Where Tomorrow Leads

by DiAnn Mills

  His own family had ordered the deaths. And you are no better than the ones who did this. You once condoned the genocide of all those who opposed the government or its belief in Islam. How many times had his mind echoed these words?

  The accusation that often seized his heart in condemnation was not the voice of God. A verse from the Psalms came to him: “You are not a God who takes pleasure in evil.” As quickly as that verse sped by, another took its place, a verse he’d memorized for these times, when the weight of his past sins threatened to push him into insanity: “Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.”

  God now saw Paul through the eyes of Jesus. The comforting thought relieved his burden of guilt, and he wanted every inhabitant of Sudan to know that peace.

  “Abdullah Farid.”

  Paul stiffened. It was not the voice of Nizam, nor any of his brothers.

  “Turn around slowly.”

  * * *

  Larson bounced along in the Hummer while Commander Okuk drove. Normally she didn’t allow anyone but Paul to drive her armored portable hospital, but this was Darfur. She wasn’t sure of the way to Kibum, and every moment was precious. And the GPS on her satellite phone wasn’t enough to protect her if she ran into trouble. But doubts about the commander’s ability to drive crept in as she watched him steer with his knee while he shifted gears with his one arm. Paul had purchased the Hummer about two years ago, and she intended to keep it in one piece.

  Deep inside, she sensed Paul was in trouble. This trip was not just a simple delivery of provisions. She had nothing on which to base her fears, only a quivering in her spirit. As much as she prayed about what she liked to call his martyr syndrome—his need to atone for past sins by heedlessly throwing himself into dangerous situations—the symptoms were still there. If only Paul would rest in God’s love instead of letting his guilt drive him so. Had Nizam convinced him to do something reckless?

  Paul. He’d chosen the name when he became a Christian because of the similarities between his life and the apostle Paul’s. But that didn’t mean he had to die a martyr’s death.

  The desolate land rolled past the Hummer, sending up a choking dust to parch their throats. They’d driven out of sheets of rain into this land that cried out for a single drop of water. As during the other times she’d been to Darfur, an unexplainable wariness had swept over her—a suffocating oppression. At first she’d ignored the sensation. Her job was to use her medical knowledge to treat as many people as possible, not to contemplate peculiar feelings. Later she’d labeled the haunting shroud as hopelessness and desperation, but then her thoughts had wrapped around the truth. It was fear. She was feeling the terror of a persecuted people, the constant wondering about when the enemy would reach them. Whether the enemy was an opposing tribe or the government-backed Janjaweed, for those who had given up, the terror was a part of living.

  She studied Okuk’s face. No scarring from tribal manhood rites, so she guessed his age to be under thirty. But his neck held a wide scar, deep and ugly. Had the wound occurred when he’d lost his arm? It was a wonder the man had survived.

  “Do you have a wife and children?” she said.

  “Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.” She choked back unexpected tears. Hormonal overload.

  “I tried to protect them. The GOS thought I was dead too.”

  Silence. Should she urge him to talk more or wait for his leading?

  “I’ve been with Colonel Alier since then. He gave me a reason to live.”

  “I appreciate what you are doing today. The GOS would like nothing better than to blow us up.”

  He chuckled. “Some things never change.”

  They rode in silence for the next half hour. Obviously he didn’t want to talk further about his tragedy. She stared out the window. She didn’t want to talk about it either. The drought had decimated the terrain. She tried to imagine the land in a time when the people were happy and the rains came in season. Silently she prayed for God’s blessings on all those who bore the agony of tragic memories.

  “Have you ever been in the States?” she said.

  “No. I’m Dinka. Lived here all my life.”

  “Darfur reminds me of a place there.”

  He tossed a curious look her way but said nothing.

  “There’s an old battleground in Pennsylvania called Gettysburg. Back in the 1860s, a civil war raged through our country.”

  Okuk nodded. Civil war he understood.

  “Over a half-million soldiers were killed. A lot of them boys,” Larson said. “One of the bloodiest of battles was fought at Gettysburg. My parents took me there when I was fifteen years old. I imagine it was for me to see what happens when brothers fight against brothers.”

  “What caused the war?”

  “The Northern states didn’t want slavery, and the Southern states claimed they needed slaves to run their plantations. When the South wanted to be separate from the North, war began.”

  “Like Sudan?”

  “There were tragic incidents committed by those who were driven by hate, but not to this extent. At least I hope not. War is horrible for any reason, but some actions are inexcusable. Anyway, I remember getting out of our car at Gettysburg and walking past the spots where soldiers had camped and fought and died. A strange chill came over me. It was as though the dead were crying out for help.” She tilted her head, remembering. “I thought I heard the screams of thousands of soldiers. So many that I thought they would pull themselves up from the ground and begin to fight again. I covered my ears—I couldn’t stop the sounds of the dying all around me. My parents put me back into the car, and we left. I had nightmares for weeks.”

  “Sudan is the same nightmare,” he said. “I hear my wife and sons.”

  “Are you a Christian?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “Because God loves you and will give your spirit peace.”

  “I see just as many Christians die as those who are not.”

  “But the Christians live forever in heaven with God.”

  His face hardened, and he did not respond.

  “I imagine Ben will be arriving in Warkou soon,” she finally said. “He said a couple of days, but that means today. He’ll most likely call.”

  “And I imagine he’ll be angry with me. Very angry.”

  “It’s my fault. I asked you to come with me in case of trouble.”

  He smiled. “We’ll see.”

  Okuk’s satellite phone on the console rang. He snatched it up. “Hello, Colonel Alier. How are you, sir?”

  Larson could hear Ben’s voice crackling in the receiver. Okuk winced and pulled the phone away from his ear slightly. “I’d like to talk to him,” she said.

  Okuk nodded, his attention straight ahead as if Ben were right there in front of him. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, Santino is with the men.”

  Ben must be on the mend to have the energy to fire questions. Either that, or he was in pain and too stubborn to take his medication. Why had he denied her access to his medical records? Face-to-face, she’d ask.

  “I’m driving Dr. Farid to Kibum, where she plans to meet up with her husband. Yes, sir. I will return as soon as she’s in his company.”

  This time, Larson touched Okuk’s shoulder. “I really want to talk to Colonel Alier.”

  “Sir, Dr. Farid would like to speak to you. Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” He handed her the phone.

  She glanced at Okuk. He’d gotten an earful because of her request. “Hi, Ben. Where are you?”

  “Warkou. I’m trying to make sense of the mess that’s happened here since I left.”

  “We did our best to manage without you.”

  “Don’t humor me. I’m mad, and you’re in the middle of it.”

  She inwardly cringed. Ben had nearly died, and here she was teasing him. “I’m sorry. I did ask Commander Okuk to accompany me to northern Darfur. Paul landed there earlier today, and that�
��s where I’m going. Once we find him, I’m fine.”

  “Why didn’t Paul take you with him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why are you going? Obviously, he’s knee-deep in something dangerous.”

  Her pulse sped. Her instinct had told her the same thing. “The refugee camp can use my skills.”

  “So can the soldiers in Khartoum, but I don’t see you driving there.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Ben. I’m afraid for him.”

  Ben swore. “What can you do? Do you need reminding what happens to women captured by the government or the Janjaweed?”

  No, she didn’t need reminding. Ben’s sister had been through a nightmare during her captivity. Maybe what Larson was doing was stupid, but she couldn’t give up her longing to find her husband.

  “Say something,” he said. “I can’t read your mind.”

  “I think it has something to do with his brother Nizam. They’ve been writing letters, and Nizam is very persuasive.”

  “Paul has about as much sense as the dirt under my feet when it comes to his family. He ignores the culture—their mind-set. So are you going to try to stop him?”

  “Yes. It will take a while for him to unload the food and supplies. I’m hoping the aid workers will detain him long enough for me to get there.”

  “Sarah’s worried about you.”

  She winced. “She’s simply being overprotective. And you should still be in the hospital. Why not stay in Warkou for a few days and let Sarah tend to you?”

  “She’d summon the GOS. That woman hates me.”

  She laughed. “She doesn’t hate you at all. You could try giving her some respect.”

  He growled like an angry dog. “She doesn’t respect me. Anyway, Sarah told me there’s a serious problem between you and Paul, but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

  And neither would she. “Oh, you know Sarah. She probably got wind of Paul looking for his family.”

  “You’re a poor liar, Larson. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s really the matter, that’s your business.”

  “Thank you. Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “You have your secrets, and I have mine.” He paused. “It’s twelve hundred. I need to check on my men and see if I can get my hands on a truck to get back to them. Tell Okuk to be careful and to call me when you reach the refugee camp.”

  The phone clicked in her ear. Ben had no business doing anything but resting and letting his arm heal—not heading back to his men. She should have thought of the situation she was creating when she asked Commander Okuk to come with her. Now she had two problems. Actually, three.

  CHAPTER 9

  Paul slowly turned, wondering how many men he was up against. No one stood within sight but the black Arab pointing a Kalashnikov rifle at his chest from about eleven meters away. Not far from the gunman was a large, toppled clay vessel that the villagers had once used to store extra food and water in the event of an emergency. That’s where the man must have hidden. Paul had passed right by him.

  “Drop your pack and raise your hands!” the man shouted in Arabic.

  Paul slid his backpack from his shoulders and allowed it to drop to the dry ground with a thud. He raised his hands and studied the man while he calculated how quickly he could pull his 9mm from inside his shirt.

  “Where’s Nizam? He was supposed to meet me here.”

  “He asked me to make sure you’d come alone. Now use your left hand to pull out the pistol and toss it to me.”

  Paul hated to concede, but he was fresh out of ideas. “You can see I’m alone. So where is he?”

  “Waiting where it’s safe.”

  “Safe from me? You can do better than that. Call him and tell him I’m here.”

  “Those aren’t my orders.”

  Paul started to lower his arms.

  “Keep them up.”

  “When do I see my brother?”

  “In three days.”

  “Why not now? I’ve come a long way.”

  “We saw how you flew your plane to Kibum with food for all those people.”

  The sarcasm in the man’s voice grated at Paul’s nerves. “I do all I can for our people. More than what the government does.” He considered blasting him about the government’s support of the Janjaweed, but the man still held the rifle.

  “You talk brave for a man who could die before his next breath.”

  “I know where I’m going when I die.”

  “Allah sends the infidel to hell.”

  “God sends His people to heaven.”

  The man lifted the rifle. “I know where to send you.”

  “Did my brother order this?” Paul hoped his voice sounded stronger than he felt. He’d been stupid to fall for Nizam’s request.

  The man hesitated.

  “Did my brother order you to kill me?”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  Paul eyed him squarely. “Then put down that rifle and tell me what this is all about.”

  “I already have told you all you need to know. You’ll see your brother in three days. Stay at Kibum until you are called.”

  “And how will you do that?” A half-dozen people knew his satellite phone number, but Nizam wasn’t one of them.

  “Nizam has his means. Now turn around.”

  “Why?” Who had betrayed him?

  “Do as I say.”

  “What’s your name?” Paul stalled while he considered how to retrieve his pistol lying on the ground.

  “Muti.”

  “All right, Muti. Maybe I’ll answer your call, and maybe I won’t.”

  “You must not want to see your brother.”

  “Maybe my brother doesn’t want to see me.”

  “He’s being careful. Enough talk.”

  “I need my pistol.”

  Muti sneered. “Go ahead. Even aim it at me. It would give me great pleasure to kill you.”

  Paul doubted Muti was working alone, but any others were carefully hidden. He picked up his weapon and gave the man a curt nod before setting off toward Kibum. Lord, forgive me for being so headstrong. Guide me in what to do. Larson doesn’t need to be a widow because I’m not taking the necessary precautions.

  * * *

  Ben lay in a hammock outside the medical clinic in Warkou with his phone on his chest and mosquito netting covering him. If it weren’t for all the thoughts hammering against his brain, he’d give in to sleep. The pain pills were the reason he had to fight to stay awake, but he had no choice but to take them. With his eyes closed, he once again mentally listed what had to be done in the next few months and how long each thing would take, leaving plenty of days to spend with David. He should ask Daruka to marry him if she wasn’t already. That would give his son a name. He allowed his body to drift off to sleep, a welcome reprieve from his pain-filled world.

  The shrill ring of his phone roused him from his drug-laden stupor. It rang twice more before he knocked it from his chest and onto the ground. Reaching to wrap his fingers around the phone, he nearly spilled from the hammock.

  “Colonel Alier, we have a jeep on the way to Warkou,” a man said.

  “Thank you, sir. When can I expect it?”

  “Early morning. You need a ride back to your men, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What has happened to the Rhino’s battalion trucks?”

  If the jeep hadn’t belonged to a key political leader, Ben would have told him to keep his vehicle.

  “I have reason to believe Dr. Larson Kerr Farid and her husband are in danger. Because of that, Commander Okuk has taken one of the trucks to a refugee camp in northern Darfur. The other truck is with my men.”

  “Very good. I trust you are healing well. I wish I had a copter to fly you in.”

  “I appreciate the jeep, sir. Thanks again.”

  The phone disconnected, and Ben chose to sleep a while longer. He had plenty of time until the vehicle arrived, and he needed
rest to clear his head. He woke at daybreak to the sound of Sarah’s voice.

  “Colonel Alier, two men are here for you.”

  “With a jeep?” he asked, now thoroughly awake.

  “Yes, and it’s not full of holes.”

  Ben chose not to respond. He never knew what Sarah would say next. He swung out of the hammock, his back screaming in protest. “If you can cook me some breakfast, I’ll be on my way.”

  “You slept a long time.” The lines deepened in her face.

  “Why, Sarah, were you worried about me?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest in a familiar stance. “Yes, I was. If you died on me, I’d have to dig your grave.”

  “Such a sweet, caring heart you have. At least if I ask you to fix me some breakfast, I don’t have to worry about you poisoning me.”

  “Not this time.”

  He laughed, less from amusement than to shake off the pain in his back, and turned to greet the men. The driver of the jeep was an SPLA man, Sergeant Thomas Jok, a good man who had once served under Ben. Jok’s military status was recognizable only by the ammo belt swung over his shoulder. The other man was an SPLA soldier. Such a ragged bunch, but they had stout hearts. Thomas and Ben shook hands vigorously, and the other man saluted.

  “You are healing well?” Thomas said.

  “Takes more than a bullet in the arm to stop me.”

  “Nothing keeps Colonel Alier from the battle.” He smiled broadly, revealing the gap where a tribal ritual had left several lower teeth missing.

  “You need to eat before you return.”

  Thomas nodded. “Thank you. We’re hungry. It is an honor to serve you. Everyone respects Colonel Alier. I understand your commander is assisting the Farids in Darfur?”

  “Yes. I fear there may be trouble awaiting them.”

  “I pray God will keep your friends safe. Vice President Garang will ease our suffering soon. Southern Sudan is blessed to have him speaking for us. Our soldiers are now resting, and hopefully they will be able to return to their homes soon.”