The Outlaw (15 page)

Kas was crying. "We didn't do a thing," she said. "We just watched it happen."

"We had no choice." Jake's voice sounded hollow in his own ears.

"We just sat and watched them die like it was a video game."

"There was nothing we could have done."

Some of the people in the ward were doctors and nurses, others were patients or relatives of patients. Some wept, others shouted, others stood still and stared. Attempts were made to resuscitate Dr. Saudogo, but in vain.

Yakuuba appeared in front of them. He was blinking a lot and seemed to be having trouble focusing. "Let's go," he said.

"Go?" Jake stared at him. "But what about Paaté?"

"Paaté is dead. I have closed his eyelids."

"But surely you want to stay and—"

"They are dead, all three of them, and the people of Kongoussi will give them honorable burials. But right now we must do what Paaté would have wanted us to do."

"Which is?"

"To leave," said Yakuuba. "The police will be here in thirty seconds."

Jake looked out the shattered window. Armed police were swarming into the compound and sprinting in the direction of the hospital.

"Follow me," said Yakuuba. "When I move, you move."

They hurried out of the ward into a crowd of people moving this way and that. The
gendarmes
had blocked off the doors at both ends of the building and were advancing along the corridor in a pincer movement.

Yakuuba dived left into an empty examining room, followed by Jake and Kas.

The outlaw slipped off his STMB overalls and baseball cap and donned a white coat. "You see what I mean?" he said, poking Jake hard in the chest. "Strike first, ask questions later! You people are all the same."

"That man was terrified of you," said Jake. "He was completely out of control."

"What about your father? Is your father also terrified of me? Is your father going to shoot us all on sight?"

"No," said Jake. "Dad knows how to ask questions, even when he is frightened." He hoped it was true.

Yakuuba opened a window and climbed out into the bushes. Jake and Kas followed.

"Try to keep cool heads," said Yakuuba. "We are going to walk across the compound in full view of the police. Walk, not run, do you understand? Go!"

Jake's legs felt so shaky that simply walking in a straight line took all his concentration. They set off, heading for the motorcycle parking spaces along the east wall. Two
gendarmes
ran past them in the opposite direction, guns in hand.

Reaching the motorcycle parking lot, Yakuuba walked quickly between the rows, turning his head from side to side to examine the bikes.

"What are you looking for?" asked Jake.

"We're looking for a Kaiser 150cc scooter. It's Dr. Saudogo's bike."

"How do you know what bike he has?"

Sor held up a small key. "I make it my business to recognize bike keys."

"Where did you get that?"

"I took it from the doctor's body."

"You're not serious."

"The doctor gave his life for me, Jake. Do you think he would begrudge me his moped?"

Sor found the bike he was looking for—a gleaming black scooter with chrome handlebars and a luggage rack.

"Look," said Kas. "They've got two men on the gate. They've blocked our only way out."

"One of us will have to draw them away," said Yakuuba.

"I'll do it," Jake heard himself say. "When they see me walk up the wall, they'll come after me."

Yakuuba looked at him. "Walk up the wall?"

Jake nodded. "Watch." He walked toward the gate and then, when he was sure that the guards had noticed him, he veered right and broke into a run.

"
Arrêtes-toi!
" cried the
gendarmes
at the gate. "Stop!" Behind him, Jake heard the click and growl of the Kaiser starting up.

The wall of the hospital compound was about ten feet high, and the parapet was smooth. Under normal circumstances it would be an easy hop. Jake accelerated toward the wall with short quick strides, took off from his right foot, placed his left foot at chest height, and was about to launch himself upward when a shot rang out. It was only a warning shot, but it was more than enough to shake his concentration. His left foot slipped, and he crashed into the wall and crumpled to the ground.

The
gendarmes
had abandoned their post at the gate and were running toward him, their arms already stretched out for the anticipated arrest. Beyond the
gendarmes
Jake saw Yakuuba and Kas on the moped, heading for the exit at full tilt.

Shaken but unhurt, he got quickly to his feet, took three quick steps back, then powered forward and up the wall. This time his eyes were fixed on the goal, and his feet were quick and sure. He scrabbled with his hands and the balls of his feet and—
reach!
—he grabbed the parapet.

One of the
gendarmes
made a lunge for his feet, but Jake curled up his legs in the nick of time. He flexed his wrists, bent his arms, and clambered up and over.

"
Arrêtes-toi!
" repeated the
gendarmes,
but Jake had no intention of stopping now. He dropped down on the far side of the wall and looked around him. He was in some sort of outdoor café bar, and this being the hottest time of day, it was doing good business. A dozen plump, sharp-suited businessmen were sitting at a long trestle table cradling their bottles of beer and staring straight at him.

"
Bonjour,
" muttered Jake. He ran past them, jumped up onto the drinks bar in front of an astonished barman, vaulted another wall, and landed in the forecourt of the Total gas station.

"
Tuubaaku,
we're here!" Yakuuba pulled up on the moped, waited a fraction of a second for Jake to clamber on, and then set off again. He swerved out into the traffic, beeping the horn and twisting the throttle so hard that the engine screamed.

The Kaiser 150 was a decent enough bike, but it was not built for three. Perched all the way at the back on the flimsy chrome luggage rack, Jake had to contort his legs to keep his feet from dragging along the ground. What was more, there were two police bikes behind them. The police bikes were bigger and more powerful than the Kaiser, and they pursued their prey with the confidence and menace of black panthers.

"Hold on tight," said the outlaw, squeezing the back brake gently and stamping on the front brake. The back wheel shot out and Yakuuba pulled the handlebars to one side. Kas screamed. Jake's knee grazed the macadam as they completed the U-turn.

"Don't tense up in the turns, or you'll flip the bike," said the outlaw. "Just let your bodies go floppy."

Going floppy was easier said than done. Yakuuba leaned hard right and plunged down a concrete bank into the pedestrians-only vegetable market. Eggplants flew. Onions rolled. Traders yelped and swore. A cloud of millet flour rose from a ruptured sack like smoke.

Jake looked back and saw that their pursuers were still behind them, but the superior speed and power of the police bikes was neutralized off-road. Here in the vegetable market it was maneuverability—nippiness—that was needed, and the Kaiser had it in spades.

On they rode into the dark narrow aisles of the covered market. Beads, bangles, mosquito coils, cement bags, water pistols, hair extensions, electric fans, red and yellow energy pills, stilettos, firecrackers, reggae CDs, sprockets—a whole Aladdin's cave of knickknacks swept past them in a blur, while terrified vendors dived out of the way.

"
Ko jawo weli fuu, wo daabawal buri welde!
" shouted Yakuuba. "The bangle is sweet, but the wrist is sweeter!"

There had always been a devil-may-care attitude about the outlaw, but the way he was riding now was suicidal. He gripped the throttle and gunned it to the max, perhaps hoping that savage breakneck speed would blast away his grief. White-knuckled, they tore out of the covered market and shot blinking into the light. Straight across a busy road, up into the cloisters of a mosque, past a line of blind men begging for change, down a flight of steps, across a soccer field, and into a forest.

The forest floor was studded with vicious acacia thorns, which ripped the tires to shreds. When they finally limped out of the forest, they were riding on the Kaiser's wheel rims.

There in front of them was a massive lake. A large herd of cows stood drinking in the shallows, while the herders washed and waded. The men had discarded their cloaks and their conical herder hats on a rock at the water's edge.

"Just as I hoped!" exclaimed Yakuuba. "It's the cattle drive we saw earlier. Get off the bike,
tuubaakus,
and find a cow to hide behind."

Jake and Kas got off the bike. Yakuuba revved the accelerator, released the clutch, and shot off toward the lake, weaving his way among the startled cows. On reaching the lake, he leaped off onto the mud flats. The Kaiser plowed on into the murky water, where it gurgled, spluttered, and sank.

The herders gaped, and the oldest of them let forth a torrent of French expletives.

"
Si a yi'ii bojjel na dogga fuu, ndara gada,
" said Yakuuba, picking up a cloak and a herder hat from the rock. "If you see a rabbit running, look behind it."

"Who is chasing you?"

Yakuuba slipped the cloak over the doctor's coat and put the hat on his head. "Police," he said. "I am Yakuuba Sor."

The old herder blinked and narrowed his eyes. Then his face cracked into a grin of recognition. "Indeed you are!" he cried. "I did not recognize you."

"I am traveling with two friends." Sor pointed at Jake and Kas. "We need refuge."

"Granted," said the old man. He grabbed the nearest cow and led it out of the water and up the bank, obliterating the Kaiser's tire tracks.

Jake and Kas each hid behind a large cow, lining up their feet with the cows' hooves as best they could. They were just in time. A moment later two police bikes burst out of the forest and skidded to a halt on the bank. Jake did not dare lift his head to look, but he heard every word.

"
Salut,
old man," said one of the
gendarmes.
"We are looking for three fugitives on a motorbike."

"What kind of motorbike?"

"A Kaiser 150."

"Yes, I believe I did see a bike like that."

"When? Where?"

"Three days ago in Burizanga. I brushed my teeth in its wing mirror."

"I'm talking about today," said the
gendarme.
"Right here, less than a minute ago."

"Today?" The old man hemmed and hawed. "No,
monsieur.
I do not believe that such a bike has come our way today. But let me ask my son. Hamadu, have you seen a Kaiser 150 in these parts today?"

"I don't believe I have, Father," said Yakuuba Sor. "Not today."

When
the police were gone, Yakuuba Sor approached the man and shook his hand. "
Yitere woyatanaa mo anndi,
" he said. "The eye cries over him who is known."

"Who?" asked the old man.

"Paaté Tamboura," said Sor, looking out over the lake.

"I am sorry to hear it. May God forgive his sins and reward his charity."

"Amen," said Yakuuba.

"May he inherit blessing."

"Amen."

"May he drink the water of paradise."

"Amen."

"I was friends with his father. My name is Idrissa."

"I know."

Idrissa touched his forehead—a gesture of respect for the dead. Then he turned to look at Jake and Kas. "Tuaregs?"

"
Tuubaakus,
" said the outlaw. "I am taking them to Ouagadougou."

"Then you must walk with us. Our cattle trails are far from the main road and far from the police. We shall walk together and arrive in Ouagadougou unmolested,
inshallah.
"

"Thank you," said Yakuuba, and the cattle drive moved off.

A tall thin man called Macha walked at the front, chirruping loudly to announce the way. The cows followed, ninety-six of them in total, their long, curved horns shining in the midday sun. They were flanked by two young men, Boureima and Diallo, and whenever a cow strayed too far to one side, one of them would run to head it off, twirling a staff to coax the errant cow back into the herd. Usually a word or a gesture was enough to motivate a cow, but occasionally the sharp
thwack
of wood on hide would ring out across the plains.

Jake and Kas brought up the rear with Idrissa. The wrinkles on the old man's face told a story of great suffering and regular laughter. He swung his staff, held his chin high, and walked with a spring in his step. Not so the cows. Exhausted by a week of travel, they dragged their hooves along the ground and disturbed great clouds of reddish dust, which floated away to the west.

Yakuuba walked in the middle of the dust cloud, holding his hat over his nose and mouth. Once or twice Boureima tried to talk to him, but the outlaw was not in the mood for conversation.

"It is very hard for him," Idrissa said to Jake. "He knew Paaté all his life. They grew up together on the Baraboulé plains, riding donkeys and shooting lizards with their slingshots. When they were seven years old, they went to Mali and studied together under Amadou Hampaté Ba. When they were twelve, they founded the Friends of the Poor together. They have always been like brothers."

Jake clenched his teeth and looked away, replaying the hospital massacre in his mind for the hundredth time. How on earth could it have happened? What was his father playing at, sending a complete nut job to their rescue?

"Is this the first time you have ever followed a cattle drive?" asked Idrissa.

"Yes," said Jake.

"It is the hardest job on earth," said Idrissa. "After three days, your head starts aching. After five days, your legs start aching. After seven days, your lower back starts aching. And the thirst! I cannot begin to describe the thirst. Do not look so worried,
tuubaaku.
You only have one day of walking. Tomorrow lunchtime,
inshallah,
we arrive in Ouagadougou, and our patron will pay us ten thousand francs each."

Jake drew a fold of his turban up over his mouth and nose.
Ten thousand francs,
he thought.
Twelve pounds fifty in English money. For eight days and nights of grueling work.