Freedom Star

Chapter 2

Two hours later Jon was leading his band along a shallow stream, the water cold around his ankles, the bare feet slipping on the slimy rocks of the streambed. They were moving slowly both because of the uncertain footing and because of having to carry Tymba, but also because they were all tired-they'd hiked twenty kilometres that morning to get to the road and plant their mine before the transport arrived.

They'd move faster through the jungle, of course, but Jon was counting on the stream obscuring their trail. After another couple of kilometres he knew it passed through a wide field of bare rock, remnants of a landslide that had slipped down the tall hills along whose eastern base the stream flowed. They'd leave the water there, climb up the rocks as far as they could, and then cross over the top of the hills into the valley below. With luck, their pursuers wouldn't be able to pick up their trail.

The rain had stopped and patches of sky showed through the scudding clouds, shredded by a rising wind. The setting sun had tinged both sky and clouds with orange. Not much daylight left, Jon thought, looking up at them. He wondered what was happening back at the wreckage of the transport. Mikal had said the rapid-deployment force would be at the site of the wreck by nightfall.

Kira came splashing up behind him. He glanced at her. Her teeth flashed in a grin. "Tired?"

 "Aren't you?" he almost snapped, his irritation proof enough she was right.

"Of course I am," she said cheerfully. "Just about done in. Don't you think we should rest?"

"You think the soldiers chasing us will rest?" Jon said. "We've got to keep moving."

"We will. But we'll move better if we take a break." She lowered her voice. "And if we're going to keep moving after dark, we've got to organize ourselves better. Or we'll start losing people."

Jon grimaced. "I hate it when you're right."

She grinned again. "You must spend a lot of time hating, then."

He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at her. He looked around. Just ahead, there was a kind of beach on the left side of the stream, overgrown with grass and a few straggly trees. Ordinarily he'd have suggested camping there overnight, but if the soldiers were already on their trail...

Maybe not overnight. But maybe they could at least take a break.

He turned and looked back at the straggling line of kids. "We'll rest here!" he called, pointing at the beach. "Twenty minutes."

As he led them to shore, he was already planning how he'd organize everyone when they moved on. We'll move in a block, those of us who aren't injured surrounding Ari and Cris, carrying Tymba's stretcher. Spears ready. Nothing will attack that many armed kids. As long as nobody straggles...

In general, they avoided travelling in the jungle at night. There were things that came out after dark. They called them bushscreamers. They'd never seen one, but they'd heard them-and two nights after they'd fled the work camp, they'd lost Davi to one. They'd heard him scream horribly. Jon and Kira had rushed in the direction the scream had come.

There'd been nothing left of him but torn clothes, and a few...bits.

And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Davi had just turned nine. He'd been their only casualty so far.

My only casualty, Jon thought bitterly. I convinced everyone to flee the camp. Whatever happens to them is my fault.

 Everyone staggered onto the rocks and sagged to the ground. Breathing hard, Ari and Cris set down Tymba's stretcher. Tymba gasped, then groaned. Jon knelt beside her. "How are you feeling?"