THE KID SCREAMS ANGRILY. HE KICKS AND STRUGGLES in my arms but I’m not letting go. For a second everything is quiet. I can actually feel the hippo’s dying breath on the back of my knees. It lets out a deep, rumbling gurgle, and water swirls around my legs. When I open my eyes I find out why the hippo was so mad. There’s a calf trapped under the truck. It bleats at me weakly. The axle of the truck is snapped and the whole weight of the vehicle is resting on the poor thing’s back. There’s no way it will live.

My eyes fill with tears and I whisper, “I’m sorry …”

When I look over my shoulder, its mother’s head is just by my leg, riddled with bullets. Her enormous mouth is wide open and a ragged, bloodstained section of camo jacket is impaled on one of her brown teeth.

The Empty Child arrives and yanks the kid from my arms, shaking and prodding him to make sure he still has all his bits. She slaps his leg and throws him up onto the bank, where he collapses in a heap and bawls his head off.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter at her.

Somehow the girl hears me. She tilts her head, a movement so slight I don’t think anyone else will have noticed, but I do. In some weird way she’s thanking me.

By the time I clamber up, the toddler has subsided into gasping sobs and he follows my every move with a pair of watery brown, accusing eyes. I make my way through a crowd of agitated teen soldiers, shaking so badly I can barely walk. One of them grabs my arm, shakes me, and shouts at me, putting his gun right in my face before literally dragging me back to the others. Mwemba is still screaming at his men as they duck and dodge past him to get to safety. He strides over to the far side of the truck. There is a single pistol shot and the pathetic bleating of the hippo calf stops.

Marcus throws his arm around my shoulder when I reach him. “Did you know how close that momma hippo was …?”

I nod, unable to reply.

“I thought you were done for,” Charis mumbles, looking away for a moment.

Even Jen is close to tears. We have a group hug with Ash and Izzy until our guards separate us and tie the guys’ arms behind their backs. Thankfully they bind us girls in front again.

“Rio — you were amazing,” Ash tells me, his eyes shining.

I want him to look at me like that forever, but it’s not going to happen. He turns and walks awkwardly alongside Izzy. Fifty yards or so from the riverbank we are left beneath a few twisted trees, guarded by a small party of agitated, squabbling LRA fighters who stand behind us and rattle their weapons. Split-Lip seems to be in charge, but he’s got his work cut out. The guerrilla boys are totally freaked by what has just happened, and I can see why. Mwemba is stiff with rage, shoving his panicking soldiers back into the river, gesticulating at the two salvageable trucks. He waves his pistol and rants at the Sangoma, who is waiting by the Toyota. The witch doctor beats the kids up some more when they get to him.

“Those kids aren’t soldiers,” Marcus mutters, “they’re a joke. And there’s no way those trucks are going anywhere.”

I sit down between him and Ash.

Ash asks, “Iz, are you all right? I’m so sorry I dropped you. I think my batteries gave up — either that or the water has shorted them.”

Izzy tries to clean the mud away from her leg with spit. “You couldn’t help it.”

Remembering those charging sessions I saw on the boat, I wonder, “What do the batteries do?”

“These legs have powered ankle joints,” Ash explains, kicking them off angrily. “Stupid pile of crap.”

“Be careful! You still need them.” I pull them closer and straighten them up unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I do, don’t I? Great observation, Rio. I need them and they’re useless.” He rubs one of his stumps against the other leg and sighs loudly. “Without the batteries the ankle joints will be too stiff. My stumps are killing me already. I can’t go much farther on them.”

“You want me to massage your legs for you?” I really want to help him and it’s all I can think of.

He gives me a you must be kidding look, but when he registers my worry he shakes his head, frustrated.

“We need you to be strong,” I whisper.

Ash falls back on his elbows. He takes a breath and anger flashes across his face. “And how would you like me to do that, Rio? I’m missing half my freaking legs! I need batteries, for God’s sake.” He picks one up and hurls it at our huddled group of guards. They dodge it and Split-Lip picks it up, making some joke about it that makes the other boys laugh.

Ash glares at them and his face darkens even more. His outburst leaves me feeling winded and confused. I have to tell myself it’s just the frustration — not me — but I’m not sure I believe it.

The toddler runs over, screaming, and tries to put the other of Ash’s prosthetic legs over his stumpy little foot. He steadies himself by placing a hot grubby hand on my knee. When the Empty Child arrives the toddler points at the metal leg and drags it to her. She makes him drop it, and he runs to me for comfort. The girl chases after him and pulls him off me roughly and shakes him until he stands still. She is about to leave until I wave her back.

I kick at the useless prosthesis with my foot. “Broken — understand?” Ash’s blades should still work, though. Maybe I can get the girl to find them.

She lifts the boy by one arm and sits him on the same hip as her machine gun, still dead-eyed. He tugs at her necklace until she bats his hand away. I point with my bound hands at the steaming truck: Ash’s running blades are still inside, leaning against the tailgate. “He needs those.”

She doesn’t even respond; she just walks off while I’m talking. I want to scream at her.

“You know,” Ash says, rewarding me with a wry smile, “in some ways you are a total mystery to me, Rio Cruz. But I’ve got to hand it to you — you’re one determined girl.”

“Maybe I just have hidden depths.” And I’m thinking, Which you’d know if you took the time …

He rubs his chin. “I think you do. But you shouldn’t hide them so much. You really shouldn’t.” He glances meaningfully at the LRA kids cleaning mud off their guns. “Life’s too short.”

That leaves me speechless. I’m not hiding anything from him — completely the opposite — if only he could see it. Part of me hoped Jen would own up to stealing the letter eventually, but it doesn’t look like she ever will.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” Ash continues. “It’s just frustrating sometimes. I forget there are some things I just can’t do anymore.”

“I understand.”

“Speaking of hidden depths,” Ash says, shielding his eyes from the sun, “something’s been bothering me about you — a lot.”

Now what? “Oh?”

“Like, why you’d steal my letter. I mean, if you’re going to take something, there were plenty of things in my room that were way more interesting. Like the diary it was in, for instance …”

“You keep a diary? You don’t seem like the type —” The words are out of my mouth before I grasp what I’m saying. Ash’s eyes narrow, but I don’t care about my mistake — he’s been thinking about me. Suddenly I feel warm inside.

He smiles. “And you don’t strike me as a thief.”

“I’m not,” I say, feeling a huge load lift off my chest.

Ash’s eyebrow lifts. “So why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

I don’t get the chance. Jen limps closer with a prize-winning scowl souring her beautiful face. Don’t ask me how, but she can even make a limp look amazing. Behind her, in the river, Mwemba has given up on the kids and is waist-deep in water with the Toyota’s hood up, inspecting the damage. The Sangoma is keeping his distance, chanting and waving his pouch of bones at them. Suddenly Mwemba slams the hood shut and wades back to shore. He shoves the Sangoma aside and the witch doctor looks our way, watching Izzy through narrowed eyes. He’s been watching her a lot today, and it worries me. I wonder if he’s beginning to think she’s a liability.

The Sangoma has had his eye on Jen, too, but for a different reason. If she has noticed anything, she’s bravely trying not to let on. If we forget the letter — and that’s a big if — I think I actually admire her. It’s like she’s made of steel or something. Her dressing is coming off her burn and her legs are covered with drying mud, but she still has the poise of a supermodel.

“What the hell have you two got to smile about?” Her angry face is reserved for me. “You’re enjoying this?”

“No.” I help her to sit down, stealing a glance at Izzy. “I’m just glad we’re all alive.”

“I really need to eat,” Izzy moans. Her head is in her hands and she keeps shivering. My stomach is growling painfully, too, but our scrawny captors don’t seem to have much left to give us.

My eyes travel from Izzy to where Mwemba is talking to the Sangoma. He’s pointing. I’m sure that the guy is taking us somewhere where he thinks he can get insulin for Izzy. Why else would he have chosen not to kill her? I remember what Ash said on the boat — they want us alive. That means we’re worth something to them. I just hope for Iz’s sake that we can get there in time now that the trucks are useless.

“I’m going to ask these jokers to find us something to eat,” Charis complains, getting to her feet. As soon as Split-Lip hears her arm whir he covers her with his gun. “Hungry!” She glares at him, rubbing her tummy.

Split-Lip’s gun waves up and down.

I pull Charis’s arm. “Leave it. After what happened with the hippo, they’re too wired to care.”

To our surprise, the Empty Child turns up with Ash’s blades. She throws them on the ground and watches Ash crawl over to them on his knees. It must be humiliating for him. Her toddler has a handful of bananas. He tears one off and is about to hand it to me, but the girl snatches it away. He dumps the rest of the bananas beside Ash’s blades, totters over to me, smiles, and plants a wet kiss on my lips. Then he runs off with a throaty laugh.

I watch the girl spin on her heel and grab the kid’s chubby arm. He squeals loudly and squirms, but she won’t put him down. She takes him away, clamping him to her side until his squeals morph into a full-blown kicking tantrum.

“Well, I never!” Marcus laughs. “He likes you, and she’s jealous.”

Mwemba made his guys abandon all the trucks. I’m worried sick about Izzy now — walking is the last thing she needs, and I have no idea how far it is to get wherever we’re going. The land is still mostly sunburnt grass and bush, but it seems to be constantly rising. We follow snaking compacted paths that, judging by the number of withered trees that have had their bark stripped to virtually head height, must have been made by elephants.

I never thought I would be sorry to leave the Toyota behind, but I don’t need to walk far to find out that things are going to be much worse on foot. For a start, the flies can get at us now, and we’re constantly bitten. Some of them are huge. I can actually feel them puncture my skin like pins. It’s gross. I have to grab one by its writhing body and pull it out. Soon itchy lumps grow and harden on my legs, arms, and neck, and I can’t scratch them. They’re driving me insane.

Ash’s blades are a mixed blessing. He can walk amazingly well in them, but the feet are quite small, so he has to watch his step. They sink in loose dirt and are hard to control on uneven ground. I like to see him in them, though. They make him look powerful, superhuman. Watching him walk up ahead gives me hope. It’s stupid, I know, but he looks like he could take on all of these jumped-up kids, armed or not — and I still can’t help feeling hopeful about the fact that he’s been thinking about me. Then I’m back with the whale shark for the briefest of moments, thinking about what could have been, if the pirates hadn’t screwed it all up. What was he about to say? But there’s no point daydreaming now. When I pull myself out of it I notice that the LRA soldiers seem unnerved by Ash, too. His blades really worry them — especially the Sangoma, who shoots dark looks at him and mutters under his breath.

An hour away from the river, the toddler appears by my side and warm, sticky fingers grab on to the frayed hem of my shorts. He walks beside me until the girl sees him and yanks him away.

Mwemba is like a human walking machine, constantly goading on his soldier boys by shoving them in the back or slapping the backs of their heads if they show any sign of lagging. In turn they hit us with their guns and scream insanely at Iz when she falls. The bastards won’t let any of us help her up, either. Mwemba forces us on at a stupid pace, especially considering that the ground has been rising slowly since we left the river. We seem to be leaving the plains and entering an area of thick, scrubby bush and tangled trees. Curious primates chatter and look down on us from high in the branches.

Charis and I have Jen limping between us, while poor Izzy insists on staggering on unaided. She is sweating buckets and gets uber-testy whenever Marcus offers to help her, pushing him away. It’s so unlike her. But after a few hours, she has to admit defeat, loop her tied hands over Marky’s neck, and let him carry her on his back.

Ash shouts at Mwemba, “How much farther do you think we can go on like this? Look at her!”

Mwemba grins. “If you are that concerned about saving her, you will find the strength.” He unclips his pistol holster. “He may drop her if you wish and I will end her pain.”

I want to punch him in the face.

Even this late in the day it is crazy hot and none of us feel like we can walk another step. The kid soldiers have no choice but to watch helplessly while we collapse in the first shade we can find.

“Look what God sent us.” Iz smiles, but she can barely talk. Her lips are cracked and sore, her pupils black and wide despite the sun. She’s not thinking about herself, though. Izzy drops to her knees by a small aloe plant growing by a rock. She starts pulling at it, but it’s too tough for her, so Charis lends her good hand and manages to yank away three long, fleshy leaves. I pull off a few more so that we have a good stock and shove them into the back pockets of my shorts, much to the amusement of the soldiers. They’re stripping bark off a low bush and chewing it, pushing at one another to get at the best bits until Mwemba pistol-whips a couple of them.

The aloe plant is tough, but Charis makes light work of it with her bionic arm. When she splits the leaves open they’re full of clear jelly that doesn’t smell anywhere near as revolting as I am expecting. It smells like the inside of a freshly peeled potato skin. Charis gives Jen some to smear on her leg. When we lather handfuls of it over Marky’s skin grafts the toddler gets curious and scrambles nearer to help. Thinking we’re not looking, he scoops up a handful to eat, and spits it out. It’s a second or so before his chubby little face crumples and he bursts into floods of tears. The Empty Child jumps up and brings her gun to bear on us until she sees me holding up my gel-covered hands.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, “I’ve seen people drink this stuff. Don’t ask me why.”

Her face still gives nothing away. She lifts the screaming toddler, shoulders her gun, and walks off.

I’m just wedging a few more spare aloe leaves into my pockets when Iz gets to her feet, staggers past me, and throws up in a bush. She won’t let me near her, though, and I’m paranoid in case Mwemba sees what’s happening and decides to shoot her. Iz wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives me an apologetic smile; then, to my surprise she holds out her St. Christopher bracelet and tells me flatly, “I took this off when they untied us. I want you to have it.”

“No! No way!”

“Really — I mean it. I don’t think it can follow where I’m going.”

“Iz. Stop talking like that. I don’t like it.”

She huffs at me and dangles it in the space between us. “It’s okay, Rio, really. Take it when I’m gone, then, but you’re going to have to put it back on my wrist now.”

I hate her giving up like this. I just shake my head at her. “With pleasure. There’s no way I’m taking your bracelet. It’s going home with you.”

“UP! UP!” The Sangoma arrives, waving his arms at us, totally wired. He’s been chewing bark with the others. All the soldiers seem much more talkative now, in fact, and one or two of them shove one another and let out laughs that are borderline hysterical. They’re not joking, though. It sounds dangerous, like a fight could break out.

Our rest is over. They prod and pull us to our feet and start off again at a renewed pace. This time they fall into a loping march with us jostled in the middle, and they sing and rattle their guns while they jog. After a couple of hours, what’s left of my flip-flops disintegrates and I have to kick them away and carry on barefoot.

Ash and Marky do their best taking turns to carry Iz, but they are constantly whipped by the soldiers if they start to flag. Charis and I are supporting Jen, who is limping really badly now. Anger at her still gnaws away at me, though: Ash thawing a little toward me has just made the whole letter thing feel really raw again. In fact, the only way to stop it eating at the back of my mind is by reminding myself that these lunatics with guns are my enemy, not Jen.

A couple of times on our journey, groups of migrating meerkats join us, scampering by our feet and stopping to stand up and watch for predators. It’s quite touching. When a warthog charges out of some undergrowth, snorting at them, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I’m breathless, but I tap Jen on the arm and point. “Look, it’s Timon and Pumbaa.”

“What?”

“The Lion King.”

Iz is clinging onto Marky’s back. She manages a laugh and starts singing “Hakuna Matata” under her breath.

Marcus laughs and sings the warthog line with her — operatic style — so loud that the LRA guys all shut up to listen.

The song is contagious. It’s totally out of place, but it feels like an act of defiance to sing. Even Jen joins in with us once she’s picked up the words. I jog alongside them, stroking Izzy’s arm, and I hold on to Izzy’s good leg, desperate for her to feel the contact, but I don’t know if she can anymore. Her skin is all clammy and cold.

When some of the LRA guys join in to sing harmonies it really pisses me off. I wish they’d shut up. This is our song. Half of them sound like they’re stoned. Then it dawns on me as I watch them that Hakuna Matata must be Swahili. Stupid me. Then again, it never would have occurred to me that I’d hear the chorus to a happy kids’ song sung by a bunch of boy soldiers high on tree bark.

When I see the state Iz is in, I can’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. I want her to live. I want her to see her lion. But right now I don’t know if she ever will.

As darkness falls we reach the top of a low hill and drop to the ground, exhausted. The stitch in my side is crippling, and I want to take huge gulps of air, but I can barely breathe. Over the crest of our hill, a warm yellow light glows from behind a thick clump of trees. It’s a small compound with a couple of single-story buildings. A few of our guards whisper uneasily. If the place has electricity, it can’t be too far from civilization. Ash and Marcus are exchanging meaningful looks, but Mwemba either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. I think I can see a road leading up to the main building. It’s not much more than a dirt track, but it looks more used than anything else we’ve been on so far.

We’ve climbed quite a long way since yesterday, and the vegetation has changed again. My feet are sore as hell from walking on stones and sharp dry leaves. There is much more variety in the plant life here and the air feels heavier, like we’re getting near to water again. We are — I can sense it. Mwemba made us all stop when he spotted the light, and his soldiers have all fallen silent. Some of them have pockets of the bark they stripped earlier and they start chewing again. Soon they are fidgeting with guns or knives, chanting with the Sangoma in barely audible tones. Only the Empty Child is still. She’s just squatting calmly, peering at the ground and drawing in the dust with her finger, pushing the toddler away when he tries to stop her.

I nudge Ash. “What’s she doing?”

“No idea.”

We’re all desperately worried about Iz. It must be a full day now since her last insulin injection. She’s spent the last couple of hours muttering incoherently. It can’t be long before she slips into a coma.

There are a couple of soldiers near us. One of them is Split-Lip. Suddenly Mwemba strides over and snarls at them. His voice is chilling. “Nenda kuzunguka nyuma. Kuhakikisha ni wazi.”7

Split-Lip shows his teeth in a spine-chilling grin. His friend flinches at the sound of Mwemba’s voice, and they both pull long machetes from their belts and set off at a jog down the slope toward the light.