by Vanessa Kier
“See, I knew you weren’t a history professor,” Emily muttered.
“Not true.” He gave her a smug smile. “Technically, I’m on the faculty of a small midwestern college. I’ve even published a couple of what you called dry treatises on the relationship between folklore and the social, political, and economic organization of today’s societies. But you’re right, that’s not my real job.” He took a deep breath. “I used to work for the government. Not the CIA, but that’s all I’m going to say. Now… You could say I’m a freelancer. Long story short, there’s an underground movement working against the rebels. Some of my former coworkers have joined this group and they’ve asked me to help locate a plane that went down in the area near where the tro-tro picked me up.”
“And you think that the white piece in my photo is part of this plane.”
“Yes.”
“So, what’s so important about the plane that this underground group is looking for it? Isn’t that the job of the local government?”
Max snorted. “Right. As if the government doesn’t have enough to worry about with the rebels.” He shook his head. “Even before the rebels attacked the capital, this wasn’t a situation the local government could handle. According to my contact, the plane was carrying the prototype and plans to a new, powerful weapon. Dietrich has brokered the sale of the prototype to an unknown buyer. The prototype is believed to be active and capable of killing thousands and is supposed to be turned over in—” Max checked his watch. “Eight days.”
“So, you were searching for this plane when you hitched the ride with the tro-tro? You escorted me all the way to the capital even though it took you away from your search?” Maybe she’d completely misjudged him.
“No. I was just trying to get to my friend in that deserted village we found. I wanted a safe place to rest and heal after being…ah…a prisoner of Ziegler’s for several days.”
His whole body tensed and Emily thought back to the bruises on his face when she’d first met him. It didn’t take much stretch of the imagination to suspect he’d been beaten, probably even tortured.
“I knew Dietrich had a deal scheduled, but I didn’t know what type of weapon was involved. Once I’d rested for a day or two, I was going to head north again and restart my investigation. I didn’t find out about the plane crash until after we got to the safe house in the capital.”
She stared out the window. There were several other vehicles on the road, but traffic was nowhere near as heavy as it had been leaving the capital. “Now you’re stuck getting me over the border, delaying your search.”
“I’m not going to abandon you, Emily,” he said testily.
Not after that kiss hung unspoken between them.
“Maybe you should.” Her pulse increased and she felt her stomach drop, but if this missing weapon got into the wrong hands she didn’t have to be a genius to understand that innocent people would die. “Maybe we should stop at the way station and see if anyone in these other vehicles would be willing to take me over the border.”
Max’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. “I… I don’t want to leave you in the care of strangers.”
She felt another spark of warmth and a sense of connection to him. That maybe he also wasn’t looking forward to separating.
“As a white lady, you’d bring danger to anyone who gave you a ride.”
Oh. The warmth vanished.
“But if we can find someone willing to hide you in the back of a truck, then maybe that’s best.” He shrugged. “We won’t know until we get there.” He gestured toward the camera. “Your turn. Where’d you take the photos?”
Hiding her disappointment that his reluctance to leave her had nothing to do with liking her and not wanting to say good-bye, Emily scrolled through the pictures, using the shots with people in them as a point of reference. She compared the dates on the camera to the notes she’d made in her day planner. “Okay, it looks like the photos you’re interested in were taken at a village near my homestay. It was a festival day, so we left at dawn and walked for two hours in order to get to the other village in time for the first of the activities. That day was the first time I performed the local dances in front of an audience.” Her homestay mother, Prudence, had provided Emily with a bright blue and yellow tribal costume to match her own. Emily had been so nervous about performing in front of strangers. Would they find it insulting that an Asian American girl was trying to learn their dances? Would they stare at her scars and pity her?
But her fears hadn’t been realized. The women in the other village had been thrilled that the obruni girl was interested in learning their culture. Her scars had actually broken through the shyness of some of the women, and Emily had received plenty of advice on how best to keep the skin supple. Huh. She touched her neck. She’d been so busy running for her life that she’d forgotten about the plastic container of shea butter cream that sat at the bottom of her backpack.
Once the music had started, her nerves had vanished. She’d lost herself to the dance.
After lunch, she’d gone into the jungle to take photos, hoping to spot some exotic wildlife. Instead, if Max was right, she’d found something much more important.
“How long ago was this?”
Emily counted the days on the calendar. “Five. It was the day before Masaud arrived with the news that the Land Cruiser was out of commission and we’d have to take the tro-tro to the way station. But, if the plane crashed near my homestay village wouldn’t we have heard it? Even with the festival noise or just a regular day with people talking, surely we’d have heard the whine of an engine and felt the impact when it… Oh.”
“What?”
“Well, the night of the festival there were fireworks.”
“Did you notice any sort of vibration, like an earthquake?”
“Er…no. I…ah…” She ducked her head and mumbled, “I got a little tipsy on palm wine. Passed out pretty much the second they showed me the pallet I’d be sleeping on.”
Max chuckled, damn him. “That’s cute.”
“Cute?” She scowled at him. “Believe me, there was nothing cute about the headache I had the next morning.”
“Hmm. If the plane crashed nearby, you’re right, even with the festivities someone would have either felt the ground shake on impact or seen a fireball when the plane ignited. But maybe the plane broke up in flight.” Max shrugged. “Or it went down in a different area entirely. Still, I have to investigate.”
“Okay.”
“How far is that village from the intersection between this road and the main road?” Max asked.
Emily spread the map across her lap and estimated the distance. “I think it’s about six hundred kilometers. You take the main north-south road to a point farther north than where the tro-tro picked you up. Then there’s a side road that will take you to the village.” She used the pen she kept with her day planner to mark the route.
“I’m going to need to take your camera with me, so I can compare the photos to the landscape.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. It wasn’t so much the expensive piece of equipment she was worried about, it was losing over a week’s worth of photos. But if it would save lives…
“I promise I’ll be careful not to delete any of your photos.”
“All right.”
About an hour later, they drove around a bend in the road and found a line of cars stopped ahead of them. “Max?” She raised her camera and took a string of photos.
“Yeah, I know.” He slowed their vehicle and moved it closer to the right side of the road. “Grab the binoculars from the glove box, would you?”
She set her camera on her lap, then retrieved the set of high-powered binoculars.
“Can you make out what’s holding everyone up? Is it an accident? A checkpoint?”
She aimed the glasses forward and took a moment to adjust them, bracing herself against the Jeep’s movement as it bounced over the ruts in the road. “We’re not quite close enough to te
ll.”
With a nod, Max pulled the Jeep into the jungle and parked just inside the tree line. “I’m going to find out what’s happening. You stay here, in case it’s a trap.” He took the binoculars from her, then slipped out of the Jeep and eased through the trees.
She knew it was probably safer in the Jeep, yet Max had only gone a few yards before she felt the start of a panic attack. Damn him, she didn’t feel safe unless he was with her. She’d rather take her chances by his side, where he could protect her with his gun, than be a sitting target in the Jeep. So before he moved out of sight, Emily slung her camera’s strap over her neck and followed him. It felt good to get out of the Jeep and move, yet also scary, since she didn’t know what danger lay ahead. Max threw her an angry look when she caught up with him, but she just raised her chin and glared back at him.
Finally, with an unhappy shrug, he said, “Stay close.”
As they walked, they stayed far enough inside the tree line that people looking out the windows of the stopped vehicles wouldn’t be able to see them clearly. Emily took more photos, liking the mystery of only being able to see glimpses of the cars through the gaps in the trees.
Max shot her an exasperated look, but wisely didn’t comment.
After perhaps five minutes of walking, they heard noise. At first, Emily couldn’t make it out. Then she recognized it as the rumble of large trucks. As they drew closer to the commotion, Max’s tension increased. He removed his gun from its holster and carried it alongside his thigh.
Emily inched up next to him. “What is it?”
“I—”
Horns honked on the road. Engines revved. People shouted. Max grabbed her hand and pulled her to the edge of the trees. The line of cars blocked her view of what was happening at the crossroads, but whatever it was, it frightened people. Vehicles at the front of the line were trying to back up and turn around. The drivers behind them responded with honks and angry shouts out their windows. Then a man got out of one of the lead vehicles and walked back to talk to the driver behind him. The passenger in that car leaned out the window to shout at the driver behind them. Emily heard the panic in the woman’s voice. Word traveled quickly down the line and soon all the cars began fighting for space to turn around.
Max cursed. He glanced from the road to Emily. He opened his mouth, a warning in his eyes. “You should go back.”
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m not leaving you. I feel safer with you.”
He shook his head. “Stubborn woman. Fine. Stay right behind me. And be prepared to run.”
Walking so close that she was almost plastered against him, Emily followed Max as he moved at a diagonal through the trees. Their trajectory took them out of sight of the feeder road and toward a spot on the main road about two hundred and fifty yards north of the crossroads. When they reached the edge of the trees and looked out, Emily saw several large military trucks rolling into positions that blocked the intersection. To their right, in the direction that she and Max had been hoping to go, a dust cloud hovered above the road, kicked up by fleeing vehicles.
“Are those government trucks?” she whispered. Swallowing her fear, she edged around Max so she could take photos. He put a cautionary hand on her shoulder, which she ignored. Maybe she wasn’t a photojournalist with the ability to change the world. But she bet there was some organization that would care about the plight of these people enough to be interested in her photos.
“Not government. See the yellow flags with the black dots on the doors and grills? Those are rebel trucks.”
The rebels on the northern end of the crossroads fired after the fleeing vehicles, and their colleagues on the southern end followed suit, aiming for the few vehicles Emily could spot that were headed south.
Emily continued to snap photos, using the familiar weight of the camera to take her mind off the fear urging her to run as fast and as far as she could away from here.
“Shit.”
“What?” Emily glanced back at the trucks forming the blockade. “Wait.” One of the rebels was setting up a tripod in the back of the flat bed truck. “Is that a machine gun?” She refocused her lens and put the camera into video mode.
“Yes. Even worse, it looks like their buddies are laying dynamite.” Emily looked where he pointed. Two men were walking just inside the perimeter formed by the trucks, stopping every few feet. One man buried something cylindrical in the ground, while another man strung out wire to connect the points.
“They’re going to blow the intersection so no one can move past this point. But first, they’re going to make sure no one tries to make a break for it by using the machine guns to shoot everyone in sight.” Max turned and shoved her in front of him. She bobbled the camera and cursed under her breath, but he steadied her arm.
Urging her forward with another push at the small of her back, he ordered, “Run!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMILY STUMBLED FORWARD, her stomach churning with fear. Oh, God, all those people sitting in their cars, believing they’d escaped the rebels. Believing that safety was just a few more hours away.
She sobbed, thinking about the woman and her children who’d waved at her from the next vehicle on the road out of the capital. She’d lost sight of them in the initial crush. Were they out on the road in that tangle, not knowing they were about to be gunned down?
“Max, we have to warn them.”
“I know.”
She realized that he’d been heading toward the feeder road. When it came into sight, he let his hand drop from her back. “Stay behind this tree and don’t move. It’s safer if no one sees you.” He pulled his baseball cap farther down on his forehead and ran up to the closest vehicle, a battered, multi-colored Datsun with its passenger side door missing.
Max waved his arms toward the intersection and shouted something. The driver poked his head out, then scrambled out of the vehicle. He reached inside, grabbed a small suitcase, then ran for the jungle. Other drivers noticed the commotion. Pretty soon, drivers of cars that weren’t able to muscle their way into the jungle or force spaces between the cars behind them started abandoning their cars.
But too late. With a horrible clatter Emily would remember for the rest of her life, the machine gun fired. Max dropped to the ground. Emily screamed and threw herself behind a downed tree, just as the hail of bullets tore through the foliage to her right.
A moment later, the rebel trucks roared to life and she knew they must be moving away in preparation of setting off the dynamite. No! Max was still out on the road. She had to bring him into the relative safety of the trees.
She jumped to her feet and pushed her way through the undergrowth toward the road. “Max!” she yelled. But he didn’t answer. Oh, God. He couldn’t be dead. Not now. Not because he’d tried to help.
Out on the road people were crying. Shouting. Over all of it came the cry, “Dynamite. Run! They are going to blow up the intersection.”
A horrific explosion splintered the air. The ground shook. Emily dropped to her belly and put her hands over her head. Max, a small voice inside her head wailed as debris fell on her. Please keep Max safe.
After what seemed like forever, the debris stopped falling. Emily shook her arms and legs to dislodge the dirt, sticks, and other stuff that had fallen on her, then slowly climbed to her feet. Next to her, a woman slowly sat up. One of the short, pouffy sleeves of her bright turquoise top was ripped and deflated, giving her a lopsided look. Emily held out her hand. The woman blinked at her in surprise, probably wondering what a white lady was doing here, then accepted Emily’s help getting to her feet. After nodding her thanks, the woman brushed herself off and hurried away.
Emily picked her way as quickly as possible across the unstable layer of dirt and debris left behind from the explosion. At the edge of the jungle she stopped and took a quick series of photos before stepping onto the road. This way there would be visual proof in case the rebels denied what they’d done.
Yeah, ri
ght. Emily Iwasaki, newborn crusader for truth and justice. She rolled her eyes.
Well, she had to do something with her life now that she couldn’t dance professionally. Maybe this compulsion to document people’s suffering would lead to a new career. Maybe she could use her photography to make a difference in the world.
She scanned the road for Max, but didn’t see him. Off to her left, a woman lay on her back as a man tended her wounds. To her right, a man pulled two crying children out of the back of an SUV. Its hood had been crushed by a piece of falling rock. The man set the children on the ground and they clung to his legs while he removed bags of supplies from the cargo compartment. Then the small party headed into the jungle.
Emily resumed her search for Max, dodging loose chickens and goats. Each time she came across someone injured, she asked if she could help. Everyone said no.
Few people cried. No one screamed. Instead, they talked softly to one another, dealt calmly with their wounds, then drove or walked away.
But Emily’s nerves were strung taut. She kept expecting the rebels to show up and open fire on the stunned people. Then she reached the huge crater that yawned in the place where the two roads had once intersected. A few dead bodies, mostly men in rebel uniforms, lay scattered around the rim. She shuddered and glanced away. Their buddies must have set the charges off too early. She checked in each direction but didn’t see any rebel vehicles. Maybe they’d decided the ground was too unstable to risk coming back to check their handiwork? Maybe they figured they’d made their point and had no need to kill more people?
Whatever the reason, at least she wasn’t in imminent danger of being shot.
She continued to move cautiously around the perimeter, stopping when she got to a woman with blood coating her face and holding a small girl. The woman had removed her wide cloth headband and pressed it over the girl’s stomach, but blood had already soaked through the satiny yellow fabric. Emily halted. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
