disappearance, and the brutal murder of many of his neighbors, had revealed to him the horrid truth: his village, and perhaps his family itself, was cursed.
Samson gripped Asim’s hand tighter as he breathed in the smell of goza and fish sauce emanating from the small shop beside them, angry he couldn’t give his son what his swollen belly craved. Their only hope was to make it to the camp, where he’d been told aid workers were giving out food packets. He’d also heard rumors that humanitarian workers would hire anyone willing to dig latrines and bore holes.
He pressed past a group of old men hiding from the late afternoon sun beneath the shade of a tree and wondered how much further to the refugee camp. His feet ached and his head pounded, but with the constant rumors of more attacks, he didn’t dare spend another night on the road. When darkness had finally left them this morning, he’d been grateful for another day. But if they didn’t make it to the camp within the next couple hours, they’d face another night with little to shelter them from the winds once the sun dropped below the horizon. And nothing to protect them from the rebels.
Asim pointed to a man carrying a green parrot along the other side of the road. “I want to see it.”
The boy’s keen sense of curiosity, it seemed, had for the moment overcome his desire to eat. The man, holding onto the handmade cage housing the bird, disappeared into the market.
“I’m sorry, Asim, but we must get to the camp.”
“No!” Asim jerked away from him, and in an instant the boy had crossed the street to follow the man with the bird into the crowded market. Samson pushed back the panic enveloping him as he searched behind piles of fruits and vegetables for a glimpse of his son’s red shirt. He ran down the narrow aisle his son had entered, but there was no sign of him.
“Asim!”
He stopped to ask the vendors one after another if they’d seen his son, but none had noticed the scrawny six-year-old chasing the green parrot. Most dozed in the heat of the late afternoon or fanned away the constant swarms of flies on their piles of dried fish.
Samson stopped at the far edge of the market. Jagged breaths stabbed at his chest as he caught sight of a tanker that lay off the road fifty meters ahead. Its front tires had dropped off into the sandy ditch on the far side. A crowd had gathered. He knew his son. Asim’s curiosity would lead him to the center of the attraction.
The driver jumped down from the truck and yelled at the onlookers. Samson’s mind spun. His work as a carpenter had given him the strength of two, even three, men. If they would hire him to help pull the vehicle back on the road, he might be able to buy food for another day.
But first he had to find Asim.
Samson ran toward the truck and scanned the crowd for his son. The pungent smell of petrol filled his nostrils. He quickened his speed when he caught sight of the boy’s shirt. Asim stood a few meters from the truck while villagers filled containers with siphoned fuel from the tanker. Someone grabbed the driver and shoved him against the vehicle.
Samson caught the orange glow of a cigarette.
The explosion was deafening. The ground shook. Flashes of orange and yellow jumped from the fuel truck. The forest on the other side of the truck erupted into flames that leapt toward the sky.
Asim vanished behind a wall of black smoke.
TEN
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 4:01 P.M.
KINGANI ROAD
Paige felt the impact of the explosion from the backseat of the jeep. Black flumes billowed above the tree line a half mile ahead. If it was the tanker …
She leaned forward toward Taz, who drove the vehicle. “What’s going on up there?”
“It’s got to have something to do with the tanker.”
Nick sat beside her, the same worry she felt gnawing on his expression. They both knew what would happen if they lost the fuel. Without it, there would be no way to get the water they needed to control the cholera epidemic. And with
Samson gripped Asim’s hand tighter as he breathed in the smell of goza and fish sauce emanating from the small shop beside them, angry he couldn’t give his son what his swollen belly craved. Their only hope was to make it to the camp, where he’d been told aid workers were giving out food packets. He’d also heard rumors that humanitarian workers would hire anyone willing to dig latrines and bore holes.
He pressed past a group of old men hiding from the late afternoon sun beneath the shade of a tree and wondered how much further to the refugee camp. His feet ached and his head pounded, but with the constant rumors of more attacks, he didn’t dare spend another night on the road. When darkness had finally left them this morning, he’d been grateful for another day. But if they didn’t make it to the camp within the next couple hours, they’d face another night with little to shelter them from the winds once the sun dropped below the horizon. And nothing to protect them from the rebels.
Asim pointed to a man carrying a green parrot along the other side of the road. “I want to see it.”
The boy’s keen sense of curiosity, it seemed, had for the moment overcome his desire to eat. The man, holding onto the handmade cage housing the bird, disappeared into the market.
“I’m sorry, Asim, but we must get to the camp.”
“No!” Asim jerked away from him, and in an instant the boy had crossed the street to follow the man with the bird into the crowded market. Samson pushed back the panic enveloping him as he searched behind piles of fruits and vegetables for a glimpse of his son’s red shirt. He ran down the narrow aisle his son had entered, but there was no sign of him.
“Asim!”
He stopped to ask the vendors one after another if they’d seen his son, but none had noticed the scrawny six-year-old chasing the green parrot. Most dozed in the heat of the late afternoon or fanned away the constant swarms of flies on their piles of dried fish.
Samson stopped at the far edge of the market. Jagged breaths stabbed at his chest as he caught sight of a tanker that lay off the road fifty meters ahead. Its front tires had dropped off into the sandy ditch on the far side. A crowd had gathered. He knew his son. Asim’s curiosity would lead him to the center of the attraction.
The driver jumped down from the truck and yelled at the onlookers. Samson’s mind spun. His work as a carpenter had given him the strength of two, even three, men. If they would hire him to help pull the vehicle back on the road, he might be able to buy food for another day.
But first he had to find Asim.
Samson ran toward the truck and scanned the crowd for his son. The pungent smell of petrol filled his nostrils. He quickened his speed when he caught sight of the boy’s shirt. Asim stood a few meters from the truck while villagers filled containers with siphoned fuel from the tanker. Someone grabbed the driver and shoved him against the vehicle.
Samson caught the orange glow of a cigarette.
The explosion was deafening. The ground shook. Flashes of orange and yellow jumped from the fuel truck. The forest on the other side of the truck erupted into flames that leapt toward the sky.
Asim vanished behind a wall of black smoke.
TEN
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 4:01 P.M.
KINGANI ROAD
Paige felt the impact of the explosion from the backseat of the jeep. Black flumes billowed above the tree line a half mile ahead. If it was the tanker …
She leaned forward toward Taz, who drove the vehicle. “What’s going on up there?”
“It’s got to have something to do with the tanker.”
Nick sat beside her, the same worry she felt gnawing on his expression. They both knew what would happen if they lost the fuel. Without it, there would be no way to get the water they needed to control the cholera epidemic. And with
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