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The problem with being small, Pyunma thinks, is that it makes him easily defeated when he's at a disadvantage. Right now, for example- hands tied behind his back, head pounding, he wouldn't be any match for even one of the guards in this building. Maybe not even with his hands free. He probably wouldn't even be able to get in a good punch before getting taken down.
Outside the door of his cell, he hears the sound of footsteps approaching, pausing, then disappearing off into the opposite direction. A patrol. He tries to remember how long it's been since the last one, but time feels like it's slipping by without him. He can't even count how many patrols have happened, since he was put in this cell, they all seem to blur together.
Pyunma closes his eyes, lets his head rest against the rough cement brick of the wall, ignoring the tacky feeling of blood along his forehead, and the twinge of pain along his side at the shift. He's lucky that he's not dead right now, that the bullet only grazed him instead of hitting something vital. Luckier still that the prison guard actually bothered to take him to a doctor before putting him in his cell.
It still doesn't feel like a blessing, with nothing to distract him from the pain in his head or his side. Doesn't feel like a blessing when he hadn't even gotten the chance to wash the blood off. It could be worse, he tells himself- but that doesn't mean it's not bad right now.
The sound of the guard's footsteps is gone completely, replaced by a different sound. "Pyunma. Pyunma." It takes him a long time to realize what it is. Tosin, in the next cell over, trying to check on him.
"Here." His first attempt comes out a croak, so he swallows, tries again. "I'm here. I'm pretty sure the bleeding's stopped."
Tosin's voice comes closer now. He must have moved toward the door of the cell. "I don't suppose you could check?"
"All the moving it would take to get my hands free might just make it worse.” He does his best to keep his voice light, unworried. It could be worse. He can tell it reassures Tosin. "My reward for trying to get away from that guard. It was still worth it."
"And you almost made it, too." Tosin sounds awed. Pyunma is momentarily struck by just how young he sounds. He can't be older than eighteen, and that seems like a generous estimate. Surely he's far too young to be fighting a war.
In a moment of clarity, he wonders if this is how Kabore sees him- only 22, too young to be a veteran with years of fighting experience. Too young to be in a war at all. He doesn't feel young, right now. He feels old. Tired. Keep it together, he tells himself. If he gives up, then Tosin will too, and he needs to make sure that boy makes it out of this alive. "We'll have better luck next time," he says. If Tosin replies, he doesn’t hear it.
After that, time slides away from him again. The next thing he knows, a siren is blaring, jolting him out of his daze. He lifts his head, hisses at the feeling of numbness in his limbs. It's been longer than he thought. "Tosin, what's going on?" He doesn't bother to keep his voice down.
The boy in the cell next to him doesn't either. "Someone's doing a raid- I think it's them! They came to break us out!" His voice is full of unbridled enthusiasm. Pyunma should say something to balance it out, because God, that's a risky move for their rebels to be pulling- they don't have the manpower to spare if this goes wrong.
He doesn't say anything. Instead, he finally starts twisting his hands in the ropes.
Whatever's coming, he doesn't want to deal with it with his hands tied behind his back. Beyond the siren wailing, he can hear the sound of gunshots, getting closer and closer. By the time there are shouts echoing through the hallways, he's barely gotten them loose, and his side is afire with pain, but still he doesn't give up.
Before he can do anything more, a shout rises up from the cells around him. Above it all, he can hear a familiar voice shouting. "Quickly! We won't have much time before their reinforcements get here."
Mamado. He leans against the wall again for a moment, overwhelmed with relief. He's all right. They're both going to be all right.
Already, the door to his cell is opening, and there is Mamado, his face painted with relief just as strong as Pyunma is feeling. "Pyunma!" In an instant, Mamado is kneeling next to him, pulling out a knife to cut his bonds, hauling him to his feet, and into a tight hug. It's not comfortable- standing so suddenly has left him dizzy, and Mamado's arm is pressing into the wound on his side, but Pyunma is smiling and hugging back just as tight.
It only lasts a moment. Then Mamado draws back to look him over, taking in the blood and the bruises. "Are you all right?"
"Enough for an escape," Pyunma says, because it's true. It brings Mamado's smile back, though this time it has a grim twist to it.
"I think we can arrange that." He looks over Pyunma's injuries one time more, and his expression takes a turn for the serious. "Pyunma, how many did we lose?"
"Two." The words stick in his throat. "Kehinde and Tobi. There are a number of injuries, but nothing worse than mine. We won't lose anyone to that."
"I don't plan on losing anyone else tonight." Mamado says. Pyunma knows the look on his face. The losses have struck him hard. Tobi had two young sons, and Pyunma knows just how Mamado hates telling a child that they have lost their father. "Unbaba will pay for this,"
When they leave the cell, prisoners and rescuers both are gathered in the hallway. "All right," Mamado announces, and heads turn to look at him. "From here we're splitting into groups. Get out any way you have to, but we'll be meeting back at the camp. Pyunma, you're with me." As the group splits up, Mamado turns and presses a knife into Pyunma's hands, the same one he had used to cut his bonds earlier. "Sorry it's not anything better."
Pyunma shakes his head. Guns are a valuable resource among the rebels, and he knows Mamado couldn't afford to bring anything extra on a risky mission like this one. "I'll see if I can find anything else along the way."
They are the last ones to leave, because neither of them can stand the thought of leaving a comrade behind. Pyunma does his best to keep up, but every so often he's forced to slow. Whenever it happens, Mamado gets an arm around his shoulders and helps him along.
They're almost out of the building when they turn the corner and come face-to-face with a guard. Mamado has no time to draw his gun- and it would attract attention besides. Pyunma reacts on instinct, grabbing the guard and slamming the knife hilt into his head, watching him crumple. Only afterward does he feel the pain along his side and hiss, pressing his hand to the wound he’s just strained.
"Nice hit. He won’t be bothering us for a while," Mamado says. "Now come on. We've got to get out of here before more of them show up." Again, he hauls Pyunma's arm over his shoulder, and then they're outside. The sirens are still blaring, and a searchlight is covering the ground between the prison and the forests.
"We have to make a break for it," Pyunma gasps, because it's true, and Mamado won't want to suggest it to him, injured as he is. "On three- one, two three!"
Luck isn't with them. The beam catches them only a few steps before they tumble into the brush and collapse to the ground. The shouts of the soldiers start drawing near them.
"Pyunma," Mamado hisses. "We have to move."
"... can't." Their mad dash has left him dizzy and hurting, and he knows he can't sneak away right now, no matter how hard he might try.
A shout makes both of them duck lower behind their scant cover, but too late. "Over here!" one of the soldiers is shouting. "This way!"
Time isn’t working right again, but this time, it’s going too slow. Pyunma watches as Mamado looks in the direction of the prison, and the soldiers working through the undergrowth toward them. He sees the exact moment Mamado makes his decision. His resolve is clear in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. He hefts his gun, turns back toward Pyunma one last time. "I'll draw their fire."
"Wait, Mamado, don't!" But it's too late, Pyunma reacts just a moment to slow. Mamado's gone, the soldiers are shouting. He can hear the sounds of gunfire, moving away from him.
Damn his head, if only he could think, he could surely have come up with a better plan. Damn his injuries for slowing them both down. He bites his lip until it bleeds, and forces himself to his feet. He needs to get to cover. He needs to wait for Mamado. Mamado, who knows these woods, who's a brilliant shot, and the best fighter among all the rebels. Surely he'll get away from the soldiers and they'll go back to camp together.
He staggers his way further from the prison, listens for the sound of footsteps. He can't make it all the way back to camp on his own, not in this condition. He needs to wait. Mamado will be back soon.
The good thing about being small, he thinks, as he finds a place among the brush, is that it's easier to hide. The soldiers won't find him here. He'll be safe here, while he waits for the sound of gunfire to finally die down. Mamado will be back. He just needs to hold on.