Angel of Mercy

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Heather looked around the Jeep. “Speaking of the baby, where is she? Paul told me you’d have her with you and all I had to do was get back on board the plane with her.”

  “Well, it may not be that simple.”

  Heather’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Why not?”

  “The rebels have gotten aggressive again. They routed a village less than twenty-five kilometers east of here. The military is crawling all over the place, which means they’ve clamped down on travel.”

  “Are you saying I got in but maybe I can’t get out?”

  “Yes, you can leave. In fact, that plane’s returning to Kampala in fifteen minutes. It might be best if you left with it.”

  “But what about the baby?”

  “You can’t take her with you.”

  Heather couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t have come so far to fail! “I’m not leaving without her.”

  A soldier began walking toward them, waving them off with his rifle. Barry started the Jeep. Ed said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  They drove off in a cloud of dust.

  “Where are we going?” Heather asked.

  “Into a town near here, to a hotel where most of us health workers and foreigners stay. If you’re here more than a few weeks, it gets old living in tents at the camp, so the hotel becomes our permanent quarters. The baby’s there with Sister Louise, the nun who’s been taking care of her.”

  The Jeep bumped along a rutted road, swerving to miss a child playing in the middle. Heather swallowed hard against a rising tide of fear and watched as the airfield, and her means of escape, shrank in the distance behind her.

  The town was a dusty collection of buildings—shops, a gas station, and the hotel. Men lounged lazily against walls and along the roadside. Chickens ran in circles, pecking at the hard-packed dirt.

  The hotel rose only two stories and looked run-down. Chipped pink paint flaked off the walls. Intense sunlight gleamed off a roof made of tin. A courtyard held small tables and wooden chairs, where several people sat sipping coffee. Inside the lobby were a desk with a clerk sitting idly, a broken-down couch, and a TV. Ed nodded at the clerk, who waved. Ed told Heather, “My room’s on the second floor.”

  They climbed a flight of stairs and went to a battered door. Ed knocked lightly, then opened it with a key. Across the small room, a nun sat by an open window, reading a book. She rose and smiled. “So glad you’re here, Ed. Is this Heather?”

  Heather greeted her and looked at the bed, where a baby slept on a folded blanket on a mattress that sagged in the center. The room felt stifling, and noise from the street drifted upward.

  “Still sleeping?” Ed asked.

  “Like an angel.”

  Heather tiptoed over and peered down. Alice lay on her back, her small fists tightly closed. Her dark face, marred by the birth defect, looked peaceful. Instantly tears welled in Heather’s eyes. She thought of all the people who’d stepped in to try and save her. She thought of Kia. They were tiny, defenseless children, caught in a terrible drama of politics and death that was not of their making. All they had in the world was each other.

  Just then Barry eased into the room. “He’s downstairs,” Barry told Ed.

  “Heather, come with me. We’re going to talk to a man about a plane.”

  Down in the courtyard, Barry, Ed, and Heather took seats at a table with a small, dark-skinned man whose gaze kept darting around the open spaces. Barry made introductions, calling the man Mr. Oundo, Odo for short. “Sometimes Odo flies cargo out of the area for us,” Ed explained to Heather. “In spite of difficulties.”

  Odo sat stonily. Ed began to talk to him in Swahili, but Odo kept shaking his head.

  A man brought them a tray with coffee cups and set it on the table. Heather’s stomach churned.

  More discussion, but still Odo remained adamant. “Too dangerous,” he said in English, surprising Heather.

  “Does he understand English?” she asked.

  Odo’s gaze darted to her face. “I speak English,” he said with an odd accent. “The problem is, I do not wish to risk my plane at this time.” He started to stand up.

  Heather felt as if she was going to be sick. He couldn’t just walk away and leave her and the baby stranded. He couldn’t! “Wait! Just a minute. Please . . .I have something to say. Will you listen?”

  19

  Looking reluctant, Odo settled back into his chair. “I tell you, it is too dangerous to fly. We can be shot down . . . like birds by a hunter.”

  Silently Heather tuned her mind to the only ear she believed could hear her. She prayed, “Dear God, help me.” Gathering her courage, she said to Odo, “I appreciate your caution, Mr. Odo, but I really need to return to Kampala. Will you consider this?” She reached inside her shirt and extracted a small cloth pouch. She opened it discreetly and poured five gold coins into her hand.

  Odo’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

  “If you take me and the baby to Kampala today, I’ll give you these.” She placed three of the coins in a line on the table so that they could catch the sun. “And when you come back, Ed will give you these.” She handed the other two to Ed. “Plus,” she said, watching Odo lick his lips nervously, “once the baby and I are in Kampala safely, my friend at the airport will give you two more. That’s seven gold Krugerrands, Mr. Odo. Just for a short one-hour flight. What do you say?”

  Heather’s heart was thundering so hard in her chest, she was afraid everyone at the table could hear it. The air hung like a curtain, moved only by sounds from the street—the bleat of a goat, the ding of a bicycle bell moving past. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.

  Odo reached out, but Heather covered the row of coins with her palm. “I’ll give them to you tonight,” she said. “After the baby and I are aboard the plane.”

  Time seemed to crawl as the man considered Heather’s offer. An eternity later, he said, “I will take you.” He turned to Ed, “Be at the field—you know which one I mean—at the hour of four in the morning. We must leave before the sun rises. If you are not there, I will not wait for you.”

  Heather watched Odo walk away, and she slumped in her chair.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Ed said. “Too many ears around here.”

  In the room, Alice still slept while Sister Louise watched over her. Ed studied Heather appreciatively, then shook his head. “That was beautiful, Heather. I was getting nowhere with all my pleas for humanitarian causes. He wasn’t about to budge, either. Then you pulled the golden rabbit out of the hat and changed everything.” A grin split his face. “Where’d you get the coins, anyway?”

  Heather grinned ruefully. “An angel gave them to me.”

  He laughed out loud. “When I first saw you, I thought, ‘What is Paul thinking, sending her? She’s just a kid!’ But you’re no kid, Heather. You handled yourself like a real professional.”

  She felt as if he’d just held out a golden scepter to her. “I couldn’t let our only chance for getting Alice out of here walk away. I knew I had to persuade him somehow. And my father always says money talks. So I thought I’d let it say a few things in Alice’s favor.” Heather sat cautiously on the bed, being careful not to wake the baby.

  “Well, we’re not out of the woods yet,” Ed told her. “You’d best stretch out and catch some sleep. We’ll have to leave around three A.M. in order to get to where Odo stashes his plane.”

  “All right,” Heather said. She lay down obediently, positive that she could never fall asleep, but within minutes, her eyes shut and sleep claimed her.

  Heather woke to the sound of the baby’s crying. Night had fallen, and a kerosene lamp lit the room. “What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.

  “Alice is hungry,” Sister Louise said. “Come, watch how I prepare her food . . . in case you must do it.”

  Heather scooted off the bed. “Where are Ed and Barry?” The room was empty except for the three of them.

  “Downstairs getting dinner
. You should eat too.”

  “I’m not hungry. What time is it, anyway?”

  “After nine,” Sister Louise said. “Now, bring my little Alice over here.”

  Heather lifted the baby and walked to the dresser, where a small pan of water boiled atop a can of Sterno. “I’m saving the bottled water for you to take with you,” Sister Louise said.

  Heather watched as the nun poured a fine powder into the pan and stirred it until it cooled. “You want to keep it soupy,” the nun said. “Like thin cream of wheat.”

  Next the nun picked up a large-gauge syringe from which the needle had been removed. She dipped the opening of the syringe into the gruel-like fluid, drew it into the barrel, and held it up to the baby’s lips. Alice’s oddly shaped little mouth grabbed the end greedily and sucked as Sister Louise eased down the plunger. “Now you try it.” She handed the feeding syringe to Heather.

  It took Heather a few tries, but she got the hang of it, and soon Alice had been fed. Heather held the baby on her shoulder and patted her back until she burped.

  “Excellent,” Sister Louise said. “We’ll feed her again right before you leave.”

  The nun packed the small bag of powder in Heather’s knapsack, along with a bottle of water.

  Ed returned, bringing Heather a plate of matoke and rice. “It’s all the kitchen had,” he said apologetically.

  “It’s all right,” Heather told him.

  She ate. And then they waited.

  Heather dozed, but at last Ed shook her shoulder and said, “Time to get going.”

  She gathered up her belongings while Sister Louise fed Alice again. Once she was finished, the nun held Alice close and said, “You be good for Heather.” With tears in her eyes, she placed the baby in Heather’s arms.

  Wrapped tightly in a blanket, Alice seemed small and light to Heather, and she smelled of the protein powder she’d been eating. “She’d never have made it without you,” Heather told the nun.

  Sister Louise sniffed and stepped away.

  “One more thing,” Ed said. He took a small vial and a syringe from his pocket. “I’m going to sedate her. We want her to sleep for the trip.”

  Heather watched as he drew a few cc’s of fluid into the syringe. He unwound the swaddled baby and stuck the needle into the fleshy part of her thigh. Alice wailed, but minutes later, her eyelids drooped and she slept.

  Ed pressed the medication into Heather’s hand. “In case she wakes.”

  Heather nodded, praying she wouldn’t have to give Alice another shot, that they’d be back in Kampala before the sedative wore off—but also grateful for the weeks she’d worked at the Ugandan hospital, which had given her the skills to do it if she must.

  “That’s it,” Ed said, glancing around the room. “Barry’s waiting in the Jeep.”

  Holding Alice close against her chest, and without a backward glance, Heather followed Ed down the stairs and out into the darkness.

  Without a moon, the night seemed impenetrable. The road was little more than a rutted trail, and Barry drove without headlights as much as possible. Although she’d wedged herself in the back of the Jeep, Heather bounced painfully. Her shoulders ached and her lower back screamed for relief. Sedating the baby had been a good idea. Alice slept peacefully, unmindful of the jarring.

  “You okay back there?” Ed called to her from the passenger’s seat.

  Heather gritted her teeth. “Sure . . . but I’ll probably need a kidney transplant when this ride’s over.”

  “Not much farther,” Ed told her.

  The trail went up, then down. The Jeep slowed, then sped up. Heather completely lost any sense of direction. Eventually, Barry pulled into a stand of scrub trees and turned off the engine. Quiet descended. Slowly Heather’s hearing adjusted to the hum of insects, then a faraway pop, pop, pop.

  “Gunfire,” Ed whispered. He stood up in the Jeep, peering off into the darkness. “Let’s hope Mr. Odo’s greed is greater than his fear.”

  Barry flashed the Jeep’s headlights in three short bursts. Heather’s heart caught in her throat. What if the man didn’t come? What if the rebels found them before they could leave?

  From across the field came an answering burst of light.

  “We’re on,” Ed said. He helped Heather from the Jeep, and while Barry stayed with the vehicle, the two of them ran, hunched over, across the field under the cover of night.

  Mr. Odo, dressed in fatigues, waited for them. “Hurry,” he said. He pulled branches off a large heap. Underneath was the smallest plane Heather had ever seen. He opened a door, helped her in with the baby, dropped a harness-style seat belt over her shoulders, and snapped it.

  Ed reached in the window and took Heather’s hand. “We’ll pray for you and the little one.”

  “What about you and Barry? Will you be all right?”

  “Don’t worry about us. We’re going away from the gunfire. We’ll be in the camp reporting for duty at our regular time in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Ed, and tell Barry thanks too.”

  Ed moved back until Heather lost sight of him. Now she and Alice were together, but alone, with only a mercenary to shuttle them to freedom. She rotated her shoulders to ease her tension.

  Odo settled in the pilot’s seat and flipped switches, and the engine sputtered to life. To Heather it sounded like a broken lawn mower. “It can get off the ground, right?” she asked.

  “Flies like a bird, lady.”

  She almost told him that penguins were birds too but couldn’t fly two feet. Instead, she snuggled the sleeping baby closer and prayed.

  Odo pulled on the throttle and the plane moved forward, bumping across the grassy field. It gathered speed; then just when Heather thought they’d crash into a clump of trees, the plane magically lifted. The darkness seemed to swallow them. She caught glimpses of the ground falling away behind them. “Pretty low, aren’t we?”

  “Have to fly beneath the radar,” Odo said. “If the military sees us, they will shoot us down.” He glanced over at her. “Don’t worry, lady . . . we’ll make it.”

  In the distance, she saw a reddish aura rising into the sky from the land. “What’s that?”

  “Another battle. A village burning.”

  Heather’s stomach tightened, and she steeled herself against images of screaming, dying people.

  “Sit back,” Odo said. “I’ll radio Kampala soon to let the tower know we’re coming in.”

  She reached into her pocket and removed the pouch. “Your money, Mr. Odo. I make good on my promises.”

  His fingers closed around the fabric, he jiggled it and, hearing the coins clink together, said, “You’ve paid much for so small a child, lady. And an ugly child, too. I do not know what makes her so valuable.”

  “I don’t expect that you would, Mr. Odo. It’s just that when I look at her, I don’t see her body. I see her soul. And that’s more valuable than all the gold in the world.”

  20

  "It’s sure taking us a long time to get to Kampala.” Heather broke the silence between her and Odo. “The flight I took into Sudan only took an hour.” It seemed to her that they were getting no closer to their destination, and the drone of the plane’s engine was giving her a headache. The cockpit of the plane was so small, there was no place to rest her cramped arms. A few inches forward and she’d hit the instrument panel.

  “Because we must fly lower, it takes longer to get where we’re going. And my plane does not fly so fast. Don’t worry, lady, Odo will get you where you want to go.”

  Heather gritted her teeth and tried to calm her nerves. Ever since she’d climbed aboard Odo’s small plane, she’d been unable to forget Ian’s fateful flight. It wasn’t so much the radar and gunfire that frightened her as the memory of Ian and what had happened to him in a small aircraft such as this. Even the night at sea when the storm had raged had not seemed as long as this one. But that night Ian had been with her. She longed to have him with her now.

  �
��Look,” Odo said, pointing out the windshield.

  To the east, the black layer of night was peeling back. The horizon resembled a cosmic sundae—a layer of pink, then one of gray, then a layer of blue black, and stars twinkling overhead like sugar sprinkles. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  For the first time Odo laughed. “Not at the sky, lady. Look at the ground.” In the distance she saw flickering clusters of electric lights. “That is Kampala. Once again, Odo has cheated death.” He sounded euphoric, making her realize how genuinely hazardous their trip had been. “I’ll call the tower and get cleared for landing. What do you think of my little plane now?”

  Relief flooded through Heather. “I think it’s a wonderful little plane. The best.”

  “And Odo, your pilot?”

  She sent him a sidelong glance. “The next time I make a run for my life, I’ll know who to call.”

  Still laughing, Odo picked up a hand mike and, in Swahili, requested permission to land.

  True to his word, Paul was waiting for her at the terminal. “When you didn’t get off that Mission Air return flight, I almost got physically sick,” he told her after she’d cleared customs. “Then the news reports came about renewed fighting.” He looked worried and haggard. “I knew you were with Ed and that helped calm my fears some, but, Heather, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

  “Same here. I would have called, but . . .” She shrugged.

  “Yeah . . .no phones,” Paul finished for her.

  Heather turned the baby so Paul could see her. “Meet Alice.”

  “Hey, little girl,” he said, taking the sleeping baby while Heather stretched her aching arms. “And this is my pilot, Mr. Oundo,” she added. Odo had walked up after clearing customs.

  Odo shook Paul’s hand. “Thanks for getting them here,” Paul said.

  “We hid from the radar. It was a lucky trip.”

  Heather reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out another small pouch. “I believe I owe you this.” Odo looked surprised. “Well, I couldn’t give you all the money at once, now, could I?” she said.