"Miss… it's Chebet. We escaped. But they're coming."
Silence.
Then Miss Mukami's voice came through the cheap kabambe phone speaker, sharp like a pin in the dark.
"Where are you, Chebet?"
"Somewhere near Ndula. A herdsboy helped us. We followed the river. Amina is injured."
Nyambura grabbed the phone.
"Miss… please. If you can come, come now. If not, at least tell the world. We are finished."
The line broke for a second. The herdsboy checked the battery — 6%.
Miss Mukami's voice came again, firm this time.
"Don't move. Stay right there. I'm coming."
Miss Mukami didn't even wear proper shoes. She slipped into her flats, grabbed her raincoat, and left her house like someone running from fire.
She had taught for 12 years. But tonight, she wasn't a teacher. She was a soldier.
Her mind was racing. She had seen things. Heard things. Whispered among teachers who had no backbone. But what Nyambura and the others had uncovered it was deeper than anyone dared imagine.
She knew Mwakazi was corrupt.
But she didn't know he was a predator too.
Now the girls were running through forests while he drank whiskey in his office.
No more silence.
Elsewhere, Kosgei sat inside a black Subaru, chewing peanuts and scrolling through police frequencies on a walkie-talkie.
He wasn't panicking.
He was planning.
His two men had searched the area near Njoro River. Nothing. But he knew girls. He knew how fear worked. He knew they wouldn't run far. They'd look for people, for phones, for help.
That's where he'd catch them.
And this time, he wouldn't just bring them back.
He'd make an example.
He tapped a number on his phone. "There's a teacher. Miss Mukami. She's helping them."
The voice on the other end paused. "Instructions?"
Kosgei smiled. "Scare her. Not kill. Not yet. But let her know we are watching."
Meanwhile It started raining. Slow, scattered drops. Then heavier.
The herdsboy led the girls to a nearby livestock shade. The smell of cow dung was strong, but it was dry. Safe.
He gave them boiled maize and two bottles of Fanta soda he had saved from his pocket money.
"You're angels, not girls," he said shyly, then added, "But with bad luck."
The girls smiled for the first time in days.
Nyambura closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.
She didn't know who was coming.
She didn't know if she would live through the night.
But for the first time… she felt seen.
An hour later, a dusty Probox appeared on the muddy track.
The headlights flashed three times.
The girls stood up slowly. Unsure. Afraid.
Then the door opened.
"Girls… it's me."
Miss Mukami.
They ran into her arms like children to their mother. Even Mwikali, the strongest, cried openly.
Mukami didn't ask for the full story yet. She just helped them inside.
"We'll talk when you're warm. When you're safe," she whispered.
But inside, she was shaking.
She had already seen two motorbikes following her from school.
She wasn't just rescuing the girls now.
She was dragging the truth into the light and truth makes enemies.
Back at Situra High, Mwakazi's phone vibrated.
A message from Kosgei:
"They made contact with Mukami. Location: Ndula Ridge. We'll intercept. Prepare cleanup."
Mwakazi leaned back.
He looked at Room 14's key again. Still cold. Still heavy.
And he pocketed it..
One last play.
Elsewhere At a small dispensary, the girls were treated quietly by a nurse Miss Mukami trusted.
While Amina's leg was wrapped in a cast, Nyambura opened her phone.
Her blog.
It still worked.
The last post had 71 shares. The headline: "School Principal Accused of Abusing Girls – Seven Missing."
She clicked "New Post."
Title: We Escaped. But He's Still Hunting.
And she began to type.
The fire had not died.
It had just begun to spread.