Natalie drummed her fingers against her leg and gazed out the passenger window of her car. The hot breeze from the shattered back window ruffled her hair—and her fraying nerves. The silent commute to the airstrip had had her mind whirling in a dozen different directions. When had her modest ambitions of saving the population though vaccines turned into the necessity of liberating a group of modern-day slaves? She was a healthcare worker, not an abolitionist.
She shot a quick glance at Chad, who gripped the steering wheel as he wove through the crowded streets. His normally serene expression was marred with a concentration that formed creases across his brow.
She pulled on the fabric of her skirt and wadded a section between her fingers. Letting Chad drive had wiped away her last vestige of control—a feeling she feared she was in no position of winning back anytime soon.
A group of schoolgirls stood on the muddy street corner, while the roar of taxis, bikes, and motorcycles filled the pothole-ridden thoroughfare. The normalcy of the scene struck her. Even the upcoming election hadn’t put a damper on everyday life. But all of that could change in an instant.
Chad took a right turn off the main boulevard onto a narrow dirt road outside of town. Half a kilometer later, a hangar and a one-story building came into view. All that stood between them and the airfield was a rundown chain-link fence and a strip of tall grass waving in the afternoon breeze.
They passed a large truck, its black exhaust filling the car with the smell of sulfur. Natalie coughed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and held it back with a clip from her backpack. There was one question she still had to ask. “What if your friend won’t fly us to the capital?”
A shadow crossed Chad’s face. “There’s a good chance he won’t be able to.”
Natalie shook her head. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll just find another way.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “I told you about my patient who died yesterday. You can’t save them all, Natalie. No matter how hard you try, it’s just not possible.”
He might be right, but that didn’t lessen her resolve. “Then we need to come up with Plan B.”
“Better yet, let’s pray we don’t need a Plan B.” Chad parked the car under a short overhand and tossed her the keys. “You two stay here. I’ll see if I can find Nick.” He jumped out of the car and disappeared into the large hangar to the right.
“You okay back there?” Natalie turned to Joseph, who sat in the backseat, and remembered that neither of them had eaten lunch. “You must be hungry.”
He nodded. “A little.”
Pulling her backpack into her lap, she dug into the front pocket. “Hope you don’t mind living on granola bars today.”
“Thank you.” Joseph ripped off the wrapper.
Natalie leaned against the headrest as she munched on her stale granola bar. What she wouldn’t do for a decent meal to hold her over the next few hours. If she had her way, though, they’d fly straight to Bogama, leaving little chance of squeezing in lunch anytime soon.
The clock on the dashboard clicked off ten minutes, then twenty, and there was still no sign of Chad. She slid out of the car for some fresh air. What had they been thinking? No pilot was going to rush them to the capital without advance notice or adequate funds. Coming up with Plan B was inevitable. If only she had a clue what Plan B was.
Joseph joined her along the side of the car. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”
“Your father?” Natalie caught the shadow that crossed his face. “We’re going to find him.”
“But not before it’s too late.” He shook his head and leaned against the passenger door. “Last time I saw him he was struggling to work in the fields. He will be even worse now.”
Natalie’s resolve strengthened. There was now no choice of whether or not she was going. If Chad couldn’t find a pilot, she’d simply take her chances and drive there herself.
Joseph fiddled with the frayed hem of his shirt. “Dr. Talcott said to pray. Do you believe it works?”
His candid question dug up a layer of fresh guilt. She crumpled the empty wrapper in her hand and shoved it into her skirt pocket. How had she managed to rush through the day without relying on her heavenly Father? Her occasional one-sentence pleadings for help had been far outweighed by worry.
I’m sorry, Lord. “I know prayer works.”
His dark eyes seemed to plead with her for answers. “My mother prays to Jesus. My uncle to Allah. My grandmother. . .she prayed the ancestors would protect us. But no one was there to save them when the Ghost Soldiers came.”
Natalie swallowed hard as the vivid images of the photos flooded her mind. She shuttered her eyes against the mental pictures, but knew their poignancy would never disappear. “Who do you pray to?”
“Jesus. When I do pray.” He kicked at the gravel with the toe of his shoe. “But today I’m not sure there’s a God big enough to hear me.”
Natalie was struck by the vast implications of his comment. How many people had turned their beliefs away from a God who didn’t give them the answers they expected? Away from a faith that shattered in the horror of the night?
“God never intended things to be this way.” Natalie winced as her own clichéd words rang shallow. Words tended to fall flat when everything you knew was gone. “All the bad things men do ruined God’s plan for us.”
Joseph shook his head. “Then why did it happen?”
“I don’t know Joseph. I just don’t know.”
A glossy starling flew across the gravel parking lot, its iridescent wings glistening in the sunlight. The Bible claimed that God cared even for the birds of the air. She had to believe that God heard Joseph’s family’s cries. Yet that conviction was blurred by the fact that some now lay in unmarked graves while the rest were forced to work for another man’s gain.
Man’s choices don’t change who God is.
The words echoed through her mind as the starling flew out of sight behind a cluster of trees. Maybe that was true, but why didn’t God intervene more often to stop Man’s wrong choices?
Chad emerged from the hangar with a man following him. His broad grin erased some of the frustration she felt. Maybe God was about to answer their prayer after all. “Natalie, I’d like you to meet Nick Gilbert. He flies for Compassion Air. He may end up regretting this, but he’s agreed to fly us to Bogama this afternoon.”
Natalie’s lungs let out a whoosh of air before she even realized she’d been holding her breath. She shook the hand of the thirty-something pilot, who wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “We really appreciate this, Mr. Gilbert.”
“Call me Nick.” Despite his strong southern drawl, the boyish-looking pilot seemed at home in his surroundings. “I was scheduled to pick up a group in the morning anyway, so your timing is perfect. Besides that, I never was one to pass up a goodwill venture if I could avoid it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Joseph stepped forward to shake the man’s hand.
“Why don’t y’all come with me?”
Natalie grabbed her backpack from the front seat, hesitating at the broken window. “What are the chances I come back to a stripped or missing vehicle?”
“The overhang should keep any rain out, and I’ll warn the security guards to keep an eye on it.” Nick eyed the vehicle. “That’s about the best I can do, though.”
“Then that will have to be enough.”
There wasn’t time to find another place to store the car, and with the phones down, she couldn’t even ask Stephen to come and get it. Besides, she might not completely trust her boss, but she owed him an explanation of her whereabouts. All she could do was try the connection again from the capital.
She pulled a few items from the glove compartment, tossed them into her bag, and hurried to catch up with the men. Inside one of the hangers sat a small plane.
“This is one of our Cessnas,” Nick was explaining as she walked up. “We use it for ferrying teams to remote villages, as well as transporting medicines, food, and other supplies.” He handed a clipboard to Chad. “I’m going to need each of you to sign this form. Then I’ll take care of the official paperwork as quickly as I can so we can reach Bogama before dark.”
Natalie eyed the plane. Bullet holes riddled the belly, and it needed a new coat of paint. The road might be filled with police blockades and potholes, but she was no longer convinced that the route by air would prove any safer. “Are you sure it can fly?”
Nick nodded. “Don’t let its looks deceive you. Our aircraft might not win any beauty contests, but our mechanics make sure they’re in top condition.” Chad handed her the clipboard and pen, and she scribbled her name on the signature line. “Times a-wasting, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.”