the truck. All three inside, they shouted at Garaad to floor it.
He did, jerking forward, gaining speed. The Ethiopians were gaining, bullets exploding the side mirrors, back glass, barely over their heads. Jibriil grabbed Adem and they sank to the truckbed. Crowded together but alive. Jibriil and Adem breathing hard, staring at each other, before Jibriil's face lit up and he started laughing. Laughing as if he'd gotten off a roller coaster at Valley Fair, an amusement park back in the Cities.
The tall Somali joined in. Then Adem, not to be left out, but he didn't see what there was to laugh about. They had escaped, yes, but he didn't feel relieved. Instead, what was it? Terror. The sense that every day would be worse than the last. He would dream of strobelight silhouettes, bodies of boys he knew being dragged into the town square to be desecrated at that very moment as Jibriil and Adem were laughing on the way home.
When the sound of the gunfire faded, they sat up. Looked out in time to see another of their trucks beginning to pull away, not even half full. The third, beginning to fill, a young man climbing into the driver's seat.
Then the sky shook. The dark turned into fiery day, Adem having to squint to understand what was going on. His eyes playing tricks on him. The third truck had exploded, its frame on fire.
"Rocket launcher!" Jibriil crawled to the cracked window, yelled at Garaad. "Rocket launcher!"
Garaad began swerving. The truck behind them did the same. Sped up. They were in an open field. They needed trees, hills, anything. Too dark to see. Another blast behind both of the trucks, a miss.
Adem backed up against the front of the truckbed, pressing his back against the steel. Instinctually pushing, as if he could get away from the rockets by pure will.
"You've got to drive, man!"
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"Faster!"
"I drive as fucking fast as I can fucking drive, alright? Why didn't you bring a launcher?"
Another blast. This one sent the truck behind them spinning into the air, on fire, flipping over and over, throwing out flaming, screaming soldiers. A wave of heat washed over Adem, still pushing. Nothing behind them now but clear darkness.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod." In English. "No no no."
Jibriil clamped a hand down on his shoulder, shut him up. Leaned down to his ear. "Don't let it hurt when it happens. Go with it. Praise Allah and leave this all behind, my friend."
Adem wrapped his hands around Jibriil's arm. "Why like this? It's not supposed to be this way."
"Brace yourself."
The sound of the rocket screaming their way. Adem thought he saw the brief flash of flame from where they launched it. Squeezing Jibriil tighter, tighter.
Another blinding flash, another skyshaker, even worse this time. But they were still rolling. Still alive. The ground directly behind them on fire.
As they crested a hill Garaad turned on the speed. The wind whipped their ears, but the shouts of joy were obvious from the looks on their faces. Jibriil embraced Adem, held on for dear life, pounded his back hard. Tears streamed down Adem's cheeks, soaked into Jibriil's shirt. Miles and miles like that, it felt.
When they were far enough away, relatively safe within the Somali border, Jibriil said again, "The captain is dead. I led his men back across the village. I didn't know…"
He struggled, couldn't say it.
The tall soldier shook his head. "Are you sure? At the end there, when you wanted to be left behind-"
"You're saying I'm a traitor, Khalid?"
Held up his hands. "I'm not, no, just saying we have to investigate. You acted admirably. A true leader."
"Forget that right now. I did everything I could to tear up that village and get our men out alive. I'm no mole."
Kahlid dropped his eyes. "Forgive me. You're right. It makes no sense."
Adem asked, "Investigate what? I don't get it."
"Someone gave us up. They knew we were coming."
Adem pulled his knees to his chin, gripped his arms around his shins. He didn't want to think about it. All he wanted was to go home.
TEN
If they hadn't been packing guns, Bleeker would've twisted the ears of all these "Black Ice Boys" and made them stay after school for detention. Instead, he had to keep his mouth shut as he and Mustafa followed Tyrus into a sixth floor apartment in the center of Cedar-Riverside. The front room bare except for a couch, worn-recliner, and giant flat screen TV on a cheap stand. On the wall over the couch, a bronze-colored crucifix. Scattered all over the floor, wires leading from the TV to a video game console, and more wires leading to controls in two of the Boys' hands. Lots of "Aw, yeah, fuck that!" and "All you, Dub, all you."