Present day
Namir kicked the ground in rage.
One girl. One little slip of a girl had evaded them.
‘Find her. Find who is with her. Bring both back. Alive,’ he yelled.
‘Stop,’ he roared when his men started scattering. ‘Not all of you, you fools. Six of you stay back. The rest, go.’
His men broke up into four groups and went in four directions: one behind the house, another to its east, a third group to the west, and the last to the front.
‘What are you waiting for?’ He challenged the six remaining men. ‘Go inside that hut. Find out who that person is. I need a name.’
He stared broodingly at the light coming out of the shelter as his men ripped it apart.
Subduing Ashland hadn’t taken much effort.
The journalist had been slack-jawed when Namir introduced himself, but had quickly dived to his backpack.
‘Sara. RUN!’ he had yelled in despair as two of Namir’s gunmen pounced on him. A third man chased the girl as she fled, caught her, and brought her back.
Namir would never forget how the first cut had felt. How the blade had sunk into Ashland. The way he had screamed.
He had tortured him slowly as his daughter cried and prayed.
Namir had laughed. He was judge, jury, and executioner. He was God.
And then, when everyone’s attention was on Namir and his knife, the girl had taken action: kicked her captor in the groin and escaped.
Namir hadn’t even turned around. He was intent on seeing the light die out in Ashland’s eyes.
When his blood lust was sated, he found his men had returned empty-handed.
Sara Ashland was gone.
Zeb watched for a few moments longer.
Three men were heading in their direction. Flashlights in one hand, guns in the other. Heads looking down.
There was another bunch of three men and two groups of four, spreading out.
He caught the girl’s hand and felt her shake.
He looked down and pressed his finger to his lips.
Started easing back, still facing the men. One step at a time. Feet rolling on the ground, distributing weight evenly. The way animals moved.
She followed.
The men merged into the shadows, and then they moved faster until they reached a dense copse.
He let his eyes adjust to the deeper gloom. It was a natural hollow surrounded by trees.
It would do.
He hurried her inside.
‘Stay here. Don’t move,’ he whispered.
‘Where are you going?’ She forced the question through chattering teeth.
‘To get us a gun.’