Where Tomorrow Leads

by DiAnn Mills

  But he shouldn’t be thinking of anyone but Larson. Pulling his phone from his pant pocket, he tried again to reach her. No answer.

  “How about some company?”

  Paul offered a thin-lipped smile to Chuck Butler, a once-retired pediatrician from London who now volunteered with Doctors Without Borders. His trademark hat covered in fishing lures, together with his thick, dark-framed glasses and his compassion for children, made for an eclectic mix of a man.

  “You look as if you need a friend,” Chuck said. “You’re about to wear out our dirt road.”

  “What I need is a miracle.” Paul dropped the phone back inside his pocket.

  “You mean the suspected cholera?”

  “That wasn’t what I was referring to, but I did wonder about some of the diarrhea cases today.”

  “I think we can get it under control. Hard to keep sanitization as a priority for these people, but we’re giving daily classes on how to avoid the disease. People are dying of thirst, and they drink whatever they can find.”

  “Desperate people resort to desperate means.” His mind focused on Larson.

  “We could share a couple of bottles of water and talk about it.” Chuck pushed his glasses up a sweaty nose.

  “I’m not good company.”

  “Try me.”

  Paul smiled. “All right. I’ve paced this camp long enough. Why don’t we find a place to sit for a few minutes?”

  Inside a tarp-covered area with boxes of everything from rice to powdered milk, the two men took refuge from the merciless sun and drank their water.

  “What’s troubling you?”

  “My wife is on her way here with only a one-armed soldier to protect her.” He glanced quickly at Chuck. “Commander Okuk is a fine man. I didn’t mean for that to sound condescending.”

  “I hear the concern in your voice. When do you expect her?”

  Paul capped the bottle of water and rested it on the ground beside his feet. “By my calculations, she should have been here.”

  “Why didn’t she fly in with you?”

  Paul frowned. “I wanted her to stay in Warkou this trip. I had business to tend to, and she’s not been feeling well.” He shook his head. “My business here had some possible danger too—more than usual. And I knew she’d work much too hard and not rest.”

  “She followed you, huh? I can check her out when she gets here. But she should have an idea what’s wrong and treat the problem herself.”

  “She insists that everything’s fine.”

  “Why don’t you tell me the symptoms? That way, when she gets here, I can discuss it with her and get her on the mend.”

  Paul nodded. “She wants to sleep all the time.”

  “Any fever? Headaches? Diarrhea?”

  “None of those. Just tired. She’s not eating much either, and something is making her vomit.”

  Chuck gazed out through the tent’s opening. “Anything else?”

  “She’s been very emotional, and my Larson is—or was—the most logical, clearheaded woman on the planet.”

  “When was her last period?”

  Paul was startled. He clenched his fists a few times to get the blood flowing again. “I . . . I don’t know for sure.” His mind raced. When was it?

  Chuck wagged a finger at him. “Sounds to me like Larson might be pregnant. You should consider having a talk with your wife when she gets here.”

  “Before or after I wring her pretty little neck?”

  “Preferably before.” Chuck grinned. “Aren’t you a Christian?”

  “Yes. I’ve been praying all day, and I’m fresh out of words.”

  “I thought you people had a direct line to God.”

  “We do, but there are times He doesn’t respond as quickly as I’d like.” I sure hope He’s listening.

  Chuck had to be wrong—a wild guess. A pregnancy wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d taken precautions. He and Larson had discussed at length that children would disrupt their ministry.

  * * *

  Larson’s heart slammed against her chest. Her fingers shook so badly that she couldn’t pull back on the trigger, but once the Janjaweed lifted their weapons, she simply reacted as Paul and Ben had taught her.

  “Launch a couple of ’nades, then switch back to rifle mode.” Okuk must have had more faith in her than she did.

  Through his open window, Okuk hurled a grenade into the lineup of men like a major league pitcher. She did the same. The grenades whistled and exploded. Men and body parts blew out of the thick gray smoke. Larson leaned out her window, aimed, and squeezed the trigger again.

  Okuk stomped on the gas and drove straight toward the tattered soldiers as automatic rifles pumped bullets into the Hummer’s sides. Camels screamed, and one fell in the vehicle’s way.

  “Get out of our way,” he shouted and veered around the animal.

  Larson realized she’d gone through thirty rounds already. She flipped the assembly upside down and loaded the other end. Sweat streamed down her face. Several Janjaweed stood in front of the Hummer. Hate radiated from every muscle of their faces. The Hummer picked up speed. How much could the vehicle take? Certainly not a direct hit from a grenade.

  Her finger held tight to the trigger, mowing down one man after another. Then a sharp sting pierced her shoulder. She screamed.

  CHAPTER 11

  Paul peered under a stick-covered shelter at three small children. One of them, a little girl, giggled and covered her mouth. Paul crawled under the makeshift haven and watched the children in fascination. His worries about Larson temporarily receded.

  “Am I funny?” he said in Arabic.

  The girl giggled again, and another child joined in. Paul held out a small yellow rubber ball, one a humanitarian worker had given him. The girl stared curiously at the ball with large, dark eyes. Their sparkle had not yet been quenched by the perils around her.

  “Go ahead. You can have it.” Paul slid his palm closer.

  She wrapped her fingers around the ball and slowly drew it to her. She tilted her head and brought it to her lips.

  “It’s not food. The ball is a toy.” He took it from her hands and juggled it a few times. What next?

  “Need some help?”

  Paul glanced up. “Hi, Chuck. I’m trying to figure out how to explain to these kids what to do with a ball.”

  “We can demonstrate it.”

  Paul lifted a brow.

  “Pretending to be a kid is the best way I know to relax in this godforsaken hole.” Chuck sat down in the dirt outside the shelter and spread his legs. “Here, roll the ball to me.”

  A few seconds later, the two men were rolling the ball back and forth between extended legs. A couple of Darfuran woman passed by and eyed them strangely. Paul wondered if they’d like to join in, but they kept on walking.

  “Do you want to try?” Chuck said the children.

  When the girl appeared eager, Paul picked her up and positioned her in the same spot where he’d just been. Chuck rolled the ball to her, and Paul helped her send it back. Then Paul led another girl to Chuck’s side and showed her how to place her legs in a V and play the game. Shortly thereafter, the little boy joined them.

  “Child experts would commend us.” Chuck peered over the top of his glasses, sweat sliding to the end of his nose. “I’m sure they’d assign fancy terms to the process of children putting aside their autonomy and learning to share. I used to do that sort of thing in London, but now I simply try to save their lives.” He bent to snatch up the ball, which had escaped one of the children. “Some humanitarian specialists could spend hours discussing the merits of Sudanese peoples observing children at play as part of peacemaking efforts.”

  “If only it were that simple.”

  When Chuck left to return to the medical tent, Paul played with the children until they all tired. Afternoon shadows crept in like a cunning thief bent on robbing his hope of Larson’s arrival. Where was she?

  She still wasn�
��t answering her phone.

  As he stood in the middle of the camp on this twenty-first day of July and stared down the endless road, he recalled the nights he had recited to her from The Rubaiyat. One of Omar Khayyam’s verses rolled through his head.

  Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!

  One thing at least is certain—This Life flies;

  One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;

  The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

  Paul refused to think of her being hurt, or worse. Soon, she and Commander Okuk would roll into camp in the black Hummer. Paul had spared no cost to make sure she’d always be safe. But he wasn’t God, and harsh reality was the only guarantee in his life. He caught his breath. Ah, how quickly cynicism choked the life out of his faith. It happened far too much of late, and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

  Larson. The woman he loved more than life itself. How many times had he taken her for granted when he should have showered her with gifts for putting up with his miserable self? They were an odd pair—products of wildly different cultures, brought together by their shared commitment to the oppressed Sudanese and by a love only God could give.

  He recalled the first time he’d met the renowned Dr. Larson Kerr. He’d flown in a shipment of food and medical supplies to Warkou, a village that had been bombed repeatedly by the GOS. He’d asked the fearful villagers for Dr. Kerr, expecting a man to emerge from one of the many tukuls. Instead he’d found a feisty woman—a feisty, beautiful woman whose blue eyes shone with vitality and passion.

  Shortly thereafter, a battalion of SPLA soldiers had entered Warkou, and he’d met Colonel Ben Alier, the warlord who’d despised Paul and his Arab background. Ben had looked for a reason to blow his head off. And he’d nearly done it when government soldiers flew in, attacked the village, and kidnapped Larson’s young assistant, who was also Ben’s sister. Ben, Paul, and Larson had put aside their distrust for each other and teamed up to find Rachel Alier. By the time the young woman had been located, Paul and Larson had fallen in love, and Ben had gained a fragile respect for the Arab Christian.

  Paul treasured his wife more each day. Tonight his heart ached for her.

  Oh, my habibti.

  Chuck had planted a seed that concerned him. If Larson were pregnant, she needed to leave the country. Neither she nor the baby would be safe as long as war and disease raged—and his family sought to kill him.

  A child . . . his child. Even though he’d believed fatherhood wasn’t a part of God’s plan for their lives, the idea of a boy or girl sharing his and Larson’s looks fascinated him. A warm sensation moved through his body at the thought of watching his daughter or son grow. A child was a gift from God, not a mistake or a nuisance, and he intended to take care of his gift.

  If not for the SPLA’s presence near Warkou, he was certain his family would have marched into the village and filled him full of holes. Too many times, Paul had taken comfort in the fact that rebel troops were protecting Larson and the village. But his confidence defied logic. His family knew he was in Warkou. Why hadn’t they bombed the village and wiped it out? What stopped them? The peace treaty? Earlier this evening, while pondering who could have given away his phone number, he—

  Paul’s phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. The screen lit up with Ben’s name.

  “Paul, I’ve heard from Okuk.”

  “Are they all right?” Paul’s voice threatened to shatter.

  “Okuk is fine. Larson will be all right. A bullet took a hunk of her shoulder and sailed out the other side. According to Okuk, the bleeding’s under control, and she said the bullet missed the bone. She instructed him on what to do with her medical supplies.”

  “I have to talk to her.”

  “I understand. Let me know how she’s doing. I assume a doctor is there to bandage her up.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ll call you later.” He remembered his comment to Chuck about “wringing her pretty little neck,” an American phrase he’d picked up from a movie. Maybe five years from now he’d consider that—but not tonight.

  Paul punched in Larson’s number, all the while praising God she was alive and praying for her to get to the refugee camp soon.

  “Hi, Paul.”

  “Habibti, are you in much pain?”

  “Not too bad. You know me. I’m tough. I’m sorry about all this, really I am. I was afraid you were walking into a viper’s pit with your brother, and I thought I could stop you.”

  He cringed. “Almost right. But you are the one who’s suffered because of my foolishness. What’s important is that you get here and let Dr. Chuck tend to your shoulder.”

  “Okuk says we’ll be there in about two hours.” She paused. “I have to tell you something when we get there.”

  “The Hummer’s destroyed?” He attempted to sound humorous to keep from breaking into tears.

  “Not at all. That jewel saved our lives.”

  Paul heard a laugh in the background. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, Okuk is expounding on my expertise with the AUG A3. Your lessons and Ben’s may have saved our lives too.” Her voice faded.

  “Habibti, we’ll talk later. Right now you need to save your strength. I love you. If I’d been honest with you, none of this would have happened.”

  “I love you too. So very much. We will work this out.” She gasped. No doubt the pain was intense. “Do you want to talk to Okuk?”

  “Yes, please.” Paul had to know what had happened.

  A few seconds of silence gave Paul time to gain control of his shaken emotions.

  “I’m here,” Okuk said.

  “How much blood has my wife lost?”

  “Not too bad. She was very brave.”

  “Can you tell me how you were attacked? Are you driving, by the way?”

  “I can drive and talk with one arm.” Okuk chuckled. “A band of Janjaweed lined up in front of us on the road and opened fire. We returned it, along with a few grenades, and raced through them. Dr. Farid used that rifle like a trained soldier, but sticking her arm out the window to fire caused her to get shot. We got away; then Commander Jeremiah Kedini arrived about twenty minutes later and cleaned up the rest of the Janjaweed. Your wife talked me through what to do with her arm.”

  Paul took a ragged breath. “Thanks. I will never forget this. I owe you plenty. Just be careful, and I’ll be here waiting.” He disconnected the phone and dropped it into his pocket.

  They couldn’t arrive soon enough. Later he and Larson would sort through their differences that had nearly gotten both of them killed. Later he’d talk to Ben about which of his trusted friends might have betrayed his phone number to Nizam. And later he’d listen to what Larson wanted to tell him, but he probably already knew. For now, he’d find Chuck to alert him of her injury.

  He took a deep breath and wished he could confess his miserable soul to the One who granted forgiveness. Maybe later. If he’d done what he should, none of this would have happened. Tomorrow he’d fly his wife home to Warkou or on to the hospital in Nairobi if need be. From now on he intended to be a husband, not some idiot chasing men who wanted him dead. His work involved piloting for FTW, evangelizing and discipling nearby villages, and helping his wife with her medical practice. If they decided to work more with the Darfurans, then they’d do it together safely. Surely God didn’t want him risking his wife’s life for the sake of sharing the gospel with those who didn’t care.

  * * *

  Ben phoned Okuk for an update. He couldn’t rest until he knew Larson was in Kibum and under the care of a doctor.

  “She’s sleeping, and her color is good,” Okuk said. “I insisted she take something for the pain.”

  “Good.” Ben wiped the sweat streaming down his face—not so much from the heat as from his own pain. The reminder of his cancer assaulted him constantly.

  “One of the last things she said was about her worry for you—that you might have a relapse from your woun
d. I also think she’s concerned about how she upset her husband with her insistence upon this trip into Darfur.”

  Sounds like her. Larson’s concern for others was one of the things he loved about her. But she was another man’s wife, and he was nothing more than a dying man with illusions. He shook his head. “Maybe it knocked some sense into her. She can’t help people if she’s dead.”

  “Colonel, I’d have killed her myself rather than have her face the Janjaweed.”

  “Whether they knew who she was or not, they’d have made sure she suffered plenty before she died.”

  “I’d have killed her for you, not for her husband,” Okuk whispered. “I don’t trust any Arab, even one who drops food and supplies for our people.”

  Ben started to defend Paul, but Okuk would not have understood. As far as the commander was concerned, all Arabs were a murderous lot. Until meeting Paul Farid, Ben would have agreed, but he doubted Paul could ever do anything to prove his loyalty to Okuk—other than give his life for the South. Possibly not then.

  Ben remembered his fate in the months ahead. Okuk and Paul would need each other. “Paul has saved my life more than once, and he risked his neck to find my sister. I trust him, and I hope someday you’ll see that he’s not like the others. They’re out to kill him too. In fact, they’d rather find him than attack us.”

  “Sir, have you ever wondered why Warkou is no longer attacked like it used to be?”

  “We have troops in the area to deter them. Besides, you and I both know that the North signed the peace treaty so they could concentrate their efforts in Darfur. I am convinced of Paul’s loyalty, and I advise you to trust him. If you feel this way, why did you consent to drive his wife to Kibum?”

  “To find out what he was really doing.”

  “I’ve taught you to trust no one but yourself and to obey your officers. But in this matter with Paul Farid, you’re wrong.”

  “Yes, sir.” He paused. “Larson’s waking up.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  Ben closed his eyes. Larson would be all right; he had to believe that. So much for him to do in so short a time. If only the pain pills worked better.