There was no fighting, not even any noise of battle at the mission when Sally Beth and John came to the gates. They honked the horn until Red came running to receive them. Recognizing Alethia’s van and Sally Beth’s face, he did not hesitate to unlock the gate.
“There’s a splinter of the army blowing things up just southeast of here,” John told him as he leapt out of the van. “I think we’d better be prepared in case they decide to come here.”
They all ran to Pastor Umbatu’s apartment, banging on the door until he opened it. He was wearing a robe. Lyla stood behind him with a blanket wrapped around her.
“So sorry, Pastor, but I’m afraid the Ugandan army is back in this area. They’ve been shooting rocket launchers about five miles from here.” John stopped. A distinct Boom! wafting in on the breeze sounded closer than that. The sky lit up with flames.
Pastor Umbatu spun around to Lyla. “Get dressed. Help them wake up everybody and meet me in the sanctuary. God help us if they decide to take the mission.”
He rushed to the bedroom with Lyla while Red, Sally Beth, and John ran to the rooms where the others were sleeping. Sally Beth found Prissy in Falla’s room. She woke them both as gently as she could before she whispered urgently, “Get dressed, and hurry! We may be under attack any minute,” she said as she stuffed Priscilla’s sleepy arm into a blouse and held up a skirt for her to step into.
Everyone arrived at the sanctuary at about the same time. Pastor Umbatu stood just inside the doorway. “Quickly,” he said. “Go to the pulpit. Lyla will show you.
Lyla motioned to them from behind the pulpit. As they made their way to the front of the sanctuary, they saw her holding open a small door at the base. A narrow set of stone steps led down into the foundations of the church. She pointed with a flashlight. “Go down. There’s a shelter there.”
One by one, with Red leading the way with a flashlight, they stooped under the pulpit, onto the cramped stairway, which led them into a room about the size of the clinic waiting room. Benches lined the walls. A row of lockers stood at the far end. Within minutes, they all, Red, Lyla, Sally Beth, John, Dr. Sams, Priscilla, Falla, Jenna, and Pastor Umbatu were standing, trembling under the low stone ceiling.
“I did not have the opportunity to radio for help; the signal seems to be jammed,” said the pastor in a grave voice. “No doubt our friends will know of our plight soon, if we should be attacked. We must remain here, even if we hear any disruption above us. Now, all we can do is keep quiet and pray.”
They spread out on the benches around the room. Sally Beth clutched at Priscilla. John sat on the other side of the child, holding Sally Beth’s hand. Together, they formed a protective circle around her. Pastor Umbatu stood beside Lyla, his hand on her shoulder. They all bowed their heads and prayed silently.
Sally Beth no longer knew how to talk to God. She was not angry at Him, not now, and she no longer felt like the pitiful wretch who had lain in the bathtub hours earlier and contemplated His capriciousness and her own misery. Now, she felt calm. Prissy was in her arms and John’s warmth suffused her. She wondered if she was supposed to feel guilty for disobeying God’s commandment for purity, but she did not. Rather, she felt like a part of her had been restored, and it gave her courage. She simply held on to Prissy and John, open, waiting to see if God would speak to her.
He did not. Instead, there was a loud explosion directly above them, and a few of the stones above their heads gave way, landing with a crash in the middle of the room. Everyone jumped, but no one screamed. They gasped and looked at each other through the dust in the lone beam of light from Red’s flashlight. Another explosion rocked them again, and more stones tumbled down. “We have to get out of here!” said Pastor Umbatu urgently. The floor above us could cave in! Women, come with me. You can hide behind the stairs to the balcony,” he whispered. “Men, wait until the women are hidden before you follow.” He opened the door and hurried out.
John pushed Sally Beth and Priscilla up the steps into the choking, swirling dust. Huge holes gaped darkly from the ceiling and one of the walls, a betrayal of the promise of the sanctuary. Glass from the windows lay upon smoking pews. She stopped for a second to look, but Lyla, Jenna, and Falla pushed her forward, rushing her toward a hidden alcove under the balcony stairway. Pastor Umbatu stood aside, motioning for them to hurry.
Suddenly, another missile came soaring through the wall, breaking another beautiful stained glass window. Sally Beth saw it shatter, saw the incendiary bomb come through, saw it land directly on the hidden place below the sanctuary. There was a sickening, crushing sound, and pews flared with a brilliant light before sliding sideways into the hole that appeared. Smoke and flames poured out of the hole, but when another piece of the ceiling caved in, the stones that fell smothered the fire in a cloud of dust and mortar. She stifled a scream as Pastor Umbatu shoved her into the alcove then wedged himself tightly in with the women.
“Do not make a sound,” he warned, his voice low and menacing, or you will give us all away, and I do not need to remind you what Ugandan and Libyan soldiers do to women and children.”
Sally Beth felt the oxygen being pressed out of her lungs. She gasped for breath in the dark, crushing stillness as she held Priscilla tightly, one hand over the child’s mouth, the other one over her own. They waited, silent as dust, for many long minutes, but they heard nothing more. No more explosions, no more tinkling glass, no angry feet marching into the sanctuary, turning over pews and searching for victims to torture and murder. Her heart hammered steadily, and she could feel its rhythm matched beat for beat underneath Priscilla’s thin blouse.
After a very long time, Pastor Umbatu slid open the secret door a tiny crack. There was nothing there. Carefully, he stepped forward, motioning for the women to stay still, and eased the door closed again. Again, they waited in silence, in fear, their blood thrumming in their ears as they waited for horrors they dared not think about. The scent of fear was strong in the tiny room, and Sally Beth forced herself to breathe regularly, in and out, in and out.
Pastor Umbatu returned. “All the men were safe on the steps under the pulpit. No one was hurt, but the space is too small for them all. Come out and I will give you directions.”
They filed out into the sanctuary and huddled together behind the pulpit. John put his arms around Sally Beth and Priscilla, pulling them close.
“There are several hiding places. In the kitchen pantry behind the door, where the brooms hang, there is a secret door. You cannot see it, but it is unlocked, so you just push it open. Once you get inside, you can bolt it closed so that no one will notice. There is room there for a few of you. John, you take Sally Beth and Priscilla. Dr. Sams, go with them. Red, Falla, and Jenna, there is room in the stairwell under the pulpit for the three of you. It is still intact, and should be safe, barring a direct hit, and the soldiers won’t be able to find the entrance unless they tear out the pulpit. If they find you, shout out that you are all Americans. Falla and Jenna, try to speak with an American accent, and let Red do all the talking. Lyla and I will stay in the alcove under the stairs. Go quickly, and God bless you all. If I do not see you again in this life, I will embrace you in the next.” He touched John’s shoulder. “Now go, but be careful.”
John, Priscilla, Dr. Sams, and Sally Beth raced across the sanctuary, leaping across fallen pews and stone rubble. They ran to the back entrance, stood breathing as quietly as they could for a moment while John peered out into the darkness. Then he motioned for them to follow and sprinted across the courtyard to the kitchen. There were no soldiers visible, but they stayed under the shadows of the trees, opened the door to the kitchen as quietly as they could, and ran for the pantry.
The kitchen was still intact: the pantry stood solidly cheerful, bright with aprons and a few provisions on the shelves. Dr. Sams made his way to the back and reached for a jug of water sitting on the top shelf while John found the secret door behind the brooms, pushed it open, and shoved Sally Beth and Priscilla into the room behind it. But before he could step inside himself, the wall opposite exploded. Shelves fell, dumping pots, pans, kitchen appliances, and food on John and Dr. Sams.
Sally Beth leaned against the door, holding Priscilla behind her for the space of five breaths while the air stilled and a heavy silence descended, then, her heart pounding in her head, she opened the door slightly. Although the room was dark, the light filtering in through the open door of the pantry allowed her to see a huge hole in the wall. Plaster, shelves, food, and appliances lay strewn over the floor. Dr. Sams had disappeared underneath the debris in the back. All she could see of John was one foot sticking out from under the wreckage.
She wasted no time, heaving aside heavy boards and appliances. Priscilla joined her, digging through the rubble furiously, but they did not make much headway before they both sensed a shadow blocking the dim light coming into the room. Sally Beth looked up. A man wearing army fatigues, a rifle slung over his shoulder, stood very still in the doorway. She could not see him well, but his smell formed a palpable bulk of dirt, sweat, smoke, and evil. Pushing Priscilla behind her, she straightened, facing the dark menace. “Americans!” she shouted, her voice sounding shrill and inhuman as it rasped its way out of her throat. “We are Americans!”
He laughed. She could see the gleam of his teeth and the flash of his eyes. The rest of his face was invisible in the dark. She did not have time to cry out again before his fist flew forward and everything went blank.
John felt himself floating through a sea of boulders that banged his head and bludgeoned his shoulders, and then he felt nothing. He was surprised to look up and see that he was sitting at a table on a warm summer evening, the early gloaming just beginning to settle around the blue mountains all around him. Across from him sat Geneva. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the breeze lift her golden hair and goose bumps appear on her bare arms. She leaned toward him, a smile playing on her lips.
“So, what do you want now?”
He knew she was toying with him, and he wanted to make her understand how important this was.
“Reality. Living a real life and not just an advertisement of one.”
She ran her fingers along the stem of the wine glass, then leaned toward him. “So what is reality for you, Mr. John Smith, god of fire and iron, visionary, beloved of Christ?”
He saw the uncertainty in her face, heard the faint disbelief in her voice, and he pushed his way past her mockery. “Reality is knowing God. It’s working with your hands. It’s walking the ridges as the sun comes up. It’s the love of a good woman.”
She startled, then smiled gently, as if she knew some deep secret. “That’s just what Sally Beth said.”
Her face wavered for an instant in the last rays of sunlight, and he felt his own confusion growing. “No, wait. I was wrong. What I really want is the challenge of you. I want adventure, I want the wide sky and the whole world, and I want to save you from the path you’re on.”
“Oh? But I have been saved already. It’s Sally Beth who will give you the sky.” She smiled again as the sun surrounded her, a golden halo of sun and hair engulfed her face, and she said, “John, hear me. John. John!”
Then he felt a dull throbbing in his temples, heard his name called out again in a different voice, and he awoke to find himself on the floor, covered in flour, stones, blenders, and mixers. He groaned.
“John,” came Dr. Sam’s voice nearby. “Are you all right?”
“What?”
“Are you alive? Anything broken? I’m back here. There’s a heavy board on top of me.”
John pushed aside the rubble and sat up. Looking around, he could see only the mess on the floor. “Where are you?”
“Here, behind you. I can see you.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not much,” Dr. Sams gasped in pain. “I think I’ve hurt my leg. But you have to go.”
John pulled himself up to try move the shelves pressing down on Dr. Sams, but he spoke urgently again. “Go now. I’ll get myself out.” He stifled a moan.
“Go?” He looked around for Sally Beth.
“They have her. Priscilla, too. They took them out the back.”
John struggled to his feet, grasped a remaining portion of the wall, and stood unsteadily.
“Lucky you,” came Dr. Sam’s tremulous voice.
“What?”
“You get to rescue Sally Beth. I’ve been trying to do that for over a year. Go now! You might be able to catch them. You have to catch them!”
John’s head cleared. He struggled out the doorway, searched for the back door, and lurched toward it. Somehow, he found himself looking out the window in the door just in time to see two men dressed in army fatigues standing beside Alethia’s van and throwing a limp Sally Beth into it.
He yelled as he reached for the doorknob. The door was stuck. He jerked it harder, kicking it and wrenching it away from the doorframe, then he leaped outside as the van roared away through the open gate.
The back courtyard stood as empty and forlorn as a prison yard; all of the cars and maintenance vehicles were gone, along with all the equipment that had been stored there. Remembering the bicycles by the shower building, he ran for them, leaped on the first one he saw, then tore off, pedaling as fast as he could through the silvery night. The van had already outstripped him, so he turned southward. His only chance was to get aloft.
The house was still intact, the front door standing ajar from his and Sally Beth’s hasty exit. Glancing over, he could barely see the shape of his plane, which sat nearly invisible beneath the blanket of meadow. He pedaled right up to it on his bicycle, then, despite his spinning head and the pain in his shoulders, he struggled to pull at the yards of fabric Sally Beth had stitched together. He did not bother to remove it completely, but simply uncovered the nose and the windshield, then he stuck his head under the tent, wrenched open the door, and climbed aboard. He was airborne within a minute.
Making his way back to the Ugandan Road, he turned northward, crossing the shimmering river and the tattered bridge, and before long, he caught up with the colorful old van streaking its way toward the border. He tried to think of a way to stop it; he could shoot at it, but he was afraid. Sally Beth and Priscilla were in there.
Reaching into the box below his seat, he wrenched it open and pulled out one of the loaded revolvers. He banked, dropped altitude, then, holding his breath, he leaned out of the window, took careful aim at the roof just above the driver’s seat, and fired. The van swerved, nearly veering off the road, then righted its course and accelerated. From the passenger side a man leaned out the window, aimed his AK-47 at him, and pulled the trigger, releasing a burst of bullets that whizzed by him. He pulled back at the sound of small pops! that seemed to buzz and zing all around him, and then, suddenly, he became aware of a searing pain in his thigh.
Grabbing his leg with both hands, he felt the warm blood flowing out over his fingers. Probing for both the entry and exit holes, he managed to stuff a handkerchief into one of them, then he ripped at the sleeve of his shirt until he had torn it off. That served to staunch the other bleeding bullet hole. With darkness spitting at his eyes and his hands off the yoke, he was helpless to ward off the trees that suddenly rushed up at him. He took hold of the controls again, pulling up just as his pontoons brushed through the utmost branches of a grove of wattle trees. Their pungent sent filled his nostrils, reviving him enough to right himself and look out into the horizon.
Lights loomed ahead of him. The Ugandan border, and he could see soldiers standing in a line, rifles raised toward him, the intermittent flashes of gunfire spitting into the night. He banked right, heading toward the dark glimmer of the lake in the distance. When he was well out over the water, he circled back north until he thought—hoped—he had gone far enough into safety. Fighting against the pain and the weakness, he headed back toward land and managed a semi-controlled landing in a long field at the edge of the lake.
It was deep night, and the darkness crept into his consciousness, but he took a great breath of the cold night air and revived enough to pull out his emergency first aid kit from underneath the seat. Blood still ran too freely from the wound in his thigh. Dizzy and weak, he found a roll of gauze, which he unwound and wrapped tightly around his thigh. It did not staunch the flow of blood as well as he had hoped. Within seconds, he could see the white gauze turning dark in the dim light of the slender moon.
He gritted his teeth and vowed not to die.
When John awoke again, he was relieved to find himself in some sort of hospital room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geneva drifting toward him, her face full of pity and concern, and then he saw the kind, smiling face of Holy Miracle Jones looking at him with love as he struggled to keep strength in his voice.
“Ah, boy, I see ye carry the pain of loss with ye, but be of good cheer. There’s no loss, only happiness right here with ye. All ye have to do is look.”
His eyes moved to Sally Beth, and John suddenly saw her, as if for the first time. Sally Beth, bringer of light and laughter, who lifts the burdens of all she meets. Who said that? Someone once said that. He looked at her again. Sally Beth, who had asked him to love her, smiled at him, then she lifted the crown off her pink cowboy hat and placed it on his head, saying, “I declare you king of my heart.”
November 1, 1978, Somewhere in southern Uganda
Sally Beth had been awake for some time, but she kept her eyes shut and listened to the sounds around her. Her hands were tied tightly behind her back, and her feet were tied as well. The one brief blink she had allowed herself told her that Priscilla also was awake, lying on her side on the dirt floor, her hands similarly bound behind her back. She waited until she was sure they were alone in the tent before she looked at the child.
Sally Beth smiled at her and Priscilla smiled back. She did not seem to be afraid, but nodded and whispered, “My hands aren’t tied too tight.” She began to wriggle toward Sally Beth, turning her back.
Sally Beth’s arms hurt. The side of her face felt like it was the size of a watermelon, and it buzzed with pain, but she rolled close to Priscilla, and with her back turned, felt for the cords binding the wrists.
Yes, they were not very tight. The ropes had been tied halfway up to the elbows and they were so thick that they had not snugged down on Priscilla’s bony arms. She had somehow worked them downward toward her even skinnier wrists, and it didn’t take long for Sally Beth’s fingers to work open the clumsy knot.
She had just freed Priscilla and was watching her sit up to untie her feet, when they both froze. Voices came to them from the other side of the canvas wall.
Several men were walking toward them, speaking loudly, arguing, really, but she could not understand them. She looked at Priscilla, who mouthed softly, “Lugandes.”
“Can you understand them?”
Priscilla grinned. “My native language.” She stopped, listening intently. Another, more authoritative voice had begun to speak. He barked at the men shortly, and then there was silence.
“What did they say?” whispered Sally Beth.
Priscilla sat up, untied her feet, then moved to Sally Beth. “They want to have a good time with us and they are arguing over who gets to go first, but their commander told them they can’t kill you. He’s taking you to Kampala to hold you for ransom.” She smiled wryly. “He says Americans bring a pretty good price.” She picked the last knot loose.
“What about you?” Sally Beth sat up, rubbing her wrists, before reaching down to work at the ropes at her ankles.
Priscilla looked at the floor and shrugged, blinking hard, but she could not stop the tears rolling down her face. “I’m not worth anything except maybe a minute of fun.”
Sally Beth’s heart plunged. The image of the little girl who had died in her arms pushed itself up against her eyes until she could see into the hole in her cheekbone, black with blood and powder burns.
Oh, please, Lord. Let them do whatever they will with me, but don’t let them hurt Prissy any more. I can’t survive watching her die.
Whatever they did to her own body was of little consequence, as long as she could stay alive long enough to get Priscilla out. Precious Priscilla, who was brave enough to sacrifice everything for those she loved, who loved her enough to refuse to leave her, while she obsessed and whined to John about how frightened she was. Prissy, who had already lived through war and privation, who just wanted a safe home and people who would be kind, was facing horror and torture that would end in death. Sally Beth would rather die than let her be ravished and murdered by those beasts outside.
More shouting came from without, and there was a sudden burst of gunfire. She heard the running footfalls of several men, and then engines started up.
“What is it?” whispered Sally Beth.
“I’m not sure. I think some Libyans have come. I don’t understand them, but the Ugandans are talking about a battle, and they’re driving away. Maybe they’ll leave and forget about us,” she added hopefully.
Carefully, Sally Beth made her way to the edge of the tent, picked up a sharp stick, and poked at a tiny hole in the canvas. She worked at it patiently for a minute before putting her eye to the hole she had enlarged. They were in a camp with perhaps five more tents directly in her line of vision, but she knew there were more all around. Jeeps and various vehicles, including Alethia’s van and one shiny black sports car were being moved around. Some were being parked, some were being driven off, careening onto a road that lead off into a forest.
Priscilla nudged her aside. She watched for a while before turning back to her. “I think they are all leaving. There’s two men with rifles by our tent, but everybody else is loading up.”
Sally Beth took her turn at the peephole. Priscilla was right. Jeeps and cars were clearing out. Two to four soldiers sat in each of the jeeps, their rifles bristling out like the legs of spiders, and two trucks filled with soldiers rolled by. She watched until they all left, until they were alone except for the two men who paced around their tent.
She moved back to the center of the space. “Sit back down. Put your feet together, and lay the rope over them. Make them think we are still tied up if they come in. She moved off to the side, draped a rope around her ankles, then snatched up another rope, holding it in her hands, which she moved behind her back. They sat quietly for a very long time, waiting, watching the entrance to the tent and listening to the men arguing and laughing outside.
Sally Beth wasn’t sure what she would do, but she was certain she would not let anything happen to Priscilla if she had a breath left in her body. She repeatedly went over in her mind the moves that Edna Mae had taught her. How to use an opponent’s weight against him. How to throw him and stomp on his windpipe. How to feint, then lunge, to grab a man around the neck and twist the head around.
She wondered if she could do it. Kill another human being. Take a God-given life. She had grown up believing peace was the answer. Her father and her mother had told her that there was always a peaceful resolution to things, that you did not have to resort to violence, that all people had some kindness in them.
But they had been wrong. They had not seen what she had seen for the last week—the desire to torture and murder, even delight in it, and she knew she had no choice. If she were to save Prissy, she would have to kill. And then she would see if God would forgive her, if she would forgive herself. She closed her eyes and prayed as honestly as she could.
Lord, I know I have done wrong. Things got hard and I just gave up on You. I wanted You to take care of me and those I love when others were dying and suffering. I know I was just thinking about my pitiful self, and I’m sorry. And maybe I used that as an excuse for my lust for John. I seduced him, and I didn’t give him a choice. I know I did, I was just so lonesome and so scared. I’m not really sorry, though, because it was beautiful, except I know I probably hurt him, and I am sorry for that. But I hope You understand and forgive me, and I hope that I am never sorry for it, or him, either, and please, don’t make me be sorry.
I know You love me, and I know You have better things planned for me than I could ever imagine, things here or in heaven. I don’t care, because if it comes from You, it will be good, and whatever evil that happens, I know You will find a way to make some good come of it. But Lord, I cannot watch what they will do to Prissy. I can’t. I just can’t. Lord, these are Your enemies; they are my enemies. Give me the strength to vanquish them. I ask You, Lord, I beg You.
Sally Beth stopped praying. A man had entered the tent. He glared at her, then his eyes roved over to Priscilla’s bare legs beneath her flimsy skirt, then up her body to her face. She sat up straight, her eyes defiant, staring at him as if she could kill him with only her thoughts. He laughed at her childish bravado, and Sally Beth could see the malevolent humor in his eyes. Prissy sat quietly, her legs together, her hands behind her back. Sally Beth began to tremble, but Prissy sat like a cold, heavy stone. There was no fear in her, only the burning defiance that blazed from her eyes.
Sally Beth took courage. The man held his rifle loosely in his hands. He pointed it at Sally Beth and spat out, “Bapbapbapbapbap,” laughing as she flinched. Then he pointed it at Priscilla, sneering, and let loose a quick burst of fire just beside her. Priscilla jumped, and so did Sally Beth. The ropes slid off their legs, and the man, startled at the sight, let out a quick bark before lunging for Priscilla. She rolled to the side and jumped up. Flinging aside all doubts, Sally Beth leaped at him from behind and tried to get her arm around his neck.
She might as well have been wrestling a tree. He was as solid as wood, and her lightweight attempt to throttle him was almost laughable. Edna Mae had told her it was easy. Now she knew it would only be easy to die at the hands of this brute. He reached behind him, grabbing her hair, and flung her over his head as easily as if she had been a cat scratching at his back. Then he turned to her, and as he raised his hand, Sally Beth cowered against the canvas wall, waiting for the blow.
The thoughts that came to her were surprisingly clear and devoid of emotion. There would be no ransom for her, but that did not matter because she did not deserve to be ransomed. And yet, grace would come; indeed, it had already made its way into the tent, giving her a sense of peace, a sureness that all would be well. This man’s sweating, sneering face would be the last thing she ever saw, but it did not frighten her, and it was not as ugly as she thought it should be.
Perhaps Death would take her quickly, she thought, and she fervently asked the Almighty that the same would be true for Prissy. She did not take her eyes from the face, distorted with bloodlust as she called aloud upon the name of Jesus.
The man’s eyes flew open, as if he were surprised, and she marveled that the name of Jesus had had an impact on him, until he made a strange sound and fell to his knees. Prissy loomed up behind him, and as she watched, the child stepped forward, leaning around him with something red in her hand. A soft gurgling sound escaped from his lips as her own eyes felt something fly into them. Through a red, smeary, mist, she saw him open his mouth and close it, as if he were thinking of something to say, and while she stared at his moving lips, he toppled forward and landed at her feet. Blood spilled out of his neck and quivering mouth onto her legs.
She looked up. Priscilla stood before her, a bloody knife in her hand, an indefinable look on her face. She dropped the knife to pick up the would-be attacker’s rifle, turned, strode to the corner by the opening of the tent, and waited, poised and still as a panther.
The man outside yelled. Priscilla raised the rifle. Sally Beth went to kneel in front of the dead man, facing the opening and blocking him from sight. A moment later, the man outside called again, and the two froze, holding their breath while the seconds ticked by in long, dusty silence.
The other man stuck his head into the opening and, somehow, Sally Beth found the courage to smile at him. As her eyes locked onto his, she forced herself to keep them steady, not to let them flicker over to Priscilla as the girl raised the rifle and fired at least five shots into the man’s chest.
He fell over, blood pouring out of his chest and mouth, while his body continued to move feebly. Priscilla stepped forward, pointed the rifle at his head and held her finger on the trigger until the sound became empty and impotent.
Sally Beth stumbled out of the tent, falling to her knees, fighting against waves of light and darkness, and then, suddenly, without warning, she vomited into the dirt. She heaved and spewed, then heaved more until there was nothing left, and then she looked at the blood soaking into her jeans, and she heaved again. Priscilla watched her silently, then she gently laid her hand on her head. Stroking her hair, she murmured, “There, there, Miss Sally Beth. It’s all over now. Those bad men can’t hurt you now.”
This rocked Sally Beth back on her heels. A fourteen-year-old girl had just disarmed a seasoned soldier, stabbed him in the back, slashed his throat, and then calmly waited for the chance to murder another. And now she was petting Sally Beth’s head and telling her not to be scared. The roles had become mixed up, and it made her angry to be trumped by the courage and mercy of a child. Grabbing Priscilla, she dragged her into her lap and rocked her like a baby as she sobbed and stroked her head.
Presently, she began to laugh as well as cry, but Priscilla did not let her indulge in her hysteria for long. She jumped up, dragging Sally Beth with her. “We have to go.” She picked up the rifles of both men, stripped the dead soldier at her feet of his ammunition and side arm. “Go get that other guy’s stuff. See if you can find a canteen.”
Sally Beth jumped up to follow the orders. It was more emotionally than physically hard to move the dead, bloody man enough to steal his ammunition, but she knew that if she was going to make it out of there with Priscilla, she’d better be ready to do just about anything. She dragged the clip, revolver, and a half-full canteen out of the tent.
“Do you suppose there’s any fresh water?” she asked. The thought of drinking after that man made her stomach lurch.
Priscilla pointed to several big plastic jugs of water sitting in the shade. “If we can get one of those onto a jeep, we’ll have enough water to last us. And maybe there’s food, too. I’m starving,” She looked at the puddle of Sally Beth’s vomit on the ground and added, “And I bet you will be, too, soon enough.”
There were two jeeps sitting under a sausage tree, neither of which had a key in the ignition, above the visor, in the ashtray, or under the front seat. Finally, Sally Beth said, “Prissy, if you help me push this thing over that rise there, I can get it started. Come on, it’s not uphill too much, and it isn’t far.” She leaped into the driver’s seat and disengaged the emergency brake, then put the gearshift into the neutral position.
Together, the two struggled to push the jeep up a short incline until it sat poised at the top. Sally Beth got behind the wheel. “Okay, just give her a little shove,” she said, putting her foot on the ground to help push. The jeep rocked, rolled forward a few inches, and began to roll slowly downward. Sally Beth drew her foot in, shut the door, and when the vehicle picked up a little more speed, she popped the clutch. It started.
“I’m going to drive over to those jugs and we can try to get one in the back seat.” She turned the jeep around, drove the thirty feet to the water station, and together, the two managed to wrestle a nearly-full container of water onto the back seat. Keeping the engine running, they looked into the other tents until they found some trail mix, candy, and a few granola bars. Priscilla stuffed some bananas into her pockets, then ducked into another tent and came out carrying several more rifles.
“You never know,” she said, as she threw them into the back seat beside the water jug.
And then they were off, not knowing exactly where they were, but aware that the only safe place to be was south of the border. Sally Beth squinted at the sun and took off in a generally southward direction.
“I don’t think we should stay on the main road,” she said. “The army will be all over the place, and we’ll be stopped at the border. Maybe we should head east, toward the lake. Maybe we can get a boat, or at least some help.”
Priscilla shrugged. “Sure. I think I remember this area. When my family was killed and my village burned, I walked through here. It doesn’t feel like we are too far from water.”
“Your family was killed?”
“Yes. Amin’s army, the most horrible men in the world. They live by killing and looting.” She fell silent, watching the grassy plains roll by. Sally Beth wanted to keep Priscilla from dwelling too much on the horrors of her past. This day alone held enough horrors.
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” she said softly.
Priscilla smiled. “Plenty sufficient. But the day they raped and killed my mother and sisters and tortured my father and brothers to death was more evil. My father had put me up in the rafters to hide, and it was so bad I couldn’t keep quiet. If I hadn’t killed them, they would have done the same to me.”
“You’ve killed men before?’
“Three of them. I just wish I had done it before they did what they did.”
Sally Beth wanted to ask her how she had managed that, but that would have meant asking her to relive that terrible time. She wondered how much Priscilla suffered for the things she had seen and done. “Thank you,” Sally Beth said softly. “I thought I would try to save you, but I was no match for those men. If it hadn’t been for you, I would be dead, or worse.”
Priscilla smiled at her. “I knew you would need me,” she said softly. “Jesus told me.” Her face was the sweet, plump-cheeked face of a child, but her eyes were old and wise. Behind the wisdom lurked a hundred years of suffering.