Free Home by Robert Muchamore Page A

went down in a few seconds. I lobbed it in the bushes and unscrewed the cap on another. Some places the path was steep; you had to grab onto a branch or something to pull yourself up.
    A guy called Jesus was at the top of the path, under an open sided shelter about a hundred yards short of camp. He was supposed to be on guard duty, but he’d fallen asleep. Desi tipped beer over him to wake him up.
    ‘This isn’t good enough,’ Sami said, struggling to keep a straight face. ‘Fifty dollars each or we’ll tell Captain.’ ‘Give us a beer,’ Jesus said. Sami handed him a bottle, ‘Cough up.’ ‘Shove it up your arse,’ Jesus said. Sami smiled and cuffed him around the head. We wandered into the middle of camp. The beer was starting to work on me. After all the action, I needed something to take the edge off. Desi said goodnight and went off to his hut. I looked at Sami. ‘See you in the morning,’ I said. ‘Come with me first,’ Sami said. ‘I’ll wash the blood off your face.’ Sami took me into her hut. She lit a kerosene lamp with her pocket lighter. ‘You want another beer?’ Sami asked. I didn’t want a beer, but I realised it was an invitation to stick around for a while, so I said yes. It was
    the middle of the night, but there was no way I could calm down and go to sleep after what had happened. I sat on the floor. Sami damped a piece of rag and started dabbing off the blood. It reminded me of
    Mum wiping ice cream off my face when I was little. ‘How many people do you reckon you’ve killed?’ I asked. Sami shrugged, ‘I remember the first couple; after that it goes into a blur. Thirty, maybe.’ ‘So who was the first one?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got him in a jar on the shelf,’ Sami said. I looked on the shelf. She had a few books and cuddly toys from her childhood and there was a framed picture: Captain stood in front of a white painted house, with a big lawn and a satellite dish on the roof. He was a bit younger and fatter, but not so different you couldn’t recognise him. His wife stood beside him, with a baby boy in her arms and five other kids standing on the grass. ‘Which one are you?’ Sami pointed at a little girl with platted hair, wearing nothing but a disposable nappy. ‘You were cute,’ I said. Sami smiled, ‘Thanks killer. And this is the first man I killed.’ She picked a jar off the shelf and handed it to me. It was empty, except for what looked like a shrivelled
    blob of wax in the bottom. ‘He was one of us,’ Sami said. ‘A rebel. I was only eleven. He came in the middle of the night and ripped my vest and knickers off. Dad warned me someone might try to rape me while he was away fighting, so he gave me a knife. The man had his thingy waving about over me. I grabbed the knife and chopped it off.’ ‘So what’s in the jar?’ Sami looked at me like I was stupid; which I guess I was. ‘That’s his penis. They managed to stop the bleeding, but he got an infection and died of blood
    poisoning.’ I reached over and put the jar back on the shelf. ‘You’re nothing like the girls at home,’ I said. Sami laughed, ‘You’re not like the boys round here… There, you’re face is all clean now.’ She threw the bloody rag out of the hut and drained the last drop of her beer. Then she started
    unlacing her boots. ‘I better go,’ I said. ‘Sleep here if you want,’ Sami said. ‘Saves you from waking Beck up.’ Even though I was half drunk, I remembered that Sami hated Beck. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to piss first. Too much beer’ I crawled outside. I tried to get my head straight while I sprayed the ground. It was obvious Sami liked me, but I was scared of girls and Sami was the scariest girl ever. I told all my mates I shagged a girl when I was on holiday in Portugal, but it was a lie. All I’d ever managed was a couple of quick snogs and a hand up a girls shirt on sports day. A girl like Sami had probably shagged loads of guys. I almost hoped she