The Power of Five Oblivion

chance that Matt would get better, they would leave him lying there. If they decided he was finished, they would drag him out and throw him onto the pile of bodies waiting to be burned … they wouldn’t even check he was dead before they lit the match.
    It was the longest day Lohan had known since he had been brought to this terrible place. All he could do was concentrate on his work, trying to force Matt out of his mind. Already he was making his plans. If Matt died, he would escape on his own. It didn’t matter if he was killed in the attempt. He was dying anyway. He couldn’t take any more.
    He was the first back into the hut that evening. Matt was still there, looking not much better than he had been when Lohan had left.
    “Pedro…?” he asked, as Lohan leant over him, pressing another water bottle to his lips.
    “He’s not here,” Lohan said, wishing that he was. Matt had told him that the Peruvian boy had the power to heal. It was exactly what was needed right now. “I’m Lohan. How are you feeling?”
    “Weak.”
    “Well, at least you got a day off work.” Lohan tried to make a joke of it, to conceal how worried he had been. “Do you want to eat? Can I get you anything?”
    “The plane…”
    “It’s not here, Matt. It left more than a week ago and it hasn’t come back.” Lohan tried to keep the anger out of his voice. The other slaves were trooping into the room, collapsing on their beds. Some of them were already asleep. “I don’t know what you saw in that dream of yours,” he went on. “But it was a mistake coming here.”
    “The plane…”
    “Didn’t you hear me?”
    Lohan was gripping Matt by his shoulders, almost as if he wanted to shake some sense into him. But then he heard it. Matt wasn’t talking about the plane they had seen when they had arrived. There was another plane, approaching even as they spoke. Lohan looked up. There was a low humming in the air. It was still some distance away but it was getting closer all the time. The hum became a roar. The other prisoners looked up. It was right overhead. Lohan wanted to run out of the hut but he knew there was no point. He wouldn’t see anything in the darkness and there was a risk he might get shot. But he listened as the plane landed and knew that it had touched down on the runway that he had seen eight days before.
    He turned back to Matt. Despite everything, the boy seemed to be a little more peaceful, as if he had somehow managed to prove a point. Lohan smoothed the bundle of rags that he had been using as a pillow beneath his head. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “We’re going to get out of here. We’ll try tonight.”
    “No.” Matt was also whispering but his voice was strong. “Not tonight. Tomorrow morning. Need to be strong…”
    “It’ll be easier when it’s dark.”
    But Matt’s eyes had closed and Lohan saw that he had fallen asleep. For a long time he crouched there, looking at the unconscious figure. He seemed to be struggling, trying to come to some sort of decision. Finally he nodded, as if he had won a battle with himself.
    He stretched out on the bed next to Matt and a few minutes later he too was asleep.

THIRTY-FOUR
    Lohan woke up early. His body might have been exhausted but his mind was in turmoil and he opened his eyes long before the sun began to rise, the hut shrouded in darkness. He lay there for a long time, listening to the sounds around him. A few people were snoring, some whimpering in the grip of bad dreams. The mosquitoes were whining as usual. Outside, a dog barked a couple of times then yelped as it was kicked. The best thing was that as far as he could see, Matt was sleeping soundly. Perhaps it would help him. He might even find someone in that dreamworld of his to look after him. Somehow, Lohan knew that the next day was going to be their last at Serra Morte – no matter how it actually turned out.
    It was strange but he still had no idea who actually owned or organized the gold mine. Who, in fact, was getting the gold? It could have been the Brazilian government – but then Brazil didn’t really have a government any more. Maybe it was the military or the drug lords. And what did they do with the gold when they got it? Presumably it was refined, melted down and traded in the international banks. Lying there as the light began to creep in, Lohan tried to imagine the men in suits weighing the bars in their hands, not thinking of the pain and misery that had produced it.