Jaz & Miguel (21 page)

Jaz went into a dream-state where everything happened at once and
nothing happened at all
.
All she would later
remember of the first few nanoseconds of it was something drumming at the
bottom of her ribcage like bongo drums or a buzzing pinwheel or the rubbing of cricket
wings. Later, she reasoned it had probably been a combination of panic and
tears knocking away at her chest which had left her with a feeling of not being
sure if she should scream, cry, laugh, puke or just simply explode with terror.

A coil sprung in her legs and, before she knew it, she was up. As
far as she could remember, she hadn't pushed herself up with her hands, she'd
just simply landed on her feet.

People rushed past them, all heading in the direction of the main
gate.

The main gate. Right. There had been a gunshot—
three
gunshots.

Miguel!

She ran.

For the briefest of moments, and for reasons beyond her
comprehension, she stopped, and thought that she should get his Kindle—like
getting his fucking Kindle would in some way bring him back to life if he had been
shot?

What the—? She was disoriented. It was Thandie's hand that got her
moving again. Right, they were moving, in the direction of the gate, to face
whatever happened.

Oh ... God ... no. Please, God, no!

Her body careened forward.
She ran past the
pond and the fountains, her legs burning with lactic acid, then past the physics
lab on her left—running, running, running! Now her lungs also burned. Shadows
of the adjacent buildings covered her, cooling her skin as she made it to the
alley between the Great Hall and the Humphrey Raikes hall. Some students were
only jogging, others—the rugby players and soccer players—sprinted so fast that
they'd long since overtaken her. The theater was up ahead, only eighty more
yards or so and she'd be there, at the turn. She heard Miguel scream again.

Jaz couldn't get there soon enough and yet felt a fist of dread punch
against her chest, warning her not to look at what was coming. As she ran, she
heard the cries of protesters far in the distance as well.

As far as she could tell, Thandie was running behind her. She heard
Miguel's voice again. Was it his voice?

"Nooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooo!"

It was. It was his voice. He sounded strong and healthy, so if he'd
been shot, then it would not have been in the chest.

But then—her mind still racing and her body only forty yards from
the turn before she'd see the main gate—her legs felt suddenly even weaker and
she felt her arms start to shake because ... Miguel was
still
moaning.

Something wasn't right.

Maybe Miguel had not been shot.

But if he hadn't, then who had?

Suddenly, she felt an even stronger dread, as if her mind had—in the
fractions of moments that had since passed—almost come to terms with what she
was to do. She had thought it fully out in her head. If Miguel had been shot,
she would've run to him, grabbed him, given someone her phone and told them to
call ... 911 or
whomever
they called down here! Then she would've held him,
and somehow
willed
him to stay alive.

She had worked this out. This had been her plan.

Now she found herself rethinking the plan through. What if it
had
been someone else? What would she do then? And if it had been someone else, then
who?

She had no time left. She was at the turn. A mob of students were at
the main gate, blocking the view to the street. She couldn't see around them.
They were all so tall! She was hurtling down the slightly inclined road when her
right leg landed awkwardly and, before she knew it, her body was leaning at an
uncontrollable angle and she careened forward onto the hot tar, ripping the
skin from her palms and bouncing with a painful thud on her right knee.

She tumbled.

Thandie paused to help when Jaz told her, "Go! Go! Go!"
Then Candy was at her side, helping her up while Maxine and Stefan wriggled
through the crowd at the gate.

Thandie forced her way through while Jaz got up, grimacing. The
protesters' cries had become even louder—but they were still far away. Jaz's
knee twanged and she struggled to walk.

Then she heard it—and received an answer to the question she'd been
subconsciously asking herself. It was Thandie's voice. "Oh, my god, NO! Sandile!
No!" Thandie was screaming, in shock, in pain, in terror. "Sandile!"

Sandile?

Jaz hobbled through the growing throng of students behind the gate,
security trying to hold them back, Candy muscling some of the students out of
the way.

And then she saw it. An instant impression of the image said all it
needed to for her to understand: Miguel on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks,
his head bowed in defeat, and Sandile's red-soaked body in his arms, his head
back, motionless, while Miguel rocked his own body back and forth, crying out
to anyone who'd listen.

Maxine started to scream, her hands to her open mouth. Stefan held
her and eased her back into the gate. Candy stood shocked, seemingly incapable
of accepting or understanding what she was looking at. Thandie was on her
knees, tears falling from the unmistakable clarity of what she was looking at.

Then Jaz saw the other thing: a throng of people with signs and
knobkerries and sticks convulsing into a panic about ten blocks away—the protestors!
It had not been they who'd shot Sandile—that much was clear; they were too far
away. But whoever did, had galvanized them into action.

She needed to get Miguel out of here, behind the gates!
Everyone
needed to get behind the gates!

"Get back behind the gates! There's a mob on the way!" she
screamed. Some listened, others only looked at her. Candy remained paralyzed.

Miguel laid his hand on Sandile's chest, then put his forehead on it.
He shook his head. He laid him down gently and then stood up. Blood marred his
complexion; his chest heaved as he looked frantically around for something—an
unreasoning fury burning in his eyes. His eyes locked on something, across the
street at the Caltex gas station.

It was ... that reporter. That
fucking
reporter was standing
there, a camera to his eyes, shooting, shooting, shooting—shooting Miguel and
then Jaz and then the protestors in the distance. And as Miguel looked at him,
the reporter—that
Abbey
—just shot some more.

Miguel pointed at the man.

Miguel: "You. You just watched. You could have done something!"

The reporter stepped back, still firing away. Miguel ran after him. Some
looting from the protestors had begun in the distance. She heard police sirens
and a bullhorn and a window smashing.

Miguel—at the gas station on the other side of the street now—caught
Abbey and flung him against a pump. The man's head hit it and then hit the
ground like a ragdoll. Miguel kicked him, red rage burning in him as his leg
swung at the guy like a ten-ton pendulum. Then he grabbed his camera and threw
it across the street as if it were a cricket ball.

It smashed.

Three other students were now also there—and Stefan. The other
students also started kicking the reporter, but Stefan locked his arms around
Miguel and pulled him back. Miguel's legs flailed as he struggled against him. "No,
Miguel! It's not worth it!" shouted Stefan.

This was not good. No, this was
not
good.

Jaz knelt by Sandile's body. Her hand went to her mouth and she
closed her eyes, not able to look any more at the bubbles that had formed on
the blood on his chest and lips and head. There was so much blood she could not
tell if he'd been shot in the chest or the stomach. His eyes were open, looking
up at the cloudless sky. His glasses were on the floor.

This cannot be happening.

Then, gunfire. She looked to her right and saw a gas around the
crowd as well—and now they were
running!
They were dispersing violently
into the adjacent streets and some toward her. The security guards of the
campus were telling all students to go inside. They were going to close the
gates! They needed to get the fuck out of there!

"Oh, my God!" And then a scream, from Nita. She was now also
outside the gates, a high-pitched shrill pouring from her lungs, her hands to
her mouth like Candy, staring at Sandile's body.

"Nita, get inside!" shouted Jaz, but Nita didn't move.

Jaz looked up and saw Abbey's body across the street being lifted by
a small crowd of students which had since joined in, like he was a rock star
riding a wave—but he was no rock star, and this was no wave. But she couldn't
see Miguel. A mixture of students and pedestrians stood around her so that it
was now impossible to tell who was who. A small crowd was forming.

She looked again at Sandile. He was dead. This she could no longer
deny.

Sirens played in the distance. Some more shots were fired. By now,
the fastest of the protestors were running past her. Then there were more
people around her—crowding in. The heat and the smell of bodies made her
nauseous. Nita's screaming stopped.

"We have to move him," said Thandie, tears in her eyes.

"Someone help us! We need to move him!" screamed Jaz.
Without delay, two students were there—Stefan as well—helping them move
Sandile's body inside. "Miguel! Miguel!" she shouted. He needed to
get inside!

"Miguel!"

Someone pushed against her so heavily that she fell to the ground,
her hand landing on Sandile's blood on the pavement. And then Nita's body crashed
next to her, landing on her right shoulder, and Jaz saw her head hit the pavement,
then a bounce, then her eyes rolling back, a drop of blood from her nose, then
a foot on her waist but no expression of pain on Nita's face, a man stumbled
and fell, he got up, looked briefly behind at the girl he'd just trampled, and
ran!

Jaz flung her body over Nita's protectively, hands and knees on the
ground, Nita below her, and screamed for help.

Too much was happening at once now for her to accurately process.

"Help! Someone help!" More and more protestors were
running past them now. Jaz looked up. Only bodies around her now—running,
sprinting from the gunfire and teargas and the bullhorn! Then three more
students were around her, two grabbed Nita while the third ran interference. Someone
ran into him and the student pushed the guy down. Then two other protesters started
hitting that student!

Jaz was losing orientation.

"Miguel!" Her voice was drowned by a cacophony of
gunshots, cheering, shouting, chanting, hooting, breaking windows, a crash of
metal against a wall, a bullhorn, sirens, sirens, another siren, now an
ambulance siren, then a police car, grunts, moans, fighting, scuffles, a punch,
things said in African languages, a swearword she recognized—

And where was Candy? Where was Stefan?

"Miguel!!!" Her voice was hoarse, her body squashed between
bodies.

Two hands grabbed her and turned her. It was Miguel.

Fucking Christ Almighty thank God you're alright.

Miguel's face was grimy, smudged with blood and black dirt. "You
need to get out of here. Go!" he urged as he shook her by the shoulders. People
pushed against them and became more violent.

Jaz grabbed Miguel's soaking shirt with a grip like a Rottweiler's teeth
into meat. "No. Fucking. Ways! You're coming with me. I can't lose
two
people in one day!" Her words came from clenched teeth and she tugged at
him with all her might as she said them.

Miguel's eyes flicked around. "OK, let's go," he said,
putting his arm around her and forcing his way through the crowd to behind the
gates. Four security guards opened them up for them, keeping the non-students
out.

Miguel was in. But two thoughts came to Jaz before she was fully inside:
the other students still outside, and that
camera
. Whatever happened
would be on that camera! She couldn't let that be published—Sandile didn't
deserve that! She tore herself from Miguel and jostled her way through the mob
to get to it.

Miguel called her. She shouted back, "Just go! I'll be right
there."

"Jaz!"

Jaz wrestled and fought and struggled and made it through to where
Miguel had thrown the camera.
There were too many
people now. If the camera was here—or even just the smashed parts of it with
the SD card—then it could've been kicked anywhere. People jostled and pushed around
her.

Then more gunshots. Crowd dispersal. Now space where before were
legs. Jaz saw the student who'd run interference earlier, on the ground, blood
on his lips, but he was breathing. And Candy also, holding her ribs, leaning
against a wall—oh, no.

"Candy!"

Runners pushed Jaz against the Palisade fence as they went past her,
one person elbowing her in the stomach. Then there was almost no one around her
again—all of them having now moved twenty yards back, chanting and swinging
their sticks in the air and singing and stamping their feet on the ground like a
war cry.