by DiAnn Mills
Larson’s stomach lurched at the thought of Rachel among the GOS. Only a fool ignored the fate of a beautiful young woman thrown among ruthless captors. Rachel would fight them, and they would torture her. No exceptions. They had no respect for women and even less for Christians. Better she had died in the heat of battle. Where was God in the midst of such a hell?
Poor James. An image of the tall man standing before the clinic with a broad smile and asking to speak to Rachel flashed before her. All he’d wanted was a chance to love Rachel and to build a hope for the future. Why did so many believe they were invincible? She blamed Ben for today. He could have sent Rachel away. He could have insisted James not join the SPLA. Did it really matter Ben would pay any price to have Rachel returned? The damage had already been done. Even as Larson sobbed, those animals were using her for their own pleasure.
She drew her knees to her chest as another series of tearful sobs racked her body. Rocking back and forth, Larson tried to gain control before she awakened her patients.
How could the free world continue to ignore the weeping of the southern Sudanese people? The sky dripped with their tears. September 11 had shocked many to their senses about the atrocities going on around the world, but many others had turned their eyes from the suffering of southern Sudan to the safety of their own soil. How quickly they would change their mind if their children were born into a country bathed in the blood of war.
“Dr. Kerr?” Nyok knelt beside her. “Are you all right? Can I do something for you?”
Larson wiped her eyes and nose with a tissue that he offered, one of the precious items in Paul’s cargo. “I’ll be fine. Today’s been difficult.”
Nyok nodded, age and wisdom beyond his years evident in his young face. “I failed Rachel today. I’m a warrior, not a boy. I should have died defending her.”
“You did everything you could. You helped save Paul’s life.” Larson bit back her liquid emotion as Nyok helped her stand.
“It was not enough.”
They stood eye to eye: grown woman and man-child. Nyok should be in junior high, playing sports, discovering girls . . . not here enduring this horror. Larson hugged his shoulders. He was Dinka, a warrior among a proud people. He wouldn’t want the traditions of his people changed, but he did want the government’s soldiers to leave his country alone.
“Go on to bed. I’m right behind you.” When he shook his head, she added, “I need some time alone.”
Nyok disappeared into the hut adjacent to the clinic. Larson knew he would lie awake until she had settled down in the hut beside his. A family had once lived in these three huts she called her own—one for the parents, the second for the son, and the third for the two daughters. They were killed during an attack before she arrived.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly released it. She dared not allow the villagers to see her in such despair. They thought she had the market on strength and courage. What a joke. So many times she wanted to quit—to leave Sudan and never return—but something always stopped her. Sometimes it was a child’s smile. Other times the cry of a newborn infant. Often it was a patient regaining his health. The truth was, she no longer fit in the States, and she had never quite fit here either, like a square peg in a round hole. The weight of that truth smacked her in the face. She had no place to go, and loneliness stalked her night and day. Nothing else remained but to continue tending to the sick and wounded. Clenching her jaw, Larson wished away the remaining tears.
She had come to Sudan when a missionary’s child died in her care, a darling little boy only four years old. The parents had brought him to University Hospital in Columbus, Ohio, in the hope their son could be cured of an aggressive cancer. Because of his death, Larson had committed four years to helping the people of Sudan, one for each year of the child’s age. She never dreamed her commitment would turn into a love and move her to stay for as long as she was needed.
With a deep sigh, she checked on her patients. Peter, an elderly man, didn’t look like he would make it beyond the morning. The others slept. Gazing at Paul, she wondered again what Ben meant when he suggested trading him to the Arabs. Why would the GOS want Paul, except he flew supplies into the South? He represented a highly respected Christian humanitarian organization, often compared to the International Red Cross. What value would Paul be to those in Khartoum?
Anxiety swelled in Larson’s chest. She hated this feeling, the tremendous urge to run until her legs refused to carry her a moment longer. She had to get out of the clinic, away from the stench of death and the reminders of today’s carnage. Snatching up her rifle, she stepped out into the starlit night.
Ben had posted guards around the village. Even so, she stayed in the shadows and strode just beyond the cluster of huts. They saw her, and so did the warriors who guarded the village with them. None would approach her unless she asked for assistance.
Larson longed for solitude to ease her heartache and push the chaos of today into some remote part of her mind. Somehow she must erase the memory of the cries and the sights of her beloved people being picked off like flies at a picnic. When the enemy, those who lived in the oil-rich areas, had finally finished its eradication, it would feast on the spoils. A scorched-earth policy ensured control of the land. It was just part of the government’s method of making sure the southern Sudanese had nothing to return to. The GOS destroyed every home, animal, and blade of vegetation to pave the way for drilling.
Lights from the village fires flickered, reminding her of tiny torches. Normally the shoots of waving flames represented warmth and friendship to a people she loved. Tonight numbness and fatigue overshadowed those feelings. When she had finally worked through her grief and pain, the firelight would guide the way back to the clinic.
Glancing up at the sky, she momentarily forgot her sorrow and noted the various star formations. Rachel enjoyed doing the same, something else the two had in common. Larson quickly choked back tears. She needed reason now, not sentiment.
If only I could open my eyes and discover this has been a horrible dream. Rachel and Nyok would be asleep, and Ben and I would be debating some issue about war tactics while drinking bitter coffee.
On she walked, swinging the rifle as if she carried it every day instead of a medical bag. She must gather her wits and find a way to make it through tomorrow and the next day.
A rustling in the tall grass alerted her. She instantly glanced behind her to see how far she’d come. The guards and warriors knew where she’d ventured, but were they close enough to reach her if she was in real danger?
A shiver snaked up Larson’s back and settled at her nape. Stupid. Stupid. How many years have I lived here? She stopped and took a step back. Now the rustling was behind her. Fear held her in its clutches. A predator was pursuing her, one she would not see until it clamped its knifelike paws into her flesh and she smelled its hot breath on her neck.
The rifle. She lifted the weapon with her trembling arms. The sound might scare off the animal. In any event, when the crack split the air, soldiers and warriors alike would rush to bring her to safety.
“Dr. Kerr.”
She heard the even voice of Nyok.
“Yes.”
“A lion is before you, a lioness to your rear.”
CHAPTER 5
Nyok’s heart pounded hard against his chest, so loud it sounded like beating drums. Adrenaline flowed through his veins and strengthened his body and mind. He understood his role as a warrior-protector. He had undergone the rites of manhood and endured the pain of mutilation when a warrior slashed his forehead with the markings of the Dinka tribe. With his head held high, Nyok had proudly recited the ancestry of his father while blood dripped in his eyes and mouth.
With God’s help he would kill the lions. If he lost, he would be under the shelter of all those who had gone before him. Sometimes he had no faith at all, except to exist by his own wits. Right now, he needed more than the confines of his body.
His destiny had arriv
ed, and it filled him with challenge, excitement, and terror.
“I have my rifle,” Dr. Kerr said. The tremor in her voice increased his alarm. She might attempt something unwise.
“You have no bullets.” Nyok gripped the thick wooden club in his hands. “Colonel Alier removed them when you were tending to patients.”
She seldom wept, except tonight. The grass rustled, as though foreshadowing the terror to come. The lions were circling in on their prey. He had seen two, but more could be lurking in the shadows. Lions traveled together when they hunted.
“Why would he do that?” she said.
“He thought you might hurt yourself.” He inched closer. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to protect you.”
“You have a gun?”
The male lion moved closer to her. Nyok had mere moments before the huge cat attacked. The soldiers would hear the fighting once it started. “I have a weapon.”
“Can you see to shoot? The lion’s closer. He’s so big, Nyok.”
“I can see.” Nyok couldn’t wait any longer. He crouched and ran toward the animal, shouting and praying with all his might.
Dr. Kerr screamed. The soldiers and village guards must have heard, but for Nyok the time had passed for his rescue. He slammed his club onto the lion’s head. The crack gave Nyok little comfort. Dazed, the animal hesitated, then angrily roared. Nyok trembled. Sickness swept over him.
Watch his paws. Be ready for his teeth. Stay crouched. Instructions from warriors who had fought lions raced across his mind. The club struck the lion again across the back, finding its mark with a dull thud. The beast’s hind legs buckled. It roared and whipped around, ready to pounce, but Nyok laid a blow to its face. He swung again, this time into the animal’s mouth. Light from somewhere kept the animal in full view. Power filled Nyok’s arms, and determination ruled his heart. Nyok saw its every move, anticipated each twist before the lion leaped forward. He felt the animal’s breath full of hate and yearning for blood.
Gunshots split the air, then another and others. Help had come. Dr. Kerr would be safe. The lion charged, and Nyok met its angry assault with another strike to the head. When the beast hesitated, Nyok seized the opportunity to pound the animal’s body—the back, the head, the mammoth face. When it fell, he rushed forward and clubbed the lion until it no longer moved. Blood wove through its mane and drained from its mouth.
With sweat streaming down his face, Nyok whirled to direct his attention to the lioness. What had happened to her? The females were the fiercest in battle. In the darkness he attempted to make out the other lion. The light had vanished. Confusion edged his mind.
“Dr. Kerr,” he said. “Are you all right? The lion is dead.”
“Yes,” she said, barely above a whimper. “Are you—?”
“I’m fine, unharmed. Where is the lioness?” His breathing came in short gasps.
“Dead,” Colonel Alier said.
A torch lit up the colonel’s face. The gunfire. Nyok saw other soldiers and men from the village. One held a flaming torch.
In the next instant, Dr. Kerr stood at his side. She grasped his arm, and he felt her shaking like a lost child.
“You killed it,” she said with the same tremor he had heard earlier. “You killed the lion with a club.”
A firm hand rested on his shoulder. “You’re a brave warrior,” the colonel said. “You should be pleased with your heroism. I know of no man who has killed a lion in the dark without a gun.”
“I think God Almighty lit up the night for me.”
Colonel Alier deepened his hold. “Dr. Kerr is most fortunate to have you as her protector.”
Nyok wanted to say he should have done more for Rachel, but the words refused to come. Perhaps the colonel already knew his thoughts.
“I know you tried to stop the soldiers today. Don’t blame yourself,” he said.
Those were the kindest words the colonel had ever spoken to him. Nyok believed the man could not have uttered them in the daylight. Darkness concealed his emotion. He also knew Colonel Alier wrestled with insurmountable guilt. His sister had been kidnapped, and he had removed the bullets from Dr. Kerr’s rifle. Inward struggles were always the most difficult to bear.
“Back to the village,” the colonel said. He took Dr. Kerr’s rifle. She snatched it back, then relinquished her hold.
Nyok stayed by her side. Tonight he’d earned the right as her warrior-protector. No longer would the others make fun of his devotion to her, mocking him as though he were a boy clinging to his mother. He’d earned their respect.
Satisfaction settled on him like a cool evening. They would make up songs about him and sing them around the fires while tending to the cows. At last he had become a man.
* * *
Larson felt Nyok’s arm around her waist. She wanted to cry and draw him to her as though he were a little boy again, cradle him in her arms and beg him never to do anything so foolish again. Or maybe she needed his strength. Later she would sort out her muddled thoughts and work through the happenings tonight.
Larson had never experienced the privilege of giving birth, but if motherhood had graced her, she would have wanted her children to be exactly like Rachel and Nyok. Today she had nearly lost both of them. How did so many African mothers face the death of their children? How did they bear the pain? Children were supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around. She remembered a woman who had been brought to her for treatment when government soldiers raided her village. One of the soldiers saw she had a newborn baby and sliced off her breasts so both mother and infant would die. Larson had been able to save the woman by closing the wounds and administering antibiotics to prevent infection. Other mothers in the village nursed the baby, and today the child was nearly three years old.
Why did she stay in this forsaken part of the world? The government destroyed its own people because of their resistance to Islam and because it wanted the oil flowing richly like the waters of the great Nile.
Where had their faith in God gotten them?
She trembled, and Nyok tightened his hold. Larson despised weakness, and tonight she had clearly displayed it, first in succumbing to tears in the clinic and now by giving in to fear of the lion. Glancing up, she saw women in the doorways of their huts anxiously searching the crowd for husbands, brothers, and sons. Some held children, but in the firelight Larson observed incredible strength. She envied and feared this enigma. Such a proud people, these Dinka, so committed to their pastoral way of life that they would rather die than give it up. Some fled to other places, like Kakuma, the refugee camp in Kenya, where thousands of African refugees lived. The people there had not given up either. They simply were waiting and contemplating how to win back their homeland.
Fury washed through Larson’s quivering body at the thought of the near tragedy. “Ben, why did you unload my rifle? Nyok and I could have been killed.” She stepped from Nyok’s touch, no longer needing the young man to give her courage.
Ben exhaled slowly, and silence prevailed.
“Why?” She wanted to sound more forceful. They stood near a fire. The guards and villagers filed by. Some returned to their posts, while others made their way to their homes.
“You were angry, irrational. I didn’t want you doing something stupid.”
“I guess not. You handled that department quite well all by yourself.”
“I did what I thought was best at the time.”
“Like not sending Rachel away from this horrible life?”
“You’re not being fair.” Ben’s words echoed around them.
She hugged her shoulders. “And what about today? Sudan doesn’t operate under equality or justice. You of all people should know that. You refused to let her leave, and now she’s in the hands of some dirty Muslim who’s using her for whatever he wants!”
“Shut up, Larson. I’ve had enough.”
“I really don’t care. Isn’t the issue about how you will look to your comrades? I mean, you command
a battalion of southern guerrillas and can’t even protect your own sister.”
Ben swore. Flickers of light danced off his rigid features. “I remember you enjoyed having Rachel here with you.”
“Enjoying someone’s company and risking her life for selfish reasons are two different things.” She stared into the flames as if looking for a spark to burn him.
“Who are you to blame me?” Ben said. “You don’t even have a country to call home. How would you know how any of us feel?”
“What do you mean?” She attempted to gain control of her emotions and the conversation. Why did she and Ben always end up arguing? They needed to be civil for the sake of the village and all those who needed protection and medical attention.
“You’re a white woman in a black man’s country. You head back to the United States, and you’re not wanted there either.”
Hadn’t she considered the same thing? “I believe you went to the States for school.”
“I have a country.” He stole a glimpse of Nyok. “Go on home. I’ll escort Larson to the clinic.”
Nyok looked to her for instruction.
“I’m fine,” she said. No longer could Larson stand not being able to touch the dear young man before her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you. Words cannot express my gratitude for tonight. I love you, Nyok, as though you were my own son.”
He smiled before walking back to the clinic, carrying the club stained in lion’s blood. Weariness tugged at her body, and she saw no relief in tomorrow. Patients still needed her care, and new ones would be standing outside her door at dawn. Like so many nights in the past, she craved sleep. She stared into Ben’s face, his towering frame and black skin blending into the night shadows. Fury creased his brow. If they had been standing in sunlight, she would see the coldness there as well. For certain, any cease-fire between the two must come from her.
“Ben, please, let’s stop this arguing.” When he didn’t respond, she ventured on. “Today has been a nightmare, and we’re grieving over Rachel. I know I did something really crazy by walking out of the village and endangering Nyok’s life.”
