Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [71]
“Let’s go!” I yell. I help Sarah to her feet, grab her elbow, and lead both women out of the alley.
“That was stupid,” I say to Sarah.
She offers a tired smile. “It worked, didn’t it?”
I give her arm a squeeze at the same instant I hear a loud peal of thunder. It happens in slow motion. A spray of red erupts from Sarah’s temple, and before I know what’s happening, she is falling. I know she’s gone even before I lose my grip on her arm. The sound of the gunshot echoes in my ears as Sarah comes to rest on the ground, her hair covering her face.
As I stand there, numbly looking down on Sarah’s lifeless body, Espy pulls on my arm, shouting in my ear, “Jack! C’mon, we have to go!”
She doesn’t wait for a reply but digs her nails in and keeps pulling until I follow. Before we hurry out onto the street, I look over my shoulder and see Hardy struggling to his feet, trying to steady himself so he can squeeze off another shot. The Ethiopian has reclaimed his gun, and he meets my eyes just before Espy gives a final tug that jerks me around the wall.
The street is near to empty now. The smattering of people I see—the ones watching the alley from which Espy and I emerge—look like Europeans. The locals have all fled, gone somewhere to hide, probably waiting it out until the violence is over. I’m still only half there, even with the urgency caused by knowing what’s behind us. I see the taxi station ahead, a straight shot.
I have the presence of mind to start running with Espy toward the first car I see, a beat-up Peugeot. It’s downhill, and every step threatens to upend me, but I keep the pedal down as I hear a volley of gunfire behind us and see puffs of dirt explode far too close to our feet. As Espy and I narrow the distance to the car, it occurs to me that there’s no driver in sight. I’m just about to turn to Espy and tell her we need a new plan when I see a man in long shorts and a knee-length shirt exit the taxi station and rush toward the Peugeot. He enters through the passenger-side door and scrambles behind the wheel, beckoning with frantic hand gestures. Espy is there first and she yanks on the door and dives across the seat, and I perform the same maneuver, albeit with less grace. Before I can reach to shut the door, the driver puts the car in gear and pulls everything he can from the engine. Racing away, I hear a rapid series of impacts as bullets pepper the car, and then I’m wearing the shattered remains of a window.
As the car fishtails around a corner, taking us out of Lalibela, our savior looks up into the rearview mirror, flashing brilliant white teeth.
“I save your life. You pay double the fare now, yes?”
It’s been just three days but it feels as if I’m returning to Addis Ababa in a different season than when I left. Winter has replaced summer, even if the change is reflected in nothing beyond my mood. I’ve been quiet for the last few hours, since we boarded the plane in Lalibela, and Espy has allowed me this. I know I’m doing her a disservice by retreating, but she’s strong enough to get by while I try to figure out everything that’s happened—not just recently but since this whole business began back in Dallas. And it’s not just Sarah’s death, even though that’s something I’m grappling with; she signed on to this thing on her own, and my gut tells me that Hardy would have killed her team regardless of my involvement. But what I’m trying to figure out is how this job has come to define my life. This quest has dragged me from retirement and forced me to engage elements of my personal history that I was quite happy ignoring. It has unearthed people, events, and connections I once kept in separate compartments. Now I’m coming to realize that these things are all linked, and it’s a bit more than I’m prepared to process.
We are near Trinity Cathedral, in a coffee shop off Arat Kilo Square. From where I’m sitting, I can see the front entrance of Trinity.