Chapter 17

There was no way Jean was going to allow that butcher doctor to amputate her foot. Maybe the dying woman beside her was right and the doctor just liked to cut.

Besides, it was impossible for Jean to believe that if she didn’t do what he wanted, she would die.

Inconceivable.

The question was when could Jean escape and how. If she waited too long, they might take her into surgery.

Night was falling. Through the narrow window Jean could see darkness enveloping the countryside. She doubted very much if the doctor would operate at night but it certainly was possible. The way her luck was going anything was possible.

She would love to wait until morning, but it might be harder to escape in the daylight. Also, if she overslept (and seeing how bone tired she was that was a distinct possibility) she might wake up with one foot.

It had to be tonight. But she’d wait until they fed her, which they did soon enough. A bowl of rice, some sort of mystery meat (which tasted delicious to Jean) and a glass of water.

Jean might have enjoyed the meal a little better if the powerful smell of vomit wasn’t in the room. But she really couldn’t complain. Especially when she actually stole the meal from the woman beside her.

The woman was muttering wildly, clutching her stomach and talking in a strange language.

Jean didn’t think the woman would be eating ever again. And besides, it was Jean who needed her strength.

She waited until the hospital quieted down and then she slipped out of bed. She reached for her neighbor’s moccasins and put them on her feet. They were a tad bit big but Jean could live with that. With her heels clicking up and down, Jean limped to the door. From what Jean could remember the entrance was towards the right. Suddenly someone began talking and to Jean’s horror she heard the voice of Doctor Butcher.

She immediately crawled back into bed. The neighboring woman was still.

Probably dead.

Jean didn’t dare escape through the front door and then she remembered the window. In all of her enthusiasm and her determination to escape, she had not thought of the most obvious route of all. Just climb out the window.

It was easier thought than done.

For one thing the window was closed tightly, as though it hadn’t been opened since it had been painted. And from what Jean could tell, someone had painted it a long time ago.

Jean had to press with all her might and the creaking made more noise than she had anticipated.

But the woman beside her didn’t move a muscle.

With a beating heart, Jean managed to shove her skinny body through the small opening. She landed feet first on the ground. On her bad foot, which was now her bad leg. She also lost the moccasins. It took her several minutes to locate them and then she crawled into the bushes and waited a few minutes while she adjusted her pink sheath.

She realized she was just being silly. The people in the hospital probably wouldn’t care that she had escaped. Doctor Bucher would find someone else to cut up soon enough. And even if he really thought she’d die without the operation, he probably didn’t care about that either. A lot of people died in her country.

It was just the way it was.

She didn’t doubt that Matthew was still frantically searching for her, though. And if Pastor Francis hadn’t fled the country yet, he wouldn’t want a witch child talking about him.

But at least this time, she had a goal. A place to go. She was heading for the SOS village.

Jean spent a restless night, sleeping deep in the woods. She tried to remember what the woman said about the village. A few kilometers away. But what did the woman consider a few kilometers? And in what direction? Maybe the woman was delusional and there was no SOS village. That would be Jean’s luck.

She kept walking, carefully avoiding the road. She doubted that in such a small village, soldiers would be stationed, checking identities. But she couldn’t take the chance. They wouldn’t let her keep walking. They would demand answers. In a short period of time, she’d land in Matthew’s clutches.

She walked by a huge billboard strung up on two telephone bills, warning the readers not to share toothbrushes or shaving blades because doing such a thing could give the virus. Jean tried to remember the last time she brushed her teeth.

She slowed down when she passed a field of broken bottles and corn cobs. She bent down and examined each bottle, looking for a sip and she didn’t even care if it was beer. But all the bottles were empty and there wasn’t a morsel of corn on the discarded cobs.

Then she emptied out the stones which had lodged inside her moccasins. And she kept limping along.

As she trudged toward freedom under the burnt orange sky, a strange elation ran over her. She believed she was going to make it—she was actually going to be saved. And when she got to a haven, she would let a real doctor examine her foot. Perhaps all she needed was some pills or a clean dressing and in no time at all, she’d be running again.

Only this time she wouldn’t be running away from anything.

She had walked for about twenty minutes (wishing that she had some water) when she heard some movement. At first she thought it was a wild animal and she hid behind a tree.

She was shocked when she saw Ruth emerge from the woods.

Ruth looked very different than the last time Jean saw her. She was dressed in a red garment, the color of fire, which wrapped tightly around her thin figure. Her gold shoes and gold jewelry—a long chain and earrings shaped like chandeliers—glistened in the sunlight. Her dark hair was upswept and kept in place with a large golden barrette.

She had come into money, all right. She had probably sold the coltan already. Now if Jean should cross paths with Matthew, she would tell him that she had overheard people talking in the hospital.

If Matthew hadn’t found out about Ruth already.

Ruth was singing a peppy, happy tune and Jean had to admit she had a decent voice. Ruth, who looked positively gleeful, didn’t notice anyone around her. She was too intent on her destination.

She never saw Jean hiding between the trees.

Jean decided to follow her.

So while Ruth took several steps, Jean tiptoed behind the bushes, trying to keep her pace. Ruth was almost dancing to her destination while Jean limped, every step bringing excruciating pain, but Jean was used to that.

Finally Ruth stopped. And then she did glance over her shoulder. If a brightly colored parrot hadn’t chirped from one of the tall trees, Ruth would have spotted Jean. Instead Ruth began to coo to the bird in a soft melodic tone.

Then Ruth bent down and began digging with her long nails. Jean waited with baited breath as Ruth uncovered a small black velvet pouch. Ruth emptied the pouch in her hand and Jean could see a number of stones spill out.

The coltan. Jean watched as Ruth grabbed a few rocks and put the pouch back into the ground, carefully covering the bag with dirt and then stamping on the dirt with her gold sandals. Then she marked the place with a stick.

Jean couldn’t remember how many stones there were in all. Ruth had sold some of them. But there were obviously some left.

Once Ruth was finished, she didn’t linger. Instead she quickly danced away, leaving Jean still crouching behind the tree.

Even before she thought about it, Jean knew what she was going to do. She was going to dig up the remaining coltan. After all, Ruth had no more right to them than Jean did. In fact, they belonged to Jean more than they belonged to Ruth.

Jean might use them to bargain for her life. But her intent was to give them back to their rightful owners.

Whoever that might be.

As quickly as she could, Jean limped from out of her hiding place and dug up the stones. She grabbed the pouch and put it in her pocket. She was right back where she had been several days ago.

She walked on.

It soon became apparent to Jean that she was lost. She could continue by the edge of the road, but that was risky. Better to keep to the path, twisted as it was and be careful.

A clearing loomed ahead.

A clearing which seemed familiar to Jean. And then Jean saw the hut. The hut was certainly not a place where Jean wanted to rest. There was too great a chance that Matthew might come back.

She turned around and started to head in the other direction.

Voices halted her.

At first she couldn’t tell where the voices where coming from and then she realized that people were talking inside. It could be Matthew, torturing Peter. It could be Victor, who had made a remarkable discovery. Except for one thing.

The padlock on the outside of the hut was tightly closed. The people inside were being held prisoners, just as she had been. But that wasn’t her problem.

Until she heard a child’s voice.

Another child trapped. Another child like herself, like her brother, a victim of circumstances. And just like that Jean remembered Jimmy and Natalie and Matilda. Pastor Francis had arranged for them to become soldiers. And Pastor Francis knew Matthew and Victor. So then he would know about the hut. And what better place to stash the evidence, which were nothing but children while they waited for the rebels to come and get them? A place where no one would find the children, a place where they couldn’t possibly escape and testify against the Pastor?

But again, what could Jean do? The children were being held prisoners behind solid wooden boards. Well, maybe not all solid wooden boards. Jean recalled that one of the boards was loose, the board on the side that allowed a sliver of light to peek through.

I’ll come back, she vowed. But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. With a little luck, though, she could send someone back to rescue the children.

But the little bit of luck she was having recently was all a little bit of bad luck. And if the children’s luck was anything like hers, by the time she went for help (assuming she didn’t die in the process) the children might already have been taken out of the hut.

And sharing a grave with her.

She limped over to the side of the hut and quickly found the loose board. One of the nails had bent and broken and was now hanging limply in the air. She rapped loudly on the wood.

Someone rapped back.

“Who’s there?” a child called out.

She recognized Jimmy’s voice immediately. “It’s me, Jean. Remember? I promised that I would come for you.”

She could hear the voices all together now, buzzing, full of excitement and hope.

“Can you help us?” Matilda asked. “Please.”

“I’ll try,” Jean said, even as she uttered the words, feeling it was hopeless. She probably wasn’t going to be able to pry loose the board and every moment she wasted increased the danger to herself. Someone would be back for them, and when they came, they’d take Jean as well.

But she had to try. She tugged at the nail. It gave away easily and dropped in the dirt. She pulled at the board and it started to creak. She heard screams of delight on the other side of the wall.

But the board was holding its’ own.

She pushed and she pulled. The other nails didn’t move. Someone might be able to punch through the board, someone big and strong, someone from the other side. But first they’d have to break the glass from the inside because, from what Jean could remember, the window looked glued shut.

“Listen to me,” she shouted. “Are you all listening to me?”

She heard of chorus of yeses.

“Someone has to put their fist through the glass. You have to break it and then you have to push the board out. It’s the only way.”

Complete silence.

“Did you hear me?” Jean asked.

“We heard you,” Matilda said. “You mean we have to cut our hands?”

Jean drew an exasperated breath. “I don’t think you understand,” she said. “When they come back for you, they’re going to send you to the front lines.”

“You mean, like soldiers?” Jimmy asked.

“I mean, like human shields.” Silence. “That means they’re going to put you in front of a soldier so when someone shoots, the bullet is going to hit you first.”

Natalie began to cry.

“We don’t have long before they come back. Just put your fist through the window. Now.”

“I’ll do it,” Jimmy said.

And then Jean heard several loud thumps and then the sound of glass breaking. “Good work. Now listen, you all have to push this board. It’s already loose and if you push hard enough, it will fall on the ground.”

“You mean we all have to stick our hands through the broken glass?” Matilda whined again.

“Jimmy is bleeding,” Natalie wailed.

“Do you want to get out of here or not?” Jean asked. “It’s only one small cut. What’s one small cut?” Jean knew that she wasn’t telling the truth. For her one small cut might mean she would never walk normally again.

A group of fists pounded on the board. Jean stepped back as the board shook and with a deafening crash the wood caved in and fell with a thud on the ground. Jean saw little Natalie crawling through the hole in the window, the glass shattering around her. She was still clinging to her dirty rag doll. Jimmy was next and when his long, skinny body came through, glass flew in all directions. A sliver of glass hit Jean in the cheek, missing her eye by inches. She started to bleed. Using the palm of her hand, she wiped away the blood as she saw Matilda looking for a dainty way to make it to the other side of the hut. Finally she threw her body head first out the window, cutting her legs in the process.

Jean breathed a sigh of relief and then her heart gave a jolt when she realized what she accomplished. She had managed to save three children. If she did nothing else in her life, she had done this.

Well, maybe not yet.

“I know a place where we can go,” she said. “Where we’ll all be safe.”

“Where?”

“When can we go?”

“Is it far?”

“How can we get there?” Matilda asked and then she said quickly, “Where did you get that pretty pink dress?”

“I can run real fast.” And then in a spurt of energy, Jimmy began running around the woods, laughing hysterically.

“Jimmy, be careful!” Matilda hissed. “Watch where you’re running!”

“He can’t see!” Natalie screamed.

Jimmy stood stationary. Everyone was paralyzed, not moving, not daring to breathe. At first, Jean didn’t realize what had gotten their attention. Until she looked down and saw a snake in the grass, slithering towards Jimmy.

She didn’t have to ask what it was. She knew. It was a viper. One bite and Jimmy would be dead.