window, just as the hideous rattle of a machine gun sounded in the distance.
Claire jumped halfway out of her seat and felt her head smack against one of the hardened steel roll bars along the Land Cruiser’s roof. A wet warmth spread between her thighs.
“What the—” Lars yelled. She saw him tug on the wheel as the SUV lurched away from the offending contact.
But the fist followed, and now it was pounding again and again. A large black face pressed against the window.
“Doctor Lars, doctor Lars!”
“Oh shit,” Lars said. “Guess I know this guy.”
The cars in front of them started moving, and the mass of people outside was now running, frantic faces and crying children. She crossed her legs and pulled a bag up onto her lap. Not perfect, but it did the job.
Lars rolled down the window a few inches.
“Doctor Lars, you treat my son at hospital, two weeks past.” The man was breathless, an expression of uncontrolled fear glowing in his brown eyes.
“ Eh bien. Je vois. ”
Claire swore under her breath as Lars and the man carried out a hurried exchange in French. The only words she could pick out were what sounded like three letters repeated over and over. L-R-A .
“LRA viennent, ” the man was whispering. “ Vous devez échapper. Evadez-vous maintenant! ”
“ Merci, mon ami, ” Lars replied. “ Allez avec Dieu. ”
The man disappeared into the crowd as Lars stepped on the gas and swerved onto a small rutted track cutting off the main road.
“What did he say? What are you doing?” Claire realized she was shouting. She tried to continue more calmly. “My French is horrible already, but I can’t understand anything with that awful African accent.”
Lars kept his eyes ahead as he responded quietly. “He seems to think that the LRA is here.”
“LRA?” She recognized the letters from somewhere, but there were too many acronyms in this swarm of rebel groups and government forces to keep track of them all.
“Lord’s Resistance Army. Joseph Kony and his crazies. That LRA.”
Now she remembered. Kony 2012 and all that YouTube hype. Hadn’t they caught him already? Claire knew the psychotic Ugandan warlord was famous for his brutality, but she was still shocked to see the change that had come over Olsson’s face. It looked as though all the healthy tanned color had drained away, leaving a much frailer old man in its place.
“Where are we going?”
Claire laid a hand on his wiry arm, feeling her own fear dissipate slightly as an honest tenderness welled up within her. Did he have some kind of history with them?
“There’s another route that can get us to the border,” he said. “Runs parallel to the Goma-Gisenyi road.”
The color was already returning to his face, accompanied by a fierce look of hardened resolve. But that didn’t change what Claire had seen moments before. He was vulnerable after all, this jaded humanitarian who seemed to take such pleasure in making her feel small.
“Won’t they close the border station?”
“They might try,” he said. “As long as we can get there we should be okay. I’ve been known to play the doctor card to great effect.”
“Doctor card?”
“Here in Africa they love us white doctors.” He shrugged.
Claire looked out the window as they bumped along the muddy track. Dilapidated tents were crammed one after another on either side, and there was no sign of a cross path that might let them continue eastward toward the Rwandan border. She hadn’t spent much time in the informal refugee camps surrounding the city, but something seemed to be wrong here. Where were all the people?
There. A break in the tents opened up ahead. The SUV skidded to a stop, and Olsson began turning the wheel to maneuver it onto an impossibly narrow path. Now they were going in the right direction, at least.
Claire gasped.
A monstrous black pick-up truck turned into their path, not more than fifty yards ahead. She could see four men above the darkly
Claire jumped halfway out of her seat and felt her head smack against one of the hardened steel roll bars along the Land Cruiser’s roof. A wet warmth spread between her thighs.
“What the—” Lars yelled. She saw him tug on the wheel as the SUV lurched away from the offending contact.
But the fist followed, and now it was pounding again and again. A large black face pressed against the window.
“Doctor Lars, doctor Lars!”
“Oh shit,” Lars said. “Guess I know this guy.”
The cars in front of them started moving, and the mass of people outside was now running, frantic faces and crying children. She crossed her legs and pulled a bag up onto her lap. Not perfect, but it did the job.
Lars rolled down the window a few inches.
“Doctor Lars, you treat my son at hospital, two weeks past.” The man was breathless, an expression of uncontrolled fear glowing in his brown eyes.
“ Eh bien. Je vois. ”
Claire swore under her breath as Lars and the man carried out a hurried exchange in French. The only words she could pick out were what sounded like three letters repeated over and over. L-R-A .
“LRA viennent, ” the man was whispering. “ Vous devez échapper. Evadez-vous maintenant! ”
“ Merci, mon ami, ” Lars replied. “ Allez avec Dieu. ”
The man disappeared into the crowd as Lars stepped on the gas and swerved onto a small rutted track cutting off the main road.
“What did he say? What are you doing?” Claire realized she was shouting. She tried to continue more calmly. “My French is horrible already, but I can’t understand anything with that awful African accent.”
Lars kept his eyes ahead as he responded quietly. “He seems to think that the LRA is here.”
“LRA?” She recognized the letters from somewhere, but there were too many acronyms in this swarm of rebel groups and government forces to keep track of them all.
“Lord’s Resistance Army. Joseph Kony and his crazies. That LRA.”
Now she remembered. Kony 2012 and all that YouTube hype. Hadn’t they caught him already? Claire knew the psychotic Ugandan warlord was famous for his brutality, but she was still shocked to see the change that had come over Olsson’s face. It looked as though all the healthy tanned color had drained away, leaving a much frailer old man in its place.
“Where are we going?”
Claire laid a hand on his wiry arm, feeling her own fear dissipate slightly as an honest tenderness welled up within her. Did he have some kind of history with them?
“There’s another route that can get us to the border,” he said. “Runs parallel to the Goma-Gisenyi road.”
The color was already returning to his face, accompanied by a fierce look of hardened resolve. But that didn’t change what Claire had seen moments before. He was vulnerable after all, this jaded humanitarian who seemed to take such pleasure in making her feel small.
“Won’t they close the border station?”
“They might try,” he said. “As long as we can get there we should be okay. I’ve been known to play the doctor card to great effect.”
“Doctor card?”
“Here in Africa they love us white doctors.” He shrugged.
Claire looked out the window as they bumped along the muddy track. Dilapidated tents were crammed one after another on either side, and there was no sign of a cross path that might let them continue eastward toward the Rwandan border. She hadn’t spent much time in the informal refugee camps surrounding the city, but something seemed to be wrong here. Where were all the people?
There. A break in the tents opened up ahead. The SUV skidded to a stop, and Olsson began turning the wheel to maneuver it onto an impossibly narrow path. Now they were going in the right direction, at least.
Claire gasped.
A monstrous black pick-up truck turned into their path, not more than fifty yards ahead. She could see four men above the darkly
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