Chapter 21.
The Prisoner.
Oliver picked his way down a rocky ledge, lending his eyes to the horizon whenever he could. It was getting brighter out, more conspicuous. If someone looked up from the spray of tents on the beach, they might see him as a dark dot among the rocks. He could only hope that luck was on his side. His entry into the camp depended on a hardy copse of trees along the coast, with open stretches of beach to the east and west.
It was very windy all of the sudden. Sand and salt sprayed off the rocks and stung his eyes. Birds began to flock and call overhead.
He made it to the trees and slipped among the trunks, staying low and keeping his face down. He had three theories about where Shado could be. His first was a tent off to the east, always under guard, with darker walls than the rest to conceal what was inside. He went to it first, creeping as close as he could without leaving his cover behind. Seconds passed as he stared at the tent from a distance, putting his mind to it, willing himself to know what was inside. But he had not seen it when he was here last, not explored the camp as much as he should have.
Oliver moved on to his second option. Someone had set up a large rectangular section of canvas in the most densely populated part of the camp. It was attached to the command tent, where Fyers slept, but no one ever entered of left. It had no guard.
He went to the west side of the camp last but ran out of trees before he could get close to the edge. He had seen a larger structure here when he studied the camp the day before, but now that he was closer it was easy to see it was a mess hall. Mercenaries came and went with trays of food. It was also unguarded, but dozens of rows of basic tents surrounded it.
It was down to two, then. He had two options and he could only choose one. Shift change was rapidly approaching, and the flurry of activity would give him the cover he needed to slip into the camp unnoticed. His way out was going to be less secretive.
Oliver sat silently beneath the gnarled trunk of an ocean tree, weighing his options. It would be easier if he had backup, had someone to check the east tent while he checked this one – but it was too late to back down. He was in the momentum, tense from the adrenaline, prepared to lay everything down to get his friend away from Fyers.
It was decided then. Oliver stayed in the center, deciding the height of this tent along with the lack of visitors and location made it the most likely to hold the prisoners. He had not even considered that they might hold Yao Fei and Shado together – it was one or the other, and they would never leave Yao Fei unguarded. Shado was in there.
His moment was rapidly approaching. He crept into the scarce edge of the jungle, his heart racing, his eyes darting back and forth between two guards who were keeping their eyes on the beach. One yawned and stepped away, and then the other turned to greet his replacement.
Oliver ran. He crossed the sand at breakneck speed, diving behind the first available tent and rolling onto his side. He waited – one, two, three seconds – and one of the relieved sentries strolled past. Oliver crossed behind him, over an aisle, and waited again on the other side.
His journey through the camp was excruciatingly slow, and each second added to the risk of being discovered. It was not a regimented army, but a group of roughnecks, and so they were unpredictable. He barely breathed, his heart pounding out of his chest the closer he got to the center. When he finally made it to the tent, no one was looking. He had to go in and face whatever might be inside, or stay outside, and face detection.
Oliver ran through the tent flaps. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the dark inside, and he first registered a large iron cage, and then the butt of a rifle coming toward his face.
He fought off his attacker, grabbing the weapon and slamming it backward. He twisted it around, trying to disarm the man, but his grip was solid. Oliver let go instead, dropping his back and tackling the man around the midsection. He slammed him to the ground, stunning him, and punched him in the face. His fist struck the gun instead, and his knuckles broke against it like water. Oliver grasped the rifle strap, which lay between them, and wrapped it twice around the mercenary's neck, pulling it tight, refusing to let go.
He won in the end, but with more bruises than he would have liked. He staggered to his feet and leaned on the cage, knowing what he would see before his eyes even adjusted.
Shado was there, curled into a ball, ropes tightly binding her hands and feet. Her skin was discolored, bruised, and blood matted her hair. Oliver knew then without a doubt that things had already changed on the island. Shado had not looked like this when he met her the first time.
He fished around the guard until he found a key for the cage. Shado was unconscious and would not stir. Oliver dragged her out and lifted her into his arms, bouncing on his heels, waiting for the moment when his diversion would let him escape.
He had mistimed it slightly, but after five minutes a loud crackling to the south sent boots running past the tent. Oliver stood waiting until he could not stand it anymore.
He burst out, holding Shado close to his chest, sprinting behind one tent, and then another. His distraction had run its course and the mercenaries were returning. He could not make it across the beach, so he ran instead along the water, out the back of the camp toward a protective outcropping of rock. He plunged into the cold water and skirted the edge of it, slipping, almost going under a few times. Saltwater rushed around Shado and she groaned.
"Sorry, sorry," he murmured, still rushing, even as he left the view of the camp behind. He waded out of the ocean and hit his knees just on the other side of the rock. They were still in great danger of discovery, but he needed a break before he could go any further.
Several things hit him at once. Someone would discover that Shado was missing and security in the camp would increase. He had no chance of rescuing Yao Fei in the same fashion. He also tried to find hope – hope that Yao Fei would not do what they wanted now that his daughter was free. But how would he know that? Fyers would not tell him. He might think it was his only option, and then he would die for no reason.
Oliver forced himself up again, carrying Shado in his arms up the jutting black rocks to the shelter of the jungle. He would circle around from here, traversing a large section of the island to get back to the plane. Now that he had Shado he was slower, more conspicuous.
His mind wandered on his journey, wishing he was back home, and also wishing he never had to go back. He was filled with memories of death and destruction, friends falling and never getting back up, a lifetime of misery with only fleeting moments of light. He tried to convince himself that he was going to do better this time. He was going to carve out a better life. Shado was going to live, and that was the start of it all.