brought his rifle to bear, pulling back on the bolt to load a round into the chamber.
The crack of thunder shook the earth as the rebel’s chest exploded, a bullet tearing through the muscle, sinew and bones, coming from somewhere behind him. The rebel fell into the darkness, disappearing from sight. Demons moved around her, dark specters sinking back into the night.
Her heart raced. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked around and as suddenly as it had come the violence was replaced with the soft patter of rain.
Bower stood there in the drizzle.
She shouldn’t have stood. She wasn’t even sure when she’d stood up, but somehow she was standing there by the low, stone wall. Something told her to stay down, and yet terror seized her muscles, refusing to let her crouch close to the earth.
Someone was screaming, a woman. The pitch of the woman's voice was unearthly, piercing the night, a banshee howling with the wind. Bower felt a sense of dread washing over her, an expectation of the worst, that she would die here in Africa.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and she jumped.
“Hey, it’s OK,” said Kowalski. “It’s me. Come with me.”
And Kowalski led her away into the hut. It was only then that Bower realized she’d been the one screaming.
Chapter 04: Las Vegas
Bower didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but the sun was rising in the sky, creeping across the mud floor of the hut. She was lying on a blanket, with a rolled-up jacket as a pillow. The ground beneath her felt uncomfortably hard.
The hut was empty. Bower could hear Kowalski outside talking with one of the patients. Her neck was sore. She sat up, feeling stiff.
“The axle’s fucked,” yelled one of the soldiers. “Goddamn it, Bosco, can’t you do anything right. You fuck up the radio, you fuck up our transport. What is it, man? Are you determined to bury us in Africa? Those nice rebels deliver us a perfectly good truck and you shoot it to shit.”
Several other soldiers laughed, making fun of Bosco.
Bower staggered to the door of the mud hut and saw Smithy examining the truck that had crashed into the wall the night before. The front wheels had ridden up over the crushed stone wall, dropping the chassis down onto the rocks and breaking the front axle. Hydraulic fluid mixed with oil as it seeped out on the ground. Already, the sun had dried the puddles of water lying around the village. Cracks formed in the hardening mud.
“Hey,” Kowalski said, coming over to her and offering to help her walk to where Jameson was sitting on the remains of the wall.
“What the hell happened to me?”
“You were shaking, mumbling. Your eyes were dilated.”
Bower was silent, she knew what he wasn’t saying, ‘You were in shock.’
Kowalski handed her a water canteen.
“I gave you a sedative.”
“You gave me a headache.”
“That too. I thought it was best to let you sleep.”
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Jameson said as Bower wandered past. It must have been somewhere between ten and eleven judging from the angle and heat of the sun.
Bower was in no mood for small talk. She splashed water on her face, running her hands up through her hair, feeling a matted tangle on one side. She tried not to think about what she looked like, knowing she must look a mess.
“Sleep well?” Jameson asked.
“My head feels like someone’s been hitting it with a jack-hammer. I have a hangover without touching a drop of wine. Is there any fate worse?”
Bower squinted, noticing her backpack sitting on the grass beside the soldier’s gear. After rummaging through her pack she found a pair of sunglasses and a hat.
“Oh, that is so much better,” she mumbled.
Stretching her back, she looked around at her patients. One of the nurses had cooked up some maize and was dishing out bowls to the patients. They were merrily chatting with each other. Kowalski went back to examining the premature baby, listening to its heartbeat and
The crack of thunder shook the earth as the rebel’s chest exploded, a bullet tearing through the muscle, sinew and bones, coming from somewhere behind him. The rebel fell into the darkness, disappearing from sight. Demons moved around her, dark specters sinking back into the night.
Her heart raced. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She looked around and as suddenly as it had come the violence was replaced with the soft patter of rain.
Bower stood there in the drizzle.
She shouldn’t have stood. She wasn’t even sure when she’d stood up, but somehow she was standing there by the low, stone wall. Something told her to stay down, and yet terror seized her muscles, refusing to let her crouch close to the earth.
Someone was screaming, a woman. The pitch of the woman's voice was unearthly, piercing the night, a banshee howling with the wind. Bower felt a sense of dread washing over her, an expectation of the worst, that she would die here in Africa.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and she jumped.
“Hey, it’s OK,” said Kowalski. “It’s me. Come with me.”
And Kowalski led her away into the hut. It was only then that Bower realized she’d been the one screaming.
Chapter 04: Las Vegas
Bower didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but the sun was rising in the sky, creeping across the mud floor of the hut. She was lying on a blanket, with a rolled-up jacket as a pillow. The ground beneath her felt uncomfortably hard.
The hut was empty. Bower could hear Kowalski outside talking with one of the patients. Her neck was sore. She sat up, feeling stiff.
“The axle’s fucked,” yelled one of the soldiers. “Goddamn it, Bosco, can’t you do anything right. You fuck up the radio, you fuck up our transport. What is it, man? Are you determined to bury us in Africa? Those nice rebels deliver us a perfectly good truck and you shoot it to shit.”
Several other soldiers laughed, making fun of Bosco.
Bower staggered to the door of the mud hut and saw Smithy examining the truck that had crashed into the wall the night before. The front wheels had ridden up over the crushed stone wall, dropping the chassis down onto the rocks and breaking the front axle. Hydraulic fluid mixed with oil as it seeped out on the ground. Already, the sun had dried the puddles of water lying around the village. Cracks formed in the hardening mud.
“Hey,” Kowalski said, coming over to her and offering to help her walk to where Jameson was sitting on the remains of the wall.
“What the hell happened to me?”
“You were shaking, mumbling. Your eyes were dilated.”
Bower was silent, she knew what he wasn’t saying, ‘You were in shock.’
Kowalski handed her a water canteen.
“I gave you a sedative.”
“You gave me a headache.”
“That too. I thought it was best to let you sleep.”
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Jameson said as Bower wandered past. It must have been somewhere between ten and eleven judging from the angle and heat of the sun.
Bower was in no mood for small talk. She splashed water on her face, running her hands up through her hair, feeling a matted tangle on one side. She tried not to think about what she looked like, knowing she must look a mess.
“Sleep well?” Jameson asked.
“My head feels like someone’s been hitting it with a jack-hammer. I have a hangover without touching a drop of wine. Is there any fate worse?”
Bower squinted, noticing her backpack sitting on the grass beside the soldier’s gear. After rummaging through her pack she found a pair of sunglasses and a hat.
“Oh, that is so much better,” she mumbled.
Stretching her back, she looked around at her patients. One of the nurses had cooked up some maize and was dishing out bowls to the patients. They were merrily chatting with each other. Kowalski went back to examining the premature baby, listening to its heartbeat and
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