"Does anyone have a phone?" Ken asked, scanning the group of captives around him.
"No," came the unanimous response.
It was perhaps a stupid question considering that their captors would never let anyone of them keep a phone. But Ken hoped, prayed that maybe one of them managed to hide his phone away from the kidnappers.
From the unanimous response, clearly, it was just wishful thinking.
"I lost mind during the ambush," one of the newly abducted boys said.
"Mine was snatched by one of the men when they herded us here," a girl added. "I was planning to make a smart move, call the police".
"Even if you tried, there's no network in this forest," the old man interjected.
"Then how do the kidnappers contact our families?" Ken asked, his curiosity growing despite the tension in his voice.
"They use a satellite phone," the old man replied. "A special one. That's how they stay in touch with each other and negotiate with families".
Ken's heart sank. There had to be a way out of this nightmare, some crack in the system he could exploit. He stood up and examined the high windows near the ceiling. Iron bars shielded them, making any escape attempt futile.
He moved to the door and gave it a push. "Tightly locked," he muttered, disappointed as all eyes turned to him.
"What are you up to, son?" The old man asked.
"I'm trying to figure a way out of this place, sir," Ken said, returning to sit beside him.
A thought occurred to him. "Wait… what if I need to pee? How do I go?"
"You knock on the door loud enough till the guards come. You let them know," the old man answered.
"What if I try to escape while going?" Ken asked, a flicker of mischief and desperation in his voice.
"You're acting smart. I like your thinking, but in this situation, it's more dangerous than smart. You'll get yourself killed kid".
"Besides," the old man added. "It's technically impossible. You'd be escorted by two armed men. One wrong move, and they'd put a bullet in you without hesitation. A young boy tried that on the first day, he didn't make it. Please, don't try that".
Ken felt his heart run cold; he nodded solemnly. "Okay, sir".
The old man looked him over, smiling faintly. "You look so young, my boy. Are you a student?"
"Yes. Delta State University. I just finished my first year. I was on my way home to Lagos when we were ambushed. How are you, sir?"
"I'm a retired army officer. Thirty years in service. I retired a Major. I've faced worse situations and dodged death more times than I can count. By now, I've already lost count of how I escaped most".
"In the army, they used to call me the lucky one," he chuckled. "This," he gestured around them. "This doesn't scare me. I've taken many lives… so if this is how mine ends, then so be it".
Ken listened intently. "That's… incredible".
"I've always heard of how military men put their lives on the line, it's inspiring. But I want to be a footballer. I love football, sir. I'm obsessed".
"Good dream," the old man said, nodding. "Pursue it, no matter what. I'm sure your parents don't support it".
"They don't," Ken admitted with a sigh.
"Typical African parents. Mine didn't want me in the army either. But during the Biafran War in 1967, I joined my Igbo brothers to fight. My parents thought I'd die. But somehow, I made it through. I was lucky, like I said. So don't let anyone kill your dream, my son".
Ken smiled, visibly encouraged. "Wow. The lucky one indeed. That's such an inspirational story. I'll chase my dream. Thank you, sir".
The old man smiled in return. "What's your name, son?"
"Ken. Kendrick".
"Well, I'm Justin. But my grandkids call me Baba J," he chuckled.
Ken laughed softly, though his smile faded as he remembered the grim reality. "What about the ransom? Do you think your family can afford it?"
"I don't know," Baba J said quietly. "We can only hope".
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking.
Captain Scar entered, flanked by two armed men. His face twisted into a mocking grin, revealing yellowed teeth as he surveyed the room.
"It's time, boys and girls," he announced with a sneer. "Your families must be going mad by now, searching for you. New inmates, get ready to make some calls. And as for you old timers," he glanced toward Baba J and a few others. "If I don't hear from your people in two days, you'll suffer the consequences".
Silence gripped the room.
"I'll take each of you to my room. You'll make a call," he smirked. "Let's see who's worth saving," He said, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.
Then his eyes locked on Ken. "You. Get up!"
Ken's heart pounded violently in his chest.
"What's your name?" Scar barked, his tone turning cold and predatory.
"K-k-Ken," he stammered.
"Good. Ken, follow me," he ordered, motioning for one guard to come along. The others remained to watch the inmates.
Ken caught one last glance of Jessica; her face pale, eyes filled with fear. Baba J gave him a slow, reassuring nod.
They entered Captain Scar's quarters. The room reeked of sweat and chaos; ammunition lay scattered on the floor, clothes thrown over chairs and boxes, and grimy bags stacked haphazardly.
"What the hell are you gawking at? Put the number here before I smack you," Scar snapped, shoving a satellite phone into his hands.
"S-sorry, sir," Ken whispered, dialing his father's number with trembling fingers. Scar snatched the phone and placed it on speaker.
The line rang.
Then a voice, his father's, came through.
"Hello? Is this Ken's dad?"
"Yes, I'm his father. Who…?"
"Shut up!" Captain Scar barked; Ken flinched. "Your son is here with us. We are kidnappers. If you want to see him alive, you will transfer ten million naira".
"I'll send untraceable account details after this call. Once the money is confirmed, you'll get your son back. If you alert the police, say goodbye to him. I'll blow his brains out".
"Ten million?" Ken's father gasped. "Please, that's too much! I'm a civil servant. I don't earn that much in a year. The bank won't even lend me that amount. Please, help me. He's my only son".
"I don't negotiate," Captain Scar growled. "You have five days. If I don't get the money, he dies". He ended the call with a jab of his thumb and tossed the phone aside.
"Take him back," he ordered his guard.
Ken was led back to his cell, his legs unsteady, mind reeling from the exchange. As the heavy door shut behind him, he could still hear the echo of his father's desperate plea.
Five days.
That was all the time he had left.