The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 38





The rocket grenade exploded over the soldiers.

The missile struck the overhang directly above them, detonating into a fireball, rattling Yusuf’s khameez thirty meters back. He shoved the empty tube off his shoulder to the deck, waiting for the smoke to clear.

Haze boiled over the rail, blown on the headwind. Suleiman, made bold, stood openly to fire a long burst into the mist.

Quiet flowed back from the corridor. Yusuf took his gun in hand. He stepped forward. The soldiers might be dead, or stunned enough to be overrun and finished.

A silent bullet pricked his loose blouse at the waist. The tug was like that of a child at his side. The shot drilled a channel through the smoke. Yusuf jumped aside before two more rounds zipped where he’d stood. Suleiman dropped and rolled behind the corner.

Yusuf cursed. “Dufarr.” Pigs. He fingered the hole in his blouse. Suleiman scrambled beside him. Yusuf growled, “How did they live through that? How do they shoot back?”

Suleiman shook his head. “Perhaps they are not pigs.”

“What are they, then? Give me a better word.”

“You won’t accept what I have to say.”

Yusuf stole a quick glance around the corner. Most of the smoke from the explosion had drifted away. Dark figures knotted in the shadow below the rail, as if the explosion had melted the soldiers together. Wisps curled off their backs. The one who’d shot at him still watched down his gun barrel.

Yusuf drew his head around the corner.

“Speak your mind.”

“I asked what sort of men these were. Perhaps they’re not men at all.”

“Cousin, they are soldiers.”

“They are shaitann. You saw how they kill. You see how they cannot be killed. The jinn that brought them to the ship, we saw it go. Why bring them here? So we can all die at their hands? I cannot believe that. Allah has another reason.”

Suleiman was not wild, not afraid. He’d always been Yusuf’s bedrock, wise because he was older, far-seeing, devout, braver. These fighters in the corridor were men; Yusuf would not give up that belief to turn them into jinn like Suleiman. But he accepted, too, that he did not know this breed of man. Were there demons inside them? It made no difference. Could just three of them kill Yusuf, Suleiman, Guleed, all the Somalis left alive on this evil ship? Without question. They’d already killed half. Could they be stopped?

Yusuf raised a hand to say he had no time to consider Allah’s reasons. He was interrupted by more gunfire from Jama, who must be shocked as well to find the soldiers still alive.

“Hear me,” Suleiman insisted.

“Speak. ”

Suleiman hooked a thumb around the corner, into the corridor. “Men or shaitann, we are no match for them.”

“We have the hostages.”

“And we had twenty-three men to defend them. Now we have thirteen. Perhaps fewer—we cannot know standing here.”

“True.”

“They know we have the hostages. They came anyway. They do not care, or they do not fear us. Either way, we will all die at their hands if we do nothing more than duck and shoot back. These are powerful fighters. Think who fights for us. Jama is a coward; Guleed is a boy. We have one chance, cousin.”

“And what is that?”

“Answer me, truly.”

“Yes.”

“If these soldiers are men, do you think we can beat them?”

Yusuf had no need to consider. “No.”

“And if they are spirits, then they were brought to this ship by the hand of God. To you and me, Yusuf, to test us. I believe it in my soul. It is kaafir not to believe it.”

“Test us for what?”

Suleiman shot a finger toward the dark bow, at more sounds of gunfire from Jama and his aimless rifles.

“Men or demons, they can be killed. But only by the faithful. That is our test. Will we trust in Allah? He has guided us all our lives to this fight, our final one together. You yourself have said so, we will quit after this.” Suleiman grinned, golden. “Will we stride forward, to live or die in faith? Or will we hide on this ship until we are found, until we are shamed enough to only die?”

Another lull arose from the gunfighting around the steel corner. Suleiman continued with his hand resting on Yusuf’s great shoulder, as it had rested so many times.

“On the beach. Madoowbe’s blood disappeared, you recall? He was a hooyadis. You and I, when have we ever hidden? Never. If we are to leave our blood, let it be on Allah’s hands. It will not disappear there.”

Yusuf mirrored his cousin’s gesture, lapping his palm behind Suleiman’s long neck.

“What if you’re wrong? What if they are not shaitann, just men?”

Suleiman pouted his lower lip over his beard. “You and I will die by the deeds of men. But if we have faith, they will talk about us for a while, at least. Eh? That’s something.”

Suleiman let his weapon hang by its strap. He took Yusuf into an embrace.

“Ha cabsan, cousin.” Don’t be afraid.

They released each other quickly when more bursts of gunfire beckoned them.

Yusuf led along the starboard rail. The moon had risen enough to light their way past spilled Darood blood.