In an attempt to break the towering bamboo rod that held him fast, Marten hung all his weight on it.
He used to weigh more, but his wandering up and down the Mozambique coast in search of another Mozi, combined with the lack of fast-food places along the way—how he missed Starbucks—had melted a lot of his fat. Not that weight mattered much in this case. Being a grass, green bamboo tended to bend instead of break. And even if it did break, he doubted very much it would snap off like a dry twig. But he had to try.
He guesstimated the time at a couple of hours past noon. If he was going to get free, he needed to do it in daylight. Direct sunlight cut off early in the caldera, and after sunset the darkness down here became impenetrable.
The rod suddenly jerked lower as he heard a crack near its base. Could it be? Was it going to break? He swung a leg over and hauled himself up into a precarious straddle. He remembered seeing a Chinese movie once—something with a nonsensical name—that had a scene with a man and a woman leaping from rod to rod in a bamboo forest.
He started bouncing up and down on the rod, steadily gaining momentum while fighting to keep his balance. Suddenly a louder crack like a shot, and the rod dropped to the ground. Pain shot through him as the rod jammed against his perineum.
He rolled off in agony. He’d done it! He’d broken the bamboo but damn near castrated himself in the process.
When the spasms subsided, he dragged the zip tie around the rod as near as he could to the base. He groaned when he saw it. Yes, the rod had broken, but it was a green-stick break, with the majority of the fibers still intact. He’d need a sharp knife or axe or, better yet, a saw to cut through those.
He looked back along the twenty-five-foot length of the rod. Wait a minute. He didn’t need to snap it off. It tapered toward the top.
Marten slid the second zip tie along the length of the rod, ripping off some of the larger leaves along the way. In minutes he was free.
But now what? He needed his phone and he didn’t see any way to sneak into that tiny camp and retrieve it.
That left the almost unthinkable: He’d have to throw himself upon the mercies of his enemies. They wouldn’t accept Marten, and would only exile him again, more securely this time.
But they might accept Keith. And he knew he could fake Keith.