Suicide Kings

36

Friday,

January 1

New Year’s day

The Red House

Bunia, Congo

People’s Paradise of Africa

“You’re still naked,” bubbles said.

“Yeah,” Bugsy said. “I keep meaning to go get my pants, but… I’ll get to it.”

Ellen lay where she had fallen, the golden medallion of the Lady of Pain in the grass at her side. The ruins of Nick’s hat rested under her head like a pillow. Her ruined face was peaceful. Like she was asleep. He kept expecting her to shudder the way she had when a chill touched her.

“She did it,” Bugsy said. “She broke the fucking Radical. None of us could have, and she… she did it.”

They were silent.

“We should leave,” Bubbles said.

“I will,” Bugsy said. “I’ll go. Just… just give us a minute.”

“You need a hospital,” said Noel, “now.” Under his breath, but not so quietly Wally couldn’t hear, he added, “And a sodding blacksmith, for all the good it will do.”

“Wait,” said Wally. It came out more like a gurgle. He shambled toward the garden and its pair of baobab trees, wheezing with the effort of every step. New pain lanced up his side; bone fragments shifting through his innards.

Behind him, Bubbles said, “What is he doing?”

“Saying good-bye,” said Noel.

Ghost came running up. She took his hand. He tried not to lean on her, so that he wouldn’t hurt her if he fell.

They stopped beneath the baobabs, where the first light of sunrise cast long shadows across the battlefield. Wally tried to reach up to pick seeds, but one arm didn’t work at all, and when he raised the other over his head, the pain took his breath away. Ghost saw what he was trying to do. Her feet left the ground. She floated up through the branches like an angel, picking seeds as she went.

To the tree, Wally said, “She’s a good kid, Jerusha. I think she’s gonna be okay. You woulda liked her. I’ll tell her all about you.” He looked around, at Noel and Bubbles and the rest. “I’ll tell everybody about you.”

A stab of pain; the breath caught in his throat. And then the tears came, far too strong to be held back. “Aww, heck, Jerusha. Why’d you have to get bit? It was supposed to be me who died, not you.”

He knew people were watching him, but he didn’t care. Wally hobbled over to one of the baobab trunks. He leaned against it, put his arms around it. The wood smelled, ever so faintly, of Jerusha. Wally sniffled.

“Thank you for coming to Africa with a big dumb guy,” he whispered. “Thank you for being so nice to me. Thank you for being my best friend.” He pressed his lips to the tree, careful not to scratch the wood. “I will never, ever forget you, Jerusha. Not if I live to be a million.”

A breeze wafted through the baobab. Wally imagined he could hear Jerusha’s laughter in the rustling branches. Or was she crying, too?

Ghost descended. She landed next to Wally with an armload of baobab seeds.

Wally called over to Noel. “Okay. We’re ready now.”