Free Do-Gooder by j. leigh bailey Page A

hadn’t experienced. And amid all of that, was the question: Why? Why was this happening?
    I don’t want to die.
    There was no shot, no bullet, no pain. No death. I blinked my eyes open and looked around. Men still surrounded us, guns pointed our way, but most of the others pulled boxes out of the Range Rover, tearing into the cardboard.
    They dumped the boxes into the road, scattering the contents in the mud.
    “What are they looking for?” I didn’t know I’d said it aloud until one of the guards with guns growled at me to be quiet.
    Henry shrugged, a small gesture, easily missed if I hadn’t been glancing in his direction every other second. The quick look showed me Henry had adopted the same Zen-like expression he’d had after the snake bit him. This was Henry in control of his fear. Reassured—at least a little bit—I tried to match my breathing to Henry’s even breaths.
    The short guy slammed the hatchback of the Range Rover closed. He and one of the other guys—I wish they didn’t all look alike; it was freaky—shouted at each other.
    Shorty stalked back until he loomed over Henry and me. “Where are they?”
    What was he talking about?
    “Where are what?” Henry asked. I admired his calm tone. I thought I was going to piss my pants, and my voice would have probably been shakier than my nerves.
    “Do not play with me.” The man jabbed his finger at Henry. His already-hard face grew tighter.
    Henry swallowed audibly. “I’m not playing, I swear. If you need something that we have, you can have it. Just, please, let us go.”
    “Where are the canisters, you idiotic child?” A quieter growl this time, but scarier somehow.
    Henry’s head jerked up. “Canisters? What canisters? We have medical supplies, that’s all. We don’t even have any narcotics.”
    Shorty hauled Henry up by the collar of his polo shirt. Henry grabbed at the man’s hand, trying to keep from being strangled by his shirt.
    “Hey!” I lurched forward. Not my brightest move. One of the guards hammered the butt of his rifle into my shoulder, forcing me back to my knees. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I flattened my hands atop my head again.
    “Where are they?”
    Henry shook his head helplessly.
    Shorty stepped back and gestured to one of his companions. The other man lifted his bigass gun and aimed it at Henry’s head.
    “ Don’t !” I fell forward, digging my fingers into the dirt.
    Pain exploded in my head, and the world tumbled into darkness.
     
     
    MY HEAD throbbed and my stomach lurched when I came to. My shoulder ached. Someone had secured my arms behind my back. The world rocked, sending me rolling into something warm. My eyes flew open. Henry. I craned my neck as far as I could and saw his long hair, loose, covering his face.
    Oh my God, he wasn’t moving. My heartbeat roared in my head, blocking out all sound. The flutter of brown hair almost made me cry. Breathing.
    I wriggled and shifted until I could roll over and face him. Bound with his hands behind his back like me, Henry lay completely still.
    “Henry?” I tapped his ankle with my foot, hoping to jostle him awake. “Please, please, please.” Another tap of my feet punctuated each word. He didn’t move.
    I looked around the enclosed space and realized we were back in the Range Rover. The vehicle jumped and I bashed my hip and elbow against the floor. The boxes were gone, probably still scattered over the road. My backpack bounced around somewhere near my feet, and I saw Henry’s bag in the corner. Another bump, this one big enough I was actually airborne for a second before I landed with an oomph.
    A soft groan echoed next to me. “Henry?”
    “Question.”
    I nearly laughed in relief. “Shoot.”
    “Where the fuck are we?”
    “I don’t know.” I tried to see how badly he was hurt, but I still couldn’t see his face through the curtain of brown hair. “Are you okay? I mean, I guess they didn’t shoot you.”
    He blew at his hair,