“Jack Warden,” Olonana prompted him for a response. “I have come a long way to bring you these children.”
“What . . . ?” Jack paused. “How . . . ?”
“The last time we met, you told me you would be in Magesa, end of the month. I am glad I caught up with you. I cannot go any farther with the cattle, so I leave them with you.” He gestured toward the children that were huddled around him. “Where are the other kids, the ones you were transporting to Wanza?”
“It didn’t work out, but you . . .” Jack scanned the faces before us. “How did you end up with all these children?”
“We found them in the back of a cargo van, not far from the town of Bunda. The car was parked outside a restaurant. We heard thudding from the inside, so we stopped to check it out. Salaton here—” he pointed to one of themoranswith him “—he jiggled the lock with his spear. We found them bound and gagged inside. Some of them have been abducted from their homes, others traded. They tell me there were more kids, but . . .” Olonana shook his head. “The men who had them are dangerous people. They trade in black magic. They are delivering these kids, one by one, for sacrificial rites. It won’t be long before they track us down. We made the children walk between the cattle to hide them and distort the footprints. The rain hasn’t helped though. We’ve left a trail in the mud. A good tracker will be able to find us. And they will. These kids are worth a lot of money to them. You must get them to Wanza as soon as you can.”
Jack did not respond. His face was like a blank slate—emotionless and expressionless. Silence loomed, gray and heavy as the mist. The gravity of the situation was not lost on me. Neither was Jack’s predicament. We weren’t prepared for this. We had no car, no supplies, and no way of safeguarding thirteen kids against whoever was chasing them down.
“The van you found the kids in—” I said to Olonana. “What did it look like?”
“It was white,” he replied. “And yellow.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “With an air-conditioning logo?”
“I think so. Yes.” Olonana’s brows drew together. “You saw it too?”
“We did. On the way to Magesa. They must have been searching for the kids. They almost ran Jack over.” I turned to him, waiting for a response, but he looked like the Jack I had seen on the porch the first day, the one who had closed himself off to everyone and everything. Something was very wrong.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked the chief.
He nodded, and I pulled Jack aside. The mist shrouded us from the rest of the group.
“Jack?”
He stared at me with the kind of detachment that made me flounder.
“Jack! Snap out of it.” My panic seemed to get through to him. His eyes changed and then darkened with unreadable emotion.
“I can’t,” he said. It came out choked, like his breath was being cut off. “I can’t. Dear God, not again.” He hunched over, holding his sides as if he was in excruciating pain. “It comes at you from nowhere. One minute you’re buying balloons for your daughter, and the next . . . she’s gone, and you can’t even get up. Because something’s pinned you down in the parking lot. The weight of it. I can feel it all over again. Right here.” He held his hand to his chest and took long, staggering breaths. “I wish I could do this, but I can’t, Rodel. I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. I’m not the strong, selfless hero. I’m just a guy trying to get over his daughter’s loss. I came prepared—in my head—for three kids. I would lay down my life for them and for you. But this . . . escorting thirteen easy targets with a bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs on our trail . . . it’s got disaster written all over it. I have no way of protecting them. And I can’t stand to have any more blood on my hands, Rodel. I can’t.”
I reached for his hand, because I was breaking with him,forhim, and holding hands with Jack always made me feel like I was reaching for solid ground. Something became unstuck from my palm and fell to the ground. It was the small square of milk chocolate that I had been holding when we’d left the tent.
“Here.” I picked it up and gave it to Jack. “Chocolate makes everything better.” They were Goma’s words, and for a second she was there, standing over us, strong and stalwart, like the gnarled, guardian tree that watched over the graves behind the manor.
“Melted chocolate.” He held it in his palm for a long moment. “Lily’s favorite.” He seemed lost in his thoughts as he unpeeled it from its sticky wrapper. “I hear you, baby girl.” It was barely a whisper, but he stood taller as he said it. Bit by bit, his body seemed to fill with new breath. “I hear you. Louder than all the crap in my head. Louder than all the things that scare me.” He broke the chocolate square in half and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste like it was some sweet memory.
“I haven’t forgotten how brave you were when you danced in front of all those people. I lost you, my sweet angel, but I’m not going to let those kids down. I need to face up to my own demons. I need to stop feeling like I failed you. God, Lily. Wherever you are. Daddy misses you so much. So, so much.” His voice cracked, and he shut his eyes in silent tribute. When he looked up, his eyes were glinting like diamond blue points of clarity in the diaphanous veils of mist that swirled around us.
He held out the other half of the chocolate for me and smiled. “Goma knows what she’s talking about. Chocolate makes everything better.”
Our fingers brushed as I took the candy from him. I couldn’t help the alarm bells that went off in my head. I could see danger coming, its gleaming edge sheathed in the mist. And though I had started this, sitting in a pub miles away, watching horrific images flash across the screen, I wanted Jack to walk away. How could I have known that in trying to do something for my sister, I would end up putting the man I loved in danger?
NIGHT HAD FALLENby the time I finished tending to the kids. I put away the first aid kit and plopped down beside Jack.
“Are they all right?” he asked. But his eyes held concern for me too. We’d been slipping in and out of these moments all afternoon, where everything faded and it was just the two of us, in spite of the chaos—the kids, the cattle, the trio of Maasai men, around us.
“They’re survivors,” I replied, drinking in the comfort of his nearness.
The children had trekked a long way. They were hungry, hurt, exhausted. They had lacerations from being bound by cable ties. The ones who had fought back had more—bruises, sprains, and worse. They let me tend to their wounds, some with detached gazes, others with anger, fear, confusion, gratitude.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as Jack fidgeted with his phone.
“I wanted to contact Bahati. Ask him to gather a couple of drivers on his way here, ones that can be trusted. We won’t be able to fit all these kids in his jeep. But my battery is gone.”
“We’ll figure something out when he gets here. Have you told Olonana that he’s coming?”
