Free The Ares Decision by Kyle Mills Page A

beneath his foot, and yet the seat was still soaked through.
    The narrow dirt track cut through an informal settlement consisting of buildings clapped together from old signs, discarded lumber, and wire. People sat in the shade, glancing briefly at him as he passed and then just as quickly turning away. It was a place where those who didn’t quickly learn to mind their own business didn’t survive to adulthood.
    His head was becoming increasingly fuzzy from blood loss, and he struggled to recall the directions that had been so thoroughly drilled into him before leaving Uganda. A toppled water tower became visible to his right, and he turned hesitantly toward it, forcing the low-slung car off the road and onto the dry, cracked earth it had been carved from.
    He had considered running, but where would he go? He was in South Africa illegally, and a hospital would report his gunshot wound. Van Keuren certainly had called the police by now, and they would be looking for him.
    Not that he really feared things like deportation and prison—he had faced far worse from the time he was a small child. No, the only thing he feared in this world was Caleb Bahame. There was no way to run from him. He would see. And he would send the demons.
    Kaikara finally rolled to a stop in front of a group of men sitting on the hoods of a line of polished luxury cars that looked hopelessly out of place in the surrounding poverty. He recognized only the thin, scarred face of Haidaar—one of Bahame’s most trusted disciples. The others were Nigerian drug dealers who controlled the surrounding settlements and understood how to get things done without attracting the attention of the South African police. Guns of various types and a few stained machetes leaned against their bumpers, never far from reach.
    His vision blurred and he nearly fell trying to get out of the car, leaving himself leaning heavily on the door with blood rolling down his leg. The laughter of the Nigerians wasn’t quite loud enough to cover Haidaar’s footfalls, and Kaikara tried to find the strength to meet his eye.
    “What happened to you?”
    “The woman had a gun. She shot me.”
    More laughter from the Nigerians. They seemed to think his misfortune should be commemorated with a drink and began passing a bottle of liquor.
    “I’ve been bleeding for a long time,” Kaikara said, his voice sounding as weak as a woman’s, even to him. “Is there someone here who can stop it?”
    Haidaar gave him a disgusted sneer and pulled the car’s rear door open. When he threw back the blanket spread across the seat, he took a hesitant step backward.
    “What is this?”
    Kaikara looked down at the bodies of the young couple he’d carjacked. “The van Keuren woman escaped. I had to get rid of her car…”
    Haidaar stood in stunned silence for a moment, fear flashing across his face before being replaced by anger. He grabbed Kaikara by the back of the neck, pulling him away from the car and throwing him to the garbage-strewn ground.
    “You lost her?” he screamed. “You let a woman do this to you and then you let her get away?”
    Kaikara tried to get to his feet, but he was too weak. All he could manage to do was hold his hands up in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. “She had a gun. She ran. I—”
    Haidaar kicked him hard in the side, flipping him onto his stomach and then grinding a foot down on the bullet wound in the back of his leg. “Not far from your ass, is it, Kaikara? It looks like you were the one running.”
    The Nigerians had taken notice and were surrounding them, weapons in hand. One with a machete moved in, and Kaikara’s words came out in a panicked flood. “No! I was driving! The bitch must have had the gun under the seat. She—”
    The machete came up and Kaikara tried to crawl away, but pain and blood loss made his progress almost comically slow.
    “Stop!” he heard Haidaar shout. “Find him a doctor.”
    “What?” one of the Nigerians said.