Cruel Country: Waiting

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

Doug and Marie-Ange make plans to get out of Uganda.

The past eight hours had been something of a blur as Doug and Marie-Ange tried to outpace their pursuit. This had been made more difficult by the fact that Marie-Ange had twisted her knee in the mad leap from the roof, meaning that she couldn't exactly run in a pinch. Her best speed was a hobbling limp that a grandmother could probably catch. Which meant that raw speed wasn't going to get them away. What they needed was to run smart rather than fast.

The first step had been to put distance between them and the botched raid. Several quick changes of public transportation had accomplished that. Doug was starting to realize, however, that even with his ability to speak every language on the planet, and his growing knowledge of interacting in various cultures, that nothing he could do would change the fact that he and Marie-Ange stuck out in crowds, as they were among only a handful of Caucasians in the area.

"~We need money,~" he murmured under his breath to Marie-Ange in French. "~Enough to get plane tickets, plus enough to bribe whateverpeople at the airport we need to. Once we get on a plane and out of the country, I think our odds of survival go way up, but that means we have to get onto that plane.~"

They were hiding in plain sight, both bent over cups of strong coffee, whispering and touching in that obviously affectionate manner of lovers. It was, Marie-Ange thought a bit more awkward then she'd expected it to be. But people barely noticed them admist the rest of the tourists, which was the idea.

"And the tickets are going to be expensive. I have... eleven dollars. I do not think that will help." She said, a wry smile on her face. "

"Somehow I don't even think Travelocity or whichever one of those sites that William Shatner is spokesman for could get us from Uganda to the States on eleven bucks," Doug replied with an answering smile. It was either smile and laugh or run screaming into the middle of a crowd, the way this had gone. He sighed. "Loathe as I am to suggest it, we need to find a way to get some money quickly, which probably means something illegal."

"I am not helping you rob a bank." Marie-Ange said dryly. "If we are to do something illegal, then we should do it to someone who will not report it back to the authorities." Because the last thing they wanted was for the local police to find out that a caucasian couple had committed a crime. As it was, if they were to spend any more time in Uganda, she was going to have to dye her hair to something less noticable.

"That means we need to get to somewhere a little more...seedy," Doug said with a look around the coffee shop. "You up to playing the part of 'bewildair' French tourist'?" he asked, affecting a caricature of a French accent.

Marie-Ange blew a piece of hair off her forehead and gave Doug a questioning look. "And I suppose you are going to play the conman and convince someone to give you all of their money?" She couldn't imagine what else Doug had in mind, but it seemed as if he had a plan.

Doug pursed his lips and looked up toward the ceiling evasively. "Define 'convince'."



Amanda's luck improves.

It felt like her brains were melting.

"If this is early autumn, I don't wanna know what middle of the summer's like," Amanda muttered to herself as she crouched in the meagre shade provided by the pile of rubbish alongside what seemed to be some kind of cafe. Certainly people were going in and getting drinks and sitting around talking. She licked her dry lips and considered her options. Top priority was finding out where this airstrip was, obviously, but she'd been on the go for hours now in the heat, and water, then food, were becoming kind of crucial. Not to mention trying to shake the pursuit - no matter what she'd tried, they kept catching up to her, and she was running out of energy to run.

She had a feeling being a very white girl in a very African nation probably wasn't helping.

"Right then. Lots of birds, one stone," she decided, pushing herself upright and having to pause slightly as the world greyed out around her. Yep, water was definitely needed here. She just hoped she could find someone who spoke at least a little English. Or perhaps German. Hell, she'd take French or even Latin at a pinch. Slipping around the corner of the building, she adjusted her walk and posture to 'confused, lost and harmless backpacker' and walked into the whitewashed mudbrick building. Considering all the clientele seemed to be male, she was probably walking into the lion's den, but she was out of options.

"Do you speak English?" she asked in her 'generic British accent', as the older man behind the counter looked up at her. "And something to drink? I'm a bit lost, you see."

"America?" the man asked, his own accent thick but the word unmistakably English. Amanda could have kissed him.

"No, England," she replied, slowing her speech down a little. "I'm very thirsty. Water?"

He looked at her a bit suspiciously, but reached for one of the bottles of water on the shelf behind him. It had clearly been refilled from a tap and was warm and probably teeming with local bacteria, but at that point it was the best thing Amanda had ever tasted. She was half-way through the bottle when she realised she only had a few random American coins in her pocket. Hopefully it'd be enough. She pulled out a couple of quarters and laid them down on the counter. The man seized them, looking at them skeptically, but when he realised what they were, he slipped them into his pocket a little too eagerly. Apparently she'd just given him a month's wage. Oh well. Maybe it'd buy her some information.

"I'm looking for an airfield," she said. He looked at her blankly. "You know? Planes? Zooom?" She made an aeroplane noise and mimicked the movement with her hand. He curled his lip a little, and nodded.

"Plane, yes," he said. "You want?" Conversation had still in the small room, and the patch of skin between her shoulder blades crawled as she felt every eye upon her. Shite.

"Yes. I need to meet someone... Colonel Walkerton-Smythe? Do you know where he is?" She didn't hold out much hope of him knowing, and at this rate, she'd be lucky to get out of here alive. He surprised her however, with an enthusiastic nod.

"The Colonel, yes, yes. I know. Is not far. That way, eight miles. You want someone show?" He gestured at a young man, sitting with a group of others in the corner. Apparently 'unemployed and bored' was a universal language - he and his fellows could have been her old mates from Brighton, hanging around the fish and chip shop and terrorising the tourists for want of anything better to do. The way he looked at her as he got up was way too familiar.

"Ah, that's fine. Directions are okay - no need for someone to show me," she backpedalled, already heading for the door, clutching the water. Except there was the sound of a vehicle coming to a stop, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw a jeep load of soldiers, along with one of those blokes in the suits. "Oh bloody buggering fuck," she groaned, retreating back towards the rear of the shop. The young men and the owner were already disappearing behind a curtain in the rear. "In for a penny..." she sighed, and followed them. With any luck there'd be a back way.

"You, out! Private!" hissed the owner as she appeared on the other side of the curtain. There was indeed a back door, and the gang had already used it. Problem was, the owner was blocking her way, and hitting him would take too long and possibly result in the alarm being raised. Then she caught sight of her watch, glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the door, and in a flash, she had the strap undone.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him. "Payment. You let me go quiet-like, and this is all yours. Got to be worth a few bob, right?"

He took it and held it up to the light, obviously appraising its value. It wasn't a Rolex, but it was a decent quality watch, sturdy enough to survive the rough and tumble of some of her life. "Deal," he said shortly, and waved her towards the door. "Colonel plane, easy to find. East Road, eight miles. If lost, ask help. Tell Mugato said okay."

"Cheers, you're a prince." Amanda resisted the urge to hug the man, and fled out the back door. Eight miles wasn't so bad. As long as she was careful, she'd make it in plenty of time.


Wanda calls back to SV.

With the now empty glass of water pushed to the side, Wanda slumped in the seat. Her host was off making preperations even though they weren't set to leave until later but at least it meant he was out of the way. She was tired, exhausted and probably more than a far bit dehydrated at this point but she couldn't let herself unwind as of yet. Considering how she had only been barely able to shake off her shadows enough to slip out of the city, there was the doubt that they would stop the hunt even now.

Another glance around the airstrip showed that she was alone in the shade for the time being and she reached for the phone that was sitting on the table. It was old and battered looking but it would do the trick, hopefully. Wincing, Wanda stretched out her legs and waited for someone--anyone--to pick up on the other end of the line, half-afraid that the line would die before she could get through.

"Hello?" Illyana's voice was tense on the other end of the line, and, even over the phone, she sounded like she hadn't slept in several days – fatigue combined with the shakiness of a recently-faded adrenaline rush – but she managed to sound lucid and mostly competent.

"Illyana?" Wanda blinked and shook her head as she slumped further down in her seat. Surprise or not, she was greatful someone was on the other end and that the teleporter had managed to make it back home in one piece. "This is Wanda," she continued, knowing that how Illyana sounded to her, she had to sound even worse on the other end.

"Hi," Illyana said, a little awkwardly, but seemed to shake herself and get to the important parts. "Um. Are you all right? Is Amanda with you?"

"I am safe for now," Wanda responded, leaning over to pour more water into her glass. "I was finally able to shake my shadows long enough to get out of the city. And no, no she is not." She frowned and drummed her fingers against the table for a second. "I assume she was able to get a hold of you recently?"

Illyana inhaled. "I talked to her a while ago, but she was escaping something – something happened with the phone, or something, and she – it stopped working." Clearly unfamiliar with the technology beyond a basic grasp of its function, Illyana dismissed the phone stuff, and added "I'd – well, you two were together when I left, so I'd hoped that you'd found her again."

"We split up in the hopes that it would be easier to lose them," came the explanation. "I was hoping to have found her before I left the city or when I came here. I have safe transport set up for the both of us and we are waiting." Wanda sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I cannot risk going back to the city in case we pass each other." And there was the risk of getting captured or killed the closer she got to the city.

"Okay." The slow sound of air being exhaled did not convey relaxation. She seemed to think about her next question before she asked it: "Is there anything I can do from here?"

The first response was squashed before it could make it's way up. Illyana was as stuck as she was for now, maybe even more so. "Keep up what you are doing," Wanda said instead. "Keep an eye on the phones. If you do hear anything else, call me. I do not know how the others are doing but for now I am safe and able to take calls. And we just have to have faith in Amanda--and everyone else's--ability to get out of this one." For the first time in a while, she let herself smile. "I did, after all."

"Right." Illyana kept her voice simple, not conveying the mess of emotion she was going to have to sort through when this was done. "Well – I will. Okay."

"Good, thank you because it will help." There was the sound of footsteps behind Wanda and she tensed before realizing it was the owner of the airfield and not guards or men in black suites. "I have to go but I will let you know as soon as Amanda gets here."

"Okay," Illyana said. She hesitated a little before adding, "Good luck." For a very brief moment, she sounded her age – a young eighteen – but her tone modulated back to normal before the end of the phrase.

"Thank you," Wanda said, her voice sincere but tired as she shut off the phone. For a second, she just sat there, staring blankly out at the horizon before she shook herself and stood up. There was no sense in sitting about when there was work she could be doing, helping to prepare for later in the day.