rumbling toward us through the savanna. I told our guide, Katu, who looked through his own binoculars. Immediately, he ordered our driver off the road into the dry brush. Our driver skidded into a ditch. Nearly rolling, he drove back up the bank as the truck swerved ahead, blockading our route. We had to stop.
“Four army rebels, wearing old soldier fatigues, filed out of the truck’s canvas doors. Firing their Kalashnikovs into the air, they ordered us off the Land Cruiser. Katu calmly told us to obey, so we climbed down and put our hands in the air.
“They searched us roughly. When one groped my friend Anika, her brother Peter shouted at him. The rebel hit Peter so hard with his rifle barrel, Peter staggered into the bumper, bleeding from his ear.
“After gathering our cash and valuables, the commander lifted his Kalashnikov and shot our driver. He crumpled onto the dirt, dead. Katu aimed his hunting rifle at the rebels, shouting, ‘Let them go! They’re children!’
“Samuel, our spotter, had jumped into the driver’s seat and throttled into first … and suddenly, like that”—I snap my fingers—“the commander shot Samuel too.”
“’Stay back!’ Katu ordered, trying to stand in front of all seven of us at once. When the commander pointed his AK at Peter, Katu finally pulled the trigger … I’ll never forget that sound … click!
“Katu’s ammunition had jammed in the chamber. He looked over at me—like he knew. I reached into my boot, pulled out my 5-7, and fired twice. The commander dropped to the ground. A rebel shot Katu, so I shot him too, a double tap into his stomach …
“ ‘Go! Go! Go!’ Katu yelled. Bleeding, he knelt like a sentry in the back of the truck, firing to cover our escape … A kilometer out, I used my belt to tourniquet Katu’s leg. Samuel was barely alive. I plugged the artery in his neck with my fingers. Peter drove, blood seeping from his ruptured eardrum the whole way.
“My parents met us at Kenyatta National Hospital. A few hours later I was in Johannesburg. I never saw Katu, Peter, or Samuel again …”
Aksel watches me intently.
I look down at my fists, clenched to prevent the shaking.
“Turns out, they weren’t rebel Sudanese soldiers looking for quick cash … so that was the first time I saw them face-to-face.” I keep my voice from shaking now too.
“Saw who?” Aksel asks tentatively.
Let the memories happen so they cannot control you.
Exhaling, I look at Aksel. “Terrorists.”
CHAPTER 16
“Who are you?” Aksel says with a low whistle.
His hand hasn’t moved from the gearshift, centimeters from my bare leg; no, less than centimeters, millimeters. Aksel’s face has transformed—his shield of animosity or indifference, or whatever it was between us, has been stripped away.
“You saved them,” he states.
“Not our driver,” I say quietly.
Aksel shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”
“No, it’s okay. I should talk about it. It’s healthy possibly?”
Aksel’s jaw is set firmly and his expression is stoic, but his vibrant eyes watch me earnestly. My heart turns inside my chest.
Aksel drops his knee from the steering wheel and angles his body toward mine.
I feel his presence like electricity—pulsating currents pass from Aksel’s eyes into my skin, rippling through my nervous system and causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end.
“I haven’t been avoiding you—not the way you think.”
“It’s fine.” I shake my head, embarrassed I’d said it aloud earlier. “You don’t have to explain why you don’t like me, or whatever. I did pull a knife on you …”
An elusive smile passes his lips. “That’s what you think?”
All of a sudden, the Defender, surrounded by snow and ice, feels incredibly hot, like I am starting to sweat when I should be freezing.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” I say defensively.
Aksel appraises me with a steady, unwavering gaze. His eyes feel like they are boring right through me, trying to connect something.
Apparently, our polite interlude is over.
His full lips part over straight white teeth. He looks perplexed. “Yeah, but this has nothing to do with whether or not I … like you.”
“What other reason is there?”
Readjusting the flashlight, he drapes his left hand on the wheel as if he needs a place to put it. He watches me discerningly, carefully arranging his words. “I wondered why you came to Waterford. Not a lot of people from abroad move here.”
“So because I’m new you think I don’t belong here and expect me not to be confused, or wonder about whatever it is