Sooley(23)
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“I have to go find my family,” Samuel said.
Ecko shook his head and replied, “You can’t do that, Samuel, not now anyway. It’s a war zone and you can’t get near it.”
“I have to go.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not going to happen, at least not now. Maybe later.”
Samuel sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped his face with a sleeve. “I should’ve been there.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Samuel. For now, until we know more, let’s pray for a miracle.”
“I have to go.”
“No, Samuel.”
He wiped his face again and took a bottle of water from Ecko. “I just knew something bad was going to happen. When I left home, I just had this feeling down deep that something bad would happen. I shouldn’t have left.”
“You couldn’t have stopped it, Samuel.”
“I just knew it. I just knew it. My father, my mother, Angelina, James and Chol. Why wasn’t I there with them?”
“Because you were here and they were so proud of you for being here, Samuel.”
He wept again, deep painful sobs that shuddered through his body.
The door opened and Frankie walked in, followed by all fourteen players. They huddled around their friend, hugged him, said they were so sorry, and wept with him.
CHAPTER 15
They stopped at the edge of a dry creek and rested on some boulders. There were twenty of them, six women who were now widows, and their children, and they huddled together in the predawn darkness and whispered now and then. Beatrice knew two of the other women; all were from her village. All believed that their husbands and sons were dead, though they could not yet dwell on the massacre. It felt as though it was still happening.
They were desperately thirsty and hungry and had nothing but the clothes they were wearing. The smallest children whimpered and clutched their mothers, who were dazed, exhausted, and stricken with fear. They did not know where they were, nor where they were going. They weren’t sure they were fleeing the carnage in one general direction, or whether they had been moving in circles. The narrow footpaths they had tried to follow forked and twisted and led them nowhere. Several times during the night they were aware of others moving silently in the pitch blackness of the woods.
The sky to the east began to lighten, so they at least had a sense of direction. East over there, north to its left. But what did it matter when they had no destination? All that mattered was food and water. And safety. There were no sounds; no gunfire, no trucks. Nothing. Did the silence mean they were safe?
Emmanuel, a teenage boy from Lotta, appeared and asked if he could join them. Of course he could, but they had nothing to offer. He said he had passed a small farm an hour earlier and thought they should try to find it. Maybe the farmer would give them food and water and tell them where to go.
Beatrice asked him if he had seen Angelina but knew the question was useless. He did not know her. His own family had been slaughtered by the rebels—mother, father, three older brothers. If he had a gun he would go back and kill the rebels. Going back might be suicide but they still wanted to see their homes. Maybe there were survivors. Maybe Angelina had somehow been spared. And maybe Ayak had escaped and was looking for them. Beatrice desperately wanted to go search for her daughter and husband.
Emmanuel said that he had escaped into the woods and climbed high into a tree on a hill, and from there he had watched the village burn. There was nothing left. The gunfire had continued as the rebels executed the men.
Weak and bone-weary, they followed Emmanuel along the creek bed, hoping to find a pool of water or even a puddle, but it was the dry season and the ground was parched and cracked. The sun was up and getting hotter, but mercifully the creek ran beside the woods and there was shade. Emmanuel turned onto a dirt path made by livestock and they walked half a mile and stopped. He told them to sit and wait while he approached the farmer and asked for help. They waited in the shade and listened for sounds of other people, possibly soldiers. They prayed for food and water.
Emmanuel came back with nothing. The farmer had little food for his own family and he was out of water. He said they were about six miles south of Lotta and that other villagers had stopped by in the night, begging for help. He felt sorry for them but had nothing to share. There was a camp further south and he had heard the rumor that there was water and shelter there. That sliver of hope lifted their spirits somewhat, and they began walking.
And walking.
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The coaches were up early. They ignored the free breakfast in the lobby and took their coffee to the conference room where they opened their laptops and began searching. There was nothing on the U.S. sites, nothing out of Johannesburg. The BBC was reporting a fierce conflict in and around the city of Rumbek, but the story was not significant. After decades of conflict and massacres, and broken peace accords, and countless dead civilians, more bad news from South Sudan was not worthy of coverage.
On the fourth try, Ecko got the lieutenant on his sat phone. According to him, the battle had shifted and their army was gaining on the rebels. They hoped to reclaim the villages in a day or so. Lotta was still controlled by the rebels and it was in the hardest hit area.