The Compound
7:00 AM
I woke up to the smell of gunpowder and frying puff-puff.
It was a strange combination. One smelled of death, the other of Sunday morning comfort.
I was in my bed. My body felt like a sack of crushed stones. The adrenaline crash from the siege had left my muscles aching and my head throbbing with a dull, rhythmic pain.
< System Reboot... Complete. > Gemini's text scrolled across the ceiling. < Energy levels: 60%. Cortisol: Normalizing. Note: You have a bruise on your left ribcage from the engagement with Subject 'Bone'. >
I sat up, wincing as my side protested.
I listened.
Usually, Sunday mornings were silent.
Today, the compound sounded like a barracks.
Heavy boots crunched on the gravel. Metal clinked against metal. A radio squawked in French.
"Allô, Centrale? Ici Patrouille Delta..."
I stood up and walked to the window.
My tripwire trap was gone. The scorched earth where I had detonated the fuel bomb was being swept by a soldier.
Two Gendarmes in red berets sat on the veranda, eating puff-puff and drinking tea that Liyen must have made. Their AK-47s leaned casually against the wall next to Liyen's drying laundry.
My house had been occupied. But for once, the occupiers were on our side.
I walked into the parlor.
Tashi was there. He wasn't wearing his lucky shirt. He was wearing a fresh singlet and wrapper. He looked exhausted but strangely tall. He sat in his armchair, not drinking beer, but cleaning a shotgun with a rag.
Across from him sat the Mountain.
Uncle Lucas. Colonel Lucas Mbua.
I had only seen pictures of him before. In the flesh, he was terrifying. He filled the room. He wore full fatigue uniform, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms thick as tree branches. A scar ran from his ear to his jawline—a souvenir from a border skirmish in Bakassi.
He was holding the Thunder Stick.
He turned it over in his massive hands, examining the rusted nails, the taped-up camera circuit, and the PVC pipe. He looked at it like a biologist examining a poisonous snake.
"Nkem," Tashi said, seeing me. "You are awake."
Lucas didn't look up immediately. He pressed the button on the handle.
WHEEEEEEEE...
The high-pitched whine filled the room. The Gendarmes outside stopped chewing.
Lucas released the button. The whine faded.
He looked at me. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and absolutely devoid of warmth.
"Come here," Lucas rumbled. His voice was deep, vibrating in the floorboards.
I walked over. I felt ten years old. Truly. There is something about a Cameroonian military officer that strips away all your defenses.
"Good morning, Uncle," I said.
"Good morning," Lucas replied. He held up the stick. "Your father says you built this."
"Yes, Sir."
"He says you used it to drop a man who weighs 120 kilos."
"Yes, Sir."
Lucas looked at the nails. "I have seen Taser weapons in France. I have seen cattle prods in Texas. This... this is something else. This is nasty."
He placed the weapon on the table.
"Where did you learn to build a capacitor discharge weapon, Nkem? Government School Bamenda does not teach this."
I had to be careful. Lucas was not Tashi. He wouldn't believe in dreams or ghosts. He was a predator. He would smell a lie.
"I read encyclopedias," I said. "And Mr. Patel at the electronics shop... he lets me read the manuals."
Lucas stared at me. He drummed his fingers on the table. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Patel. The Indian?"
"Yes, Sir."
Lucas leaned forward. "The man you electrocuted at the door... he is in the hospital. He has third-degree burns on his hand. The doctors say his heart rhythm is messy. He might die."
I felt a cold spike in my stomach.
"He was going to kill my mother," I said quietly.
Lucas studied my face. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"I didn't say you were wrong, boy. I said you were effective."
He picked up a piece of puff-puff from a plate on the table and popped it into his mouth.
"The Bookman," Lucas said, chewing. "We raided his office this morning."
Tashi looked up, startled. "You raided him?"
"We found nothing," Lucas shrugged. "He cleared out before we got there. The Bookman has ears in the police. But he knows I am here. He knows the Mbua family is now under the protection of the 2nd Gendarmerie Legion."
He looked at Tashi.
"He will not touch you again, Tashi. Not physically. If he does, I will burn his whole operation down."
Tashi let out a long breath, slumping in his chair. "Thank you, Brother. Thank you."
"But," Lucas said, raising a finger. The air in the room tightened. "Protection is not free. Even for blood."
Tashi stiffened. "I gave you the money for the boys..."
"I don't want money," Lucas waved his hand. He turned his gaze back to me.
"I want the Engineer."
I blinked. "Me?"
Lucas reached into a bag at his feet. He pulled out a heavy, green metal object.
It was a military radio. A Thomson TRC-300. Ancient, rugged, and French-made.
"My unit," Lucas said. "We operate in the bush. These radios... they are garbage. The battery packs die in two hours. The reception is full of static. Half the time, I cannot talk to my own men."
He slammed the radio on the table.
"You fixed a radio with melted plastic. You built a lightning gun from a camera."
He pointed a thick finger at the green box.
"Fix this. Make it better. Give me range. Give me battery life."
I looked at the radio.
< Scan Complete. > Gemini overlaid the schematics instantly. < Model: Thomson TRC-300. Tech Level: 1980s. Flaws: Ni-Cd battery memory effect, inefficient antenna matching network. >
< Solution: Re-cell battery pack with Li-Ion (if available) or optimize charging circuit. Tune antenna coil. Install signal booster LNA (Low Noise Amplifier). >
"If I fix it," I said, looking Lucas in the eye. "What do I get?"
Tashi gasped. "Nkem! Don't bargain with—"
Lucas held up a hand to silence Tashi. He smiled. A real shark smile.
"You are a businessman too? Good."
"I want a letter," I said.
"A letter?"
"A letter from your office. Stamped. Saying that 'Tashi & Son Electronics' is an official contractor for the Gendarmerie."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because the Bookman can't touch a military contractor," I said. "And because I need a permit to import parts without Customs seizing them."
Lucas laughed. It was a loud, booming sound that made the soldiers outside jump.
"You want to dodge Customs? You are definitely a Cameroonian."
He stood up and extended his hand. It engulfed mine completely.
"Fix the radio first. If it works, you get your letter. If it doesn't... I take the Thunder Stick and you go back to primary school."
"Deal," I said.
Monday Morning
Commercial Avenue
The fear was gone.
Walking down the street on Monday felt different. People looked at us differently.
Maybe it was because Tashi was walking with his head high, wearing a new shirt.
Maybe it was because a Gendarme was casually following us, "patrolling" ten meters behind.
Or maybe it was because the rumor mill had churned out the legend of the "Wizard Boy" who summoned lightning.
We walked past the charred spot in the alley where Bone had fallen. The stain was still there.
Tashi didn't look at it. He was looking at a shop front.
It was a small shop, squeezed between a pharmacy and a shoe store. It used to be a hair salon, but it was empty now. The glass was dusty. The sign was faded.
"This is it," Tashi said.
He pulled a key from his pocket.
"I paid the rent this morning. Six months in advance."
He unlocked the door.
We stepped inside.
It smelled of old hairspray and dust. But the space was good. Tiled floor. A glass counter that just needed cleaning. A back room for storage.
"Tashi & Son," my father whispered, tracing his hand on the dusty glass.
He turned to me.
"Nkem. What do we put on the shelves? We have no stock. Just the multimeter and the soldering iron."
I put my school bag on the counter.
"We don't sell radios yet, Papa. We sell solutions."
"Solutions?"
"I have a contract," I said, pulling out Uncle Lucas's heavy green radio. "We are going to upgrade the army."
I looked at the empty shelves.
"But we need to fill the space. People need to see things."
< Suggestion: The 'Zombie Light' product line is proven, > Gemini noted. < Mass production required. >
"Papa," I said. "Go to the mechanic workshops. Buy every dead car battery you can find. Offer them 500 francs each."
"Dead batteries?" Tashi frowned. "Why?"
"Because I am going to build a Power Wall," I said. "We are going to sell electricity to people who can't afford generators. And we are going to build a thousand Zombie Lights."
I looked at the back room.
"This is not just a shop. This is a factory."
The Lab (Back of Shop)
Tuesday Afternoon
The rest of the week was a blur of solder fumes and caffeine.
I set up my station in the back room of the new shop. Tashi manned the front, painting the walls a bright, optimistic blue.
My focus was the Thomson Radio.
I cracked it open. The engineering was solid but outdated.
The battery pack was the weak point. Heavy Nickel-Cadmium cells.
I stripped them out.
I couldn't get Lithium-Ion batteries yet they were rare in 1999 laptops.
But I could use Lead-Acid.
I took the cells from a motorcycle battery Tashi had bought. I wired them in series. It was heavier, but the capacity was double the old Ni-Cd pack.
Then, the antenna.
I unwound the loading coil. I calculated the precise wavelength for the military frequency. I rewound it with silver-plated wire I scavenged from a broken high-end VCR.
Silver conducts better than copper. Less resistance. More range.
Finally, the secret sauce.
I added a Pre-Amp.
I used a low-noise transistor from a TV tuner. It would amplify the incoming signal before it hit the main circuit, pulling voices out of the static.
I closed the case.
It looked the same.
But inside, it was a hot rod.
"Papa," I called.
Tashi came in, covered in blue paint.
"Finished?"
"Turn on the other radio," I said. "The one we have at home."
Tashi turned on the handheld radio.
I keyed the mic on the Thomson.
"Check. Check. One two."
The sound from the handheld wasn't just clear. It was crisp. It sounded like FM radio.
"Now for the range," I said. "Uncle Lucas is at the Station Hill barracks. That is 5 kilometers away, behind a hill."
I switched to the military frequency. (Illegal, but necessary).
"Echo One to Base. Radio Check."
Static...
Then:
"Who is this? Get off this channel!" A confused operator at the barracks.
The voice was loud. Crystal clear.
I smiled.
"It works."
Wednesday
The Visit
Uncle Lucas came to the shop himself.
He parked his jeep right on the sidewalk, blocking traffic. He walked in, his boots clicking on the newly polished tiles.
Tashi stood up straighter. "Welcome, Colonel."
Lucas ignored him. He looked at the shelves. They were lined with "Zombie Lights" cleaner versions now, in plastic cases I had melted and molded.
He looked at the counter.
I placed the green radio on the glass.
"It is done?" Lucas asked.
"New battery pack," I listed. "Double capacity. Silver-coil antenna matching. Low-noise pre-amp. You can hear a whisper in Bafut from here."
Lucas picked it up. He keyed the mic.
He called his patrol car in Santa (15km away).
The response came back instantly. Clear.
Lucas stared at the radio. He looked at me.
"You are a witch," he said softly. "A technical witch."
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out an envelope.
It was stamped with the official seal of the Gendarmerie Legion.
"Your contractor permit," Lucas said. "And... I have twenty more radios in the truck. Can you fix them by Friday?"
"Twenty?" I calculated. "That creates a supply bottleneck. I need parts."
"Make a list," Lucas said. "My driver will go to Douala tomorrow. He will buy whatever you need."
This was it. The logistics chain.
I could import parts from Douala using military transport. No shipping costs. No customs.
"I will make the list," I said.
Lucas turned to leave. Then he stopped.
"One more thing, Nkem."
"Sir?"
"The Bookman."
The name hung in the air.
"He is quiet," Lucas said. "Too quiet. He has pulled his men off the streets. He is planning something."
"What?" Tashi asked nervously.
"He knows he cannot use force," Lucas said. "So he will use politics. He has friends in the City Council. Friends in the Tax Office."
Lucas pointed at our shiny new sign: TASHI & SON.
"Make sure your papers are in order, Tashi. Because they will come with clipboards, not guns."
He walked out.
I looked at Tashi.
"Papa," I said. "We need a lawyer."
Tashi laughed nervously. "Lawyer? We have a Colonel!"
"Colonels stop bullets," I said. "Lawyers stop bureaucrats."
< Threat Assessment Update: > Gemini flashed. < Enemy tactics shifting to Lawfare. Required Asset: Legal Counsel. >
I looked out the window at the busy street.
We had won the battle of the alley.
But the siege of the storefront was about to begin.
And I had 20 military radios to fix in 48 hours.
"Papa," I said, grabbing my soldering iron. "Put the 'Open' sign on the door. Let's make some money."