Watching the End of the World – Nate gets captured 4
Nate was dragged back to the camp, a jostling, yelling mob of men pressing close around him. Fists struck him and gun barrels were jammed into his ribs. He tripped, started to fall, and was jerked roughly to his feet, pains shooting through his shoulders. The rank odor of unwashed bodies filled his nostrils.
Someone threw wood on the fire and the flames leapt up. Nate���s vision began to return. He was surrounded by perhaps thirty men, yelling and waving their weapons. Faces pressed in close around him, lips pulled back from teeth, individual curses lost in the frenzy.
From across the camp a man���s voice boomed out, an unmistakable note of command in his tone. The men gathered around Nate went quiet, turning toward the speaker. Hands grabbed Nate and he was shoved toward a man who had just emerged from the largest tent.
He was a large, bearded man with a network of scars across the bridge of his nose. One of his front teeth was missing. Unlike most of the men, who wore a motley collection of tattered camouflage pants and torn T-shirts in various stages of decay, he wore an actual uniform that was fairly new and reasonably clean. There was some sort of insignia Nate didn���t recognize on his collar. A machete hung from his belt and there was a holstered pistol on his hip. Nate was forced to his knees in front of the man.
���You made a very bad mistake,��� the man said in thickly-accented English. ���Maybe the last one.���
Nate tried to find words, to beg or explain, but there was nothing, only the fear. He tried to rise and was shoved back down.
The man loomed over him. ���What did you think, attacking our camp like this? It will go very bad for you.��� As if on cue there was a woman���s scream from the tent behind him.
���We weren���t attacking your camp,��� Nate squeaked. It was all he could do to not panic. His heart was pounding in his ears. ���We were just trying to rescue our friend.���
���I think it is too late for that, don���t you?��� The man gestured and another man pushed his way through the throng and handed him an AK-47. Nate���s AK-47. ���This makes a liar of you.���
���No,��� Nate moaned. ���I���ve never shot at anyone in my life. You have to believe me. We just wanted our friend back.���
���I think I am done listening to you,��� the man said, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Nate���s face. The hole in the end of the barrel grew to fill Nate���s vision. He tried to back away but hands grabbed him and held him in place. He tried to fight, thrashing wildly, but there were too many of them. In the end he hung limply in their grasp as the man pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
There was a loud click as he cocked it.
Nate closed his eyes and braced himself.
���Colonel Abasi!���
The pressure on his forehead eased. Nate opened his eyes. From the tent came an older man, probably close to sixty, with gray in his neatly-trimmed hair and mustache. He had a large gut and thick, pudgy hands. He was wearing an elaborate dress uniform, with shoulder boards, gold braid and rows of medals on his chest. A riding crop was gripped under one arm.
Over his shoulder, Abasi said, ���General Armagin, sir.��� His pistol was still pointed at Nate���s face.
���I think we will keep him alive awhile longer yet,��� the General said. His voice was rich and cultured, his accent unmistakably British.
���He stole from us,��� Abasi protested, lowering the pistol. ���Our drugs. Our guns. Even the clothes he is wearing.���
���We gave the drugs back,��� Nate protested.
���Shut up!��� Abasi hissed. One of the men standing over Nate bent and slugged him in the stomach. With a grunt of pain he sagged to the side.
���He may still be useful,��� the General said. To Nate he said, ���What will they do to save your life, your friends? Lay down the weapons they have stolen? Leave my airfield peacefully?���
Nate hesitated. Some might, but there were others, like Santiago, who surely wouldn���t.
���He is no use to us,��� Abasi said, raising the pistol once again. There was an eager look in his eyes. This was a man who enjoyed killing.
���Still, it is worth a try. Then, if he is no use, he may still provide entertainment. We could turn him loose and let the men hunt him down.���
Abasi spat. ���He is weak. He will die too fast.���
���Chain him to the post. I have other matters to attend to now.��� The General turned and strode back into his tent.
