“Then I’ll take them out, one at a time.”
6
Kristi put the last suture in Jidda’s thigh, tied it off, and cut the thread.
She’d given Jidda a small amount of Versed, enough to knock him out for the short time she’d need to close his wound. By the time she had cleaned up, he was already coming around.
“You’re all stitched up.” She sat on her bed mat, well out of his reach.
He raised his head, blinked groggily, looked down at his thigh. “Will it be well?”
“It should be mostly healed in about six weeks. The muscle will probably be stiff for a long time. You’ll need to keep taking the antibiotics.”
He sat up. “You kept your word.”
She leaned back against the cool brick wall. “Honorable people do that.”
He looked troubled but said nothing.
After yesterday’s argument, they seemed to have reached a kind of truce. He hadn’t brought up her staying with him as his concubine, and she hadn’t said anything about being released. But how long would this last? She’d heard stories of women who were held captive for months or even years before they were rescued.
Was anyone searching for her—the US military, the Nigerian police, anyone? Had Malik gotten the news yet? Was he worried about her?
Never had she felt more alone.
Still, she knew she had reasons to be grateful. This was her fourth day with these bastards, and she was alive and untouched apart from being groped when she’d arrived. She was certain most women they’d abducted hadn’t been as fortunate.
After a breakfast of rice and tea, Jidda asked Obi for help walking outside. He sat on a log near the fire, which had burned low, and talked to his men, showing them his thigh. A group of the younger men walked out of the forest, arms full of firewood, and joined them.
Kristi couldn’t tell what they were saying, but their laughter and smiles put her at ease. One of the younger men seemed to be telling a story about a monkey, given his gestures and the sounds he was making. She couldn’t help but wonder what had led each of them to live as outlaws, stealing, kidnapping people, raping, killing.
She knew that the Fulani tribesmen of the north had resorted to violence when climate change had altered their traditional grazing grounds, turning them to desert. She knew, too, that the riches and modern conveniences of Nigeria hadn’t reached everyone. About forty percent of its people still lived in poverty.
But why choose this life when it was likely to get them killed?
Unable to understand the conversation, she let her gaze drift, taking in the forest around the camp. She couldn’t identify the trees, and she didn’t know what wildlife lived here. She knew Nigeria had lions, leopards, elephants, and other megafauna, but she didn’t know where they could be found. She had hoped to travel the country a bit before heading back to—
Someone shouted.
Peter.
He stood, his face twisted with anger, yelling at Jidda. Some of the other men nodded their agreement, their gazes turning to Kristi.
Her pulse raced. They were arguing abouther.
Jidda stood, this time without anyone’s help. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. Then he switched to English. “Listen well, Peter. She ismyconcubine. She saved my life, and I will reward her as I choose. Or do you wish I had died?”
An ominous silence hung over the camp.
Breath frozen in her lungs, Kristi watched as Peter, fury on his face, stalked off into the forest.
She exhaled, her pulse tripping.
Jidda resumed his seat on the log, and slowly the conversation returned to normal.
Obi left Jidda’s side and walked over to her. He held out his burned hand. “My uncle wishes you to go inside the hut and check my hand, miss.”
Kristi wanted to ask Obi a few questions and gladly returned to the relative safety of the hut. She took out the first aid kit, slipped on gloves, and took the dressing off Obi’s hand. “What were they saying about me?”