Mists of The Serengeti

by Leylah Attar

  “It didn’t work out, but you . . .” Jack scanned the faces before us. “How did you end up with all these children?”

  “We found them in the back of a cargo van, not far from the town of Bunda. The car was parked outside a restaurant. We heard thudding from the inside, so we stopped to check it out. Salaton here—” he pointed to one of the morans with him “—he jiggled the lock with his spear. We found them bound and gagged inside. Some of them have been abducted from their homes, others traded. They tell me there were more kids, but . . .” Olonana shook his head. “The men who had them are dangerous people. They trade in black magic. They are delivering these kids, one by one, for sacrificial rites. It won’t be long before they track us down. We made the children walk between the cattle to hide them and distort the footprints. The rain hasn’t helped though. We’ve left a trail in the mud. A good tracker will be able to find us. And they will. These kids are worth a lot of money to them. You must get them to Wanza as soon as you can.”

  Jack did not respond. His face was like a blank slate—emotionless and expressionless. Silence loomed, gray and heavy as the mist. The gravity of the situation was not lost on me. Neither was Jack’s predicament. We weren’t prepared for this. We had no car, no supplies, and no way of safeguarding thirteen kids against whoever was chasing them down.

  “The van you found the kids in—” I said to Olonana. “What did it look like?”

  “It was white,” he replied. “And yellow.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. “With an air-conditioning logo?”

  “I think so. Yes.” Olonana’s brows drew together. “You saw it too?”

  “We did. On the way to Magesa. They must have been searching for the kids. They almost ran Jack over.” I turned to him, waiting for a response, but he looked like the Jack I had seen on the porch the first day, the one who had closed himself off to everyone and everything. Something was very wrong.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I asked the chief.

  He nodded, and I pulled Jack aside. The mist shrouded us from the rest of the group.

  “Jack?”

  He stared at me with the kind of detachment that made me flounder.

  “Jack! Snap out of it.” My panic seemed to get through to him. His eyes changed and then darkened with unreadable emotion.

  “I can’t,” he said. It came out choked, like his breath was being cut off. “I can’t. Dear God, not again.” He hunched over, holding his sides as if he was in excruciating pain. “It comes at you from nowhere. One minute you’re buying balloons for your daughter, and the next . . . she’s gone, and you can’t even get up. Because something’s pinned you down in the parking lot. The weight of it. I can feel it all over again. Right here.” He held his hand to his chest and took long, staggering breaths. “I wish I could do this, but I can’t, Rodel. I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. I’m not the strong, selfless hero. I’m just a guy trying to get over his daughter’s loss. I came prepared—in my head—for three kids. I would lay down my life for them and for you. But this . . . escorting thirteen easy targets with a bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs on our trail . . . it’s got disaster written all over it. I have no way of protecting them. And I can’t stand to have any more blood on my hands, Rodel. I can’t.”

  I reached for his hand, because I was breaking with him, for him, and holding hands with Jack always made me feel like I was reaching for solid ground. Something became unstuck from my palm and fell to the ground. It was the small square of milk chocolate that I had been holding when we’d left the tent.

  “Here.” I picked it up and gave it to Jack. “Chocolate makes everything better.” They were Goma’s words, and for a second she was there, standing over us, strong and stalwart, like the gnarled, guardian tree that watched over the graves behind the manor.

  “Melted chocolate.” He held it in his palm for a long moment. “Lily’s favorite.” He seemed lost in his thoughts as he unpeeled it from its sticky wrapper. “I hear you, baby girl.” It was barely a whisper, but he stood taller as he said it. Bit by bit, his body seemed to fill with new breath. “I hear you. Louder than all the crap in my head. Louder than all the things that scare me.” He broke the chocolate square in half and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste like it was some sweet memory.

  “I haven’t forgotten how brave you were when you danced in front of all those people. I lost you, my sweet angel, but I’m not going to let those kids down. I need to face up to my own demons. I need to stop feeling like I failed you. God, Lily. Wherever you are. Daddy misses you so much. So, so much.” His voice cracked, and he shut his eyes in silent tribute. When he looked up, his eyes were glinting like diamond blue points of clarity in the diaphanous veils of mist that swirled around us.

  He held out the other half of the chocolate for me and smiled. “Goma knows what she’s talking about. Chocolate makes everything better.”

  Our fingers brushed as I took the candy from him. I couldn’t help the alarm bells that went off in my head. I could see danger coming, its gleaming edge sheathed in the mist. And though I had started this, sitting in a pub miles away, watching horrific images flash across the screen, I wanted Jack to walk away. How could I have known that in trying to do something for my sister, I would end up putting the man I loved in danger?

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time I finished tending to the kids. I put away the first aid kit and plopped down beside Jack.

  “Are they all right?” he asked. But his eyes held concern for me too. We’d been slipping in and out of these moments all afternoon, where everything faded and it was just the two of us, in spite of the chaos—the kids, the cattle, the trio of Maasai men, around us.

  “They’re survivors,” I replied, drinking in the comfort of his nearness.

  The children had trekked a long way. They were hungry, hurt, exhausted. They had lacerations from being bound by cable ties. The ones who had fought back had more—bruises, sprains, and worse. They let me tend to their wounds, some with detached gazes, others with anger, fear, confusion, gratitude.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, as Jack fidgeted with his phone.

  “I wanted to contact Bahati. Ask him to gather a couple of drivers on his way here, ones that can be trusted. We won’t be able to fit all these kids in his jeep. But my battery is gone.”

  “We’ll figure something out when he gets here. Have you told Olonana that he’s coming?”

  Olonana knew we’d had to ditch Jack’s car, but he didn’t delve any further. He’d done his part, and as far as he was concerned, the rest was up to us to figure out.

  “If Olonana learns that Bahati is driving through Maasai land to pick us up, he won’t be too pleased. He’s planning to leave at dawn. Bahati won’t get here until later. There’s no point stirring things up.”

  The chief and his warriors had offered one of their cows to feed the children. They were grilling pieces of meat, skewed on long sticks, which they stuck into the ground at an angle over the fire. Most of the kids had eaten. The younger ones were sleeping in the tent, while the older kids stretched out by the fire, on pieces of cowhide that the Maasai were carrying.

  “What is it?” I asked, when I caught Jack staring at me.

  “I love watching you in the firelight. The way your skin glows, the way your eyes dance, the way your hair comes alive.” He drew me into the crook of his arm and pulled a blanket around us. “The first time was that night we stopped over by the crater. Dancing with you around the bonfire. I thought you were the most exquisite thing I’d ever laid eyes on. It was the first time I’d paid attention to anything or anyone after Lily. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.”

  A warm glow spread over me as he spoke. It was like being wrapped in a cloak of invisible warmth. “Is that when you decided to play hard to get?” I poked him with my elbow.

  “Doesn’t matter what I decided, or which way I turned. There was no denying this thing between us.” He shifted so I
could lean my head on his shoulder. “Get some rest, sweetness. You must be exhausted.”

  We stared into the inky black plains around us. A train whistle blew in the distance, followed by the chuggah-chuggah-chuggah of its engine, and then a vast, deep silence. The kind reserved for oceans and mountain peaks and the craters of the moon.

  “Do you think the men in that van will backtrack or keep going?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty sure they’ll be back, but I don’t know when.” He stroked my hair softly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”

  The crackling of the fire lulled me into a strange dream. I was flying over coffee farms with a flock of dove children. We were racing a storm that was brewing on the horizon. Clouds of blood rain broke loose, splattering their ivory wings. I screamed as they fell from the sky. And then I was on the ground, ankle deep in scarlet mud, when something sharp pierced my foot. I picked it up and held it to the sky. It was a mangled crown of twigs and hay.

  “Jack!” My eyes flew open, heart racing.

  “Jack!” Olonana’s voice echoed mine. “They’re coming.” He pointed to twin spotlights in the distance. They were faint, almost impossible to make out, but they left a telltale glow in the dark.

  “How can you be sure it’s them?” Jack got up and reached for his rifle.

  “It’s them.” Olonana turned to Jack, his eyes full of ancient wisdom.

  “We can take them. You, me, the two morans.” Jack gestured to Salaton and the other Maasai warrior. “How many can there be?” He peered through the lens of his rifle.

  “No,” replied Olonana. “My men and I do not fight. Ironic for a tribe of warriors, but peace is our way of life now. Every time my people get involved in a confrontation, it affects all of us. We get branded as savage and barbaric. I won’t play into that anymore. I’m sorry, Jack. We can delay them for you. Maybe even throw them off. It’s possible that they’ve turned around because they’re calling it quits, in which case they might just drive right by. And if they’re tracking us, that’s who they’ll expect—us, not you. Take advantage of that. Take the children and go.”

  “I can’t just leave you here,” countered Jack. “This could get ugly. Especially if they figure out you took the kids.”

  “It could. Either way, I’m responsible for my men, and you’re responsible for the children. That’s two versus thirteen. I’m pretty sure I’m getting off easy. You need to get the kids as far away from here as possible. Go. Take down your tent and go.”

  We woke the children up while Olonana and his crew rolled up the cowhides and righted the campsite.

  “It will be a while before they get here,” said Jack, heaving his backpack over his shoulders. “You have some time.” He gazed at the flickering lights snaking their way through the night terrain. “Traveling in total darkness is slowing them down. Or maybe they’re stopping to check for tracks.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” said Olonana. “Do you have a plan?”

  “The train,” replied Jack. “I heard it pass through a couple of times. If we follow the track, we can get on at the next station, and then head to Wanza from there.”

  The chief nodded and spit into his hand. “God walk with you, Jack Warden.”

  “And with you.” They sealed their goodbyes with a spit-filled handshake.

  Then Olonana turned to me and extended the same hand. “Taleenoi olngisoilechashur.”

  Well, shit.

  He was showing me the same honor he reserved for Jack.

  I spit in my palm and shook his hand, all the while thinking hand sanitizer, hand sanitizer, hand sanitizer.

  Olonana seemed to see right through me, because he laughed and said to Jack, “I hope she doesn’t make this face when you do the . . . what do you call it? The French kiss.”

  Jack grinned and hooked his arm around my hip. “I love all her faces. Every single one of them.”

  “Then you should marry her and keep all the children.” Olonana and the morans laughed.

  That was how we left them that night—Olonana grinning with his two bottom teeth missing, the fire silhouetting his perfectly round head, and the morans standing by his side. That night, my definition of hero grew bigger and wider. Sometimes heroes were found between the pages of a book, and sometimes they stood on a hill, their checkered togas fluttering in the wind, holding fort for the rest of us.

  NIGHT VISION SETTLED in as we moved away from the campsite. The sky was dark and clear, speckled with asters of silver. We moved silently over the barren plains, guided by the light of the moon. It was eerily quiet, considering we had thirteen children in tow. Except these children were no ordinary children. They had all been touched by death, and now it was stalking them. A survival instinct had kicked in and they moved collectively, not asking, not talking. Even the youngest of them clamored to keep up, holding on to my hand, or Jack’s, when the going got tough. There was an urgency about their movements that broke my heart.

  “Not far now,” said Jack. “We should be coming up to the railway tracks soon.”

  It was progress, but we still had a long way to go. The next station was miles away, and once the sun came up, it would be easy for anyone to spot us.

  “You think Olonana and his crew are all right?” I scanned the area behind us. The flickering light of the fire had long disappeared.

  “Ona!” One of the kids that Jack had hoisted on his shoulder pointed to something.

  There was a faint glow in the distance, a few miles away. It appeared and disappeared.

  The headlights of a car, lurching through shadow and shrubbery.

  Panic rioted through me. There was no other reason for anyone to be there at that time. They had found us, out in the open, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They wouldn’t let the kids slip away this time, and worse, they might not even try to get them back into the van. It wasn’t the kids they were after. It was their body parts. They could massacre every single one of them and still collect their blood money. And they wouldn’t leave any witnesses behind either.

  As the lights moved closer, my nightmare flashed before me.

  Blood rain.

  Dove children.

  A mangled crown.

  The sound of my own pulse throbbed in my ears.

  Oh God, talk to me, Mo. Say something. Say anything.

  There was nothing but silence.

  Vast and deep.

  And then, from across the plains, on the other side, a shrill cry pierced the air.

  The whistle of a chugging train.

  “There’s a train coming! We need to get on it. Fast!” I said to Jack, but he was gazing at the train and then at the car. “Jack? What are you doing? There’s no time to waste.”

  He shifted the child off his shoulder and started unzipping his backpack. “Do we have any rubbing alcohol left in the first aid kit?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Catch.” He hurled the bottle my way. Then he pulled out a couple of his T-shirts and started ripping them apart. “We need to stop that train, and there’s no way the driver is going to see us in the dark. We need to light some torches.”

  He gave some of the cotton strips to a couple of the kids and pointed to a dead thorn tree that had fallen victim to the harshness of the plains. “Leteni tawi.”

  They rushed off, gathering branches from the tree, wrapping the ends with the strips, so the thorns didn’t scratch them.

  “Jack. Look!” I exclaimed. Another car was now trailing the first one, its headlights glinting like snake eyes in the dark.

  “Fuck. They’ve brought reinforcements.” Jack was whittling the thorns off the branches, all except for the ones at the top. He wrapped those in cotton and doused it with the rubbing alcohol. He assembled more torches in quick succession, racing against the cars that were getting closer and closer. The air was thick with urgency and desperation. It soaked through my skin, leaving a thin film of sweat. The kids stood by, still and silent, as if thei
r voices had already been muted.

  “Hold them high,” said Jack, handing out the torches to the older kids. “Don’t be afraid.” His thumb struck the wheel of the lighter as he set them on fire.

  One by one, the flames came to life, ten hot, swirling suns illuminating the night. The ground around us ebbed and flowed in waves of flickering, golden light.

  “They can see us now,” I said, turning toward the cars.

  “And so can they.” Jack pointed to the train. It was still a distance away, but approaching fast. “The question is, which one’s going to get to us first?”

  We weren’t too far from the railway tracks, and yet they seemed like an eternity away. My breath came in short, shaky bursts as we raced across the brittle ground. One of the kids ahead of me tumbled and fell. I weaved and grabbed her, hoisting her up on my hip. My lungs were on fire, my legs trembled under the extra weight, but I kept running. I would run until the skin on my soles wore off because that’s what you do when monsters are gnashing at your feet. You lock up your screams, your panic, your fear, and you outrun the suckers.

  I fixed my eyes on Jack and kept going. His torch shone ahead, white smoke drifting skyward. The kids were flocked on either side of him, radiating out in a V, the older ones in front, the younger ones trying to keep up. They were a flock of birds—homeward-bound—on wings of fire. It was such a surreal, powerful spectacle, that it slipped through all the chaos and panic, and became forever seared in my mind.

  We stumbled upon the tracks, our eyes skimming the horizon for the cars. They were gaining on us.

  “Quickly now.” Jack positioned the kids, shoulder to shoulder, on both sides of the track. “You can let go now,” he said to me.

  I realized I was still clutching the little girl I had picked up. My grip loosened and I let her slide slowly to the ground. She took her place with the other children, her alabaster skin flushed with the heat of their torches. Together they formed a wall of bright, blazing light.