42

Sometime during the night, the first drops of rain fell on Connor’s face. It was cool and refreshing, and he let the drops roll down his cheeks. As the rain intensified, he opened his mouth, relishing the life-giving water. Then the shower became a torrential downpour, drumming on the tree canopy overhead and drowning out all other noise. The layers of dirt and blood were washed from his skin and clothes, his wounds cleansed and his body partly revived.

The rebels hurried to the shelter of their tents while the enslaved workers shivered and shook out in the open, their canvas roofs having collapsed under the sheer weight of the water. The stand of trees Connor and Amber were tied under offered scant protection from the storm, and exposed to its full might, they too began shuddering from the rain-drenched cold.

With the guards huddling in their tents and the kerosene lamps guttering in the deluge, Connor realized that this was their best, and possibly only, opportunity to escape. But try as he might, he couldn’t free his hands. He thought the rain might help him slip out of his bindings, but the wet rope had swelled up and was now even tighter around his wrists. Connor struggled until exhaustion overwhelmed him.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he heard was a massive explosion and the distinctive crack of gunfire. The rain still fell in sheets, but a pale pre-dawn light was now battling to push through the tail end of the storm. Throughout the camp, rebels were snatching up weapons and firing indiscriminately into the surrounding jungle. Another explosion ripped through the valley as a mortar detonated in the riverbed, sending up a shower of dirt and debris. The enslaved workers ran for cover, but many were cut down by gunfire from the bushes.

“What’s happening?” cried Amber, her wet hair matted to her face.

“It must be the army,” Connor replied. “Somehow they’ve found us!”

“Then we’re saved?” She seemed not to know whether to laugh or cry with joy at the news.

But Connor realized this was no time to rejoice. They were stuck in the heart of the kill zone, at risk from both rebel and friendly fire. Whether rescue was coming or not, Connor knew they had to A-C-E it out of the camp as fast as possible. Assess the threat. Counter the danger. Escape the kill zone. Otherwise they’d be slaughtered like the rest of the workers.

He renewed his effort to free his hands, the skin around his wrists scraped raw as he twisted and pulled. Amid the chaos of the surprise attack, General Pascal barked orders to his rebel army of men and boy soldiers. Despite despising the rebel leader to his very core, Connor couldn’t deny the man’s military expertise. Honed through years of guerrilla warfare in the jungle, the general quickly rallied his troops into several cohesive fighting units, then launched a counteroffensive against the enemy hidden in the forested slopes of the valley.

As he commanded his forces, the general shouted at No Mercy to keep guard over Connor and Amber, giving the boy soldier express orders to kill them if any government soldiers entered the rebel camp.

Connor yanked harder on his bindings, but still they wouldn’t give. Amber was struggling too.

No Mercy sneered at their pathetic attempts and, after making sure the knots were still secure, turned his attention to the firefight raging all around them. Tracer bullets zipped overhead, and another mortar exploded nearby, destroying a rebel tent. Screams of wounded men filled the air. As debris and shrapnel rained down on them, No Mercy unleashed the full force of his AK-47 at the first of the government troops advancing from the bushes.

With the boy distracted, Connor drew on all his strength and tugged at his bindings with every fiber of his body. The rope didn’t give an inch. Infuriated, he yanked again and again.

Then, when he’d given up all hope, the rope unexpectedly snapped.

Connor jumped up and seized No Mercy in a rear chokehold, a classic jujitsu technique used to subdue an opponent. Unable to breathe and with the blood flow to his brain cut off, No Mercy struggled violently to free himself. But in less than ten seconds he fell limp in Connor’s grip. Despite the boy’s merciless nature, Connor had no desire to kill him or leave him brain damaged. So he immediately released the choke and let the boy collapse, unconscious, to the muddy ground.

Recovering his father’s knife, Connor raced over to Amber and cut her bonds. It took several slices, and Connor was amazed that he’d managed to snap his own bindings. As soon as she was free, Amber grabbed hold of him in relief, her body trembling like a sparrow’s. Then she suddenly stiffened and Connor turned his head to see General Pascal standing over them, his Glock 17 handgun aimed squarely at his back.

“You certainly live up to your name, White Warrior,” declared the general, glancing down at the inert body of the boy soldier. “And you will die by it too.”