by DiAnn Mills
What homes? The GOS had been burning villages and killing the southern Sudanese since the early eighties. He suspected Garang would have great difficulty convincing the Muslim government to allow the South to build their country and control their own resources. Ben didn’t voice his thoughts on the matter. The future would show whether he was right or wrong. Of course, he didn’t have a future beyond six months.
Sarah approached them. For an old woman, she walked unusually erect. “I have food for all of you.” Smiling at the other men, but not at Ben, she ushered them toward her tukul.
Was she upset that Ben wasn’t traipsing after Larson? He had a job to do and a responsibility to his men. Before he died, he would make sure that wrinkled woman acknowledged all he’d done for people just like her, who were helpless against the government.
* * *
Larson wanted to sleep, but each time her body veered in that direction, the truck would hit a rut and jar her from any thought of rest. Commander Okuk said the journey would take almost two days—providing they were lucky and no one stopped them. She needed to sleep. Once they arrived in Kibum, she’d hit the ground running. Saving lives and giving hope to those desperate for medical care offered scant time for eating and sleeping. There she’d exist on adrenaline and the grace of God.
In the past, Paul had organized a church service for refugees waiting for food, water, and medical care. Most of them were skeptical of an Arab who spoke of a God who was not Allah. Paul took the time to assist them through the endless lines and earn their confidence. Then he explained what the Lord had done for them. She appreciated the way he didn’t condemn their Muslim traditions but showed his love of Jesus in other ways. She was proud of him, and she’d tell him so once they were finished yelling at each other.
She turned her attention to Commander Okuk. She was fairly certain that the commander did not trust her husband. Probably because he was an Arab. She closed her eyes. Commander Okuk should rest too, but she knew he’d refuse. They’d drive until dark and get a fresh start at first light. She’d wanted to leave as soon as Paul’s plane had cleared the landing strip, but a relentless attack of morning sickness had delayed them for over an hour. Calling Paul made no sense until they were nearly at the camp. He’d be furious with her, but she didn’t care. Her biggest fear was that he’d air-dropped the food and flown on into northern Sudan to meet Nizam.
To the left of the Hummer, a few women and children drove some goats toward their path. Larson righted herself and stared at the pitiful parade. What motivated these people to keep planting one foot in front of the other?
“We can’t stop,” Okuk said.
“I know. We’re running behind. But I want every government and every nongovernmental organization in the world to see what is happening here. These people are so needy, and my heart aches for the women and children.”
“So does mine.” He continued on past the group without a glance in their direction.
A tear slipped over her cheek. She touched her stomach and again wrestled with her decision to find Paul. What could she do to help if his family had already seized him? She refused to think about such horror. Their baby would have an opportunity to know his father—if God was willing to keep Paul safe.
“I grew up on a farm in Ohio,” she said, more to occupy her mind than to tell stories from another world.
“Ohio is in the States?”
She nodded. “Where I grew up is really pretty, rolling hills and green fields. Behind our house were seven springs that flowed into a winding creek. As soon as the snow—”
“What’s snow?”
She smiled. “It’s like rain, but it’s white and cold. When I say cold, I mean like the frost on the inside of my refrigerator at the clinic.”
“Okay, but what does snow do?”
“In winter it piles up on the ground. Big trucks have to clear the roads to drive, while the rest of us play in it.”
“Like children?”
“Yeah. You wear coats, hats, and gloves to stay warm. You can pack the snow to build snowmen, or you can make snowballs and throw them at each other.”
“Can you play soccer with snowballs?”
She laughed. “Not exactly. I’ll have to find some pictures for you.”
“Did the snow fall on the creek too?”
“The creek froze all the way through, and you could walk on it.”
Okuk threw back his head and laughed. “Dr. Farid, don’t make fun of me for not knowing about snow. Is this a Christian story like your Jesus walking on water?”
“Not at all. Both stories are the truth.” Now she was laughing. It did sound ridiculous. “Just you wait until I show you the pictures.”
He gave her a wide smile and shook his head. “You get some sleep while I drive. I want to think about snow and water that gets hard enough to walk on.”
She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of sled rides, building snowmen, roasting marshmallows, ice-skating . . . and a precious baby boy who looked like Paul. Three times she woke and asked Okuk to stop the Hummer so she could relieve herself. She hoped he didn’t figure out her problem. They made good time, driving late into the darkness. After several hours, Okuk switched off the engine for the night. He took the front seat, and she curled up in the back.
“I need only a couple of hours’ sleep,” he said. “I’ll begin driving before the sun rises.”
Larson woke to the sound of Okuk’s voice. Sunlight had ushered in a new day. They shared a bottle of water and drove on, each mile looking like the previous one. Again her head began to nod.
“Dr. Farid, we have trouble.” Okuk picked up the binoculars and focused on something ahead. His left knee steered.
Instantly her senses cleared. “What’s wrong?”
“Those men up there aren’t SPLA.” He handed her the binoculars.
She recognized the Arab militia instantly by their headdresses and their wicked assortment of weapons. Janjaweed. Some said the word meant “devil riding a horse and armed with an automatic rifle.” Along with a few horses, she also saw camels. “Can we radio anyone for help?”
“I already have. The nearest battalion is close to an hour away.”
“What do we do?” She took a deep breath to still the rising panic.
He slowed the Hummer. “They’re blocking our way across the road.”
“You want to outrun them?”
Okuk moistened his lips. “I don’t think we have a choice. It’s the getting past them that bothers me. This truck is armored, right?”
She nodded. “It would take a bomb to destroy it.”
An image of the truck blowing up with them in it sent a chill up and down her arms. This would surely be a test of how well the Hummer maneuvered and its ability to keep Okuk and her alive. She recalled the grotesque stories of what the Janjaweed did to their captives. To women. What if they knew she was Paul Farid’s wife? And Okuk? They’d take great delight in torturing him.
She mentally pushed away her fright. “What can I do?”
“Are you a good shot with that AUG A3?”
The heavily armed Arabs spread across the road ahead and lifted their AK-47s.
“I am. Ben and Paul trained me well. You want me to pick them off?” Odd how confident she sounded when fear was clutching at her throat.
“All of them. Reach behind the seat for ammo and grenades. Do you know how to use them?”
“Yes. And I can use the grenade launcher.” She twisted in her seat and zipped open the bags, then grabbed the duct tape on the floorboard with the grenades.
He cursed. “If only I had two arms. I’m supposed to protect you.”
“We’ll protect each other.” She laughed and duct-taped the magazine together to allow for sixty rounds of continuous firing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You and me taking on the Janjaweed.”
“And living to tell about it?”
“You mean bragging to
Ben and Paul about it.”
They both laughed, and it kept her from crying. She’d heard of men using humor in the face of danger and hadn’t understood it at the time. Now she did, though she knew this situation was no laughing matter. She took a deep breath and stared ahead, praying for deliverance. Killing was wrong. The Bible said so, but she didn’t have time to deliberate morality in a war zone. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d taken a man’s life who threatened to kill her or someone she loved.
“We’ll call Ben once we’re through this.” Okuk pushed the automatic button to roll down their windows. “Hand me one of those ’nades,” he said. “This one-armed soldier can do a lot of damage.”
She laid them on the seat between them. “Which do I use first?”
“The rifle. Farther distance. Then use the grenade launcher. That’ll clear the path for a few more rounds of ammo.”
Snatching up her weapon, she stuck the assault rifle out the window. “Drive this tank straight through them, Okuk. I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 10
Ben drove the jeep and steered with his good arm while his back and injured arm throbbed. His entire body revolted against the impact of the deeply rutted road, as though he’d been beaten on every inch of his body. He’d be useless in a firefight. Before his trek to the hospital, he’d been able to ignore the aggravating pain, but it had not been this intense. Maybe knowing the stakes behind the pain caused him to hurt more.
“Stay in Nairobi and take treatments,” the doctor had said. “This is a rapidly growing type of cancer.”
“How much more time would that buy me?”
“A few months, maybe longer.”
“That’s all? So I’d last the length of the treatments? I’d rather spend my remaining days taking care of business than stay here and throw up from chemo or have my insides burned up with radiation. That’s not even an existence.”
The doctor closed Ben’s file. “Many strides have been made in your particular type of cancer. I’ve consulted with experts who say the situation is not hopeless. Any day we expect a breakthrough.”
“Right. Now you want me to be a laboratory rat?”
“I don’t want you to give up. You deserve a chance to live. What if the cancer went into remission and you suddenly had years left instead of months?”
My son. Southern Sudan. Ben brushed away the thoughts. “Looks to me like the test results show I’m as good as dead. No thanks. I’ll live what’s left of my days my way.”
Thinking back over that conversation, Ben questioned whether he should have taken a few treatments to see if the cancer might have lessened in its severity. The possible side effects of the treatment didn’t bother him as much as the thought of wasting time—or of someone’s finding out about his medical condition.
He gritted his teeth and tried to dodge a rut big enough to bury him in. What good would he be to anyone in his current condition? His vision blurred. Pain pills. Whether he took them or not, he had no quality of life.
Ben stiffened. The reality of what lay ahead of him rattled his mind and spirit. Did he really believe God no longer existed? Many years ago, he’d tried following His ways, but that was in his idealistic youth. He’d actually thought the war with the North could be won easily—because the South had suffered. Then he’d started watching his comrades fall, leaving behind families and friends to mourn their loss. Widows and fatherless children found no glory in those deaths. Pessimism had festered in Ben like an infection in an open wound, and he’d never recovered.
Ben glanced at Sergeant Jok, riding in the jeep’s passenger seat. “I’m turning over the driving to one of you. This arm of mine is bothering me, and driving seems to make it worse. I need to get Okuk on the phone too. My guess is, he and Larson Farid spent the night on the road, and I want to see how they fared.” Almost a lie, but it bought him some time to relax. Sweat burned his eyes and trickled down his face.
Once Ben had changed places with the soldier in the rear seat of the jeep, he pulled out the antenna of his satellite phone and punched in Okuk’s number. It rang seven times with no response. Finally he was able to leave a message. He tried Larson’s phone, but she didn’t answer either.
“Larson. Call me. I want an idea of how you two are doing.” The combination of pain and fury over her stupid trek into Darfur with his commander had left him with a pounding headache. “You’d better be calling me back real quick. I don’t have time to be worried about you.”
For the next hour, he watched the dismal countryside pass him by, each mile the same as the last. The people they occasionally passed were so poor that they looked like the walking dead. He tried Larson’s phone again, but nothing. Anger slid down as worry took precedence. He stared at the phone, then decided to try another number.
“Paul, this is Ben.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a jeep with two soldiers en route to my men.”
“I thought you’d spend a few days in Warkou and let Larson take care of you.”
“I’m fine. Got to get back to my responsibilities. You have her plenty scared.” Was it Paul or Larson who deserved more to stand in front of a firing squad once he faced them for this?
“I’d better give her a call.”
“Good luck. She’s not answering her phone.”
“She and Sarah are probably visiting with the villagers.”
“She’s not in Warkou.”
“Where is she?” Paul’s voice took on a slight edge.
“Somewhere between Warkou and Kibum.”
Paul blew out an exasperated breath. “Are you telling me that she’s driving here? Is she alone?”
“Commander Okuk is with her. What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing. I had something to do here besides delivering food and supplies, and I believed it was too dangerous for her to join me.”
“Dangerous is Larson and Okuk driving to the camp. Besides, she’s been there before. Doesn’t make sense why you didn’t take her.”
“It’s not important. When did she leave?”
“Late yesterday morning. I imagine they stopped for the night.”
“They should have been here by now.”
“My thoughts exactly. I’ll radio around and see what I can find out.”
“Thanks. And get back to me as soon as you hear something. My wife is going to get an earful for this one.”
Paul sounded exasperated. Good. His frustration matched Ben’s.
“And you two didn’t have a fight?”
“I don’t know where you got that. She hasn’t been feeling well, which was another reason why I didn’t want her here.”
Great. Larson’s sick and driving to a disease-infested refugee camp. “She’ll turn up soon.”
“I hope so. I’m worried, Ben. This isn’t like her. And with cholera threatening to break out in full force here. I just don’t want her in this mess until she’s recovered from whatever has her feeling bad.”
“You don’t have much choice since she’s nearly to Kibum.”
“I’ll try to contact her. It’s too late for her to turn around. I hate to think of them out in the middle of nowhere, stranded or worse.”
“Let me know if you hear from her.” Ben ended the call.
He dropped the phone onto his lap and rubbed his face. Larson might be married to another man, but he still cared for her. He’d never understand what she saw in Paul. Ben shook his head. Paul was a good man. He just took too many risks for a man who had a contract out on his life.
Commander Jeremiah Kedini had a battalion in northern Darfur. Ben leaned over the front seat and grabbed the radio. After several tries, the commander responded.
“Colonel Alier here. I have a commander of mine and Dr. Larson Kerr Farid on their way to Kibum. They aren’t answering their phones. What can you tell me?”
“Received a call from Commander Okuk.” Kedini sounded breathless, like he was running. “He spotted about a dozen Ja
njaweed on camels and horses and needs help. We’re heading there now, but we’re about fifteen minutes away. I hear the guns.”
“Get back to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ben stared at his phone, deliberating about what to tell Paul. He lifted the canteen to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of tepid water. If Larson were his wife, he’d want to know the whole story. But she wasn’t. He got Paul back on the line.
“I’ve contacted a unit a few hours from you. They’re scouting the area and getting back to me.”
“Did he report any trouble?”
“No more than usual.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re in a war zone.”
“I’m sorry, Ben. I keep trying her phone and watching for the Hummer.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. They might have gotten tired or stopped to help some people. I’ll keep you posted.” If something happened to Larson, he’d never forgive himself.
* * *
Paul slammed his fist into his palm. Ben had lied to him. The tension in his voice gave him away. Larson was in danger, and neither Paul nor Ben had the means of helping her. But she was in the Hummer, and it was fully armored, and she had the AUG A3. Paul and Ben had spent hours drilling her on the rifle’s features. Just keep your finger on the trigger so it keeps firing. She had the laser aiming system too. Every reassuring detail about the Hummer and the assault rifle repeated in his mind over and over. All the while, he trembled.
Okuk was a good soldier, but with one arm what could he do? Paul paced the length of the camp, his heart too heavy to pray more than a plea to spare her and Okuk’s lives. He should have told her the truth.
His original reason for landing in Kibum suddenly roared as selfish. Nizam hadn’t shown up, and the meeting in three days had “death trap” written all over it. Stupid. He could have been killed yesterday. Paul expected a full set of marching orders from God before he’d agree to meet Nizam again. Yesterday Muti’s fingers had itched to pull that trigger—not the type of messenger a man sends to welcome his brother.