Mists of the Serengeti(100)

Gunshots. Screaming. Chaos. Panic.

All hell had broken loose while she was in the elevator, and Mo found herself smack dab in the middle of it. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew it was bad. She made her way to Dr. Nasmo’s office, but one side of the door was shattered, and she couldn’t see anyone inside. Gunfire rattled through the air, first to the right of her, and then to the left. It was coming from all around.

Mo dropped to her knees, deafened and disoriented. There was no time to think. She crawled under a table in the food court and covered her ears. Fear, like she’d never known, welled up in her throat, but she swallowed the screams. She jumped as a bullet grazed one of the chairs next to her. She was too open, too exposed.

Her eyes darted around—past the flurry of feet that were running by her: white trainers, leather sandals, manicured toes, little pink shoes. There was a room beyond the food court, off to the side. No one was coming in or out of it. Mo wasn’t sure if heading there was a good idea, but she knew she had to get as far away from the sound of gunfire as she could.

She made a dash for it, half rolling, half crawling, until she got to it. It was empty—rows of folding chairs, some toppled over, arranged before a stage. The shuddering sound of her breath echoed around her. She leaned back against the wall, hugging her knees.

“Over here,” someone said. “Get in here.”

She looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. Then she spotted a slit in the fabric at the base of the stage. It was an elevated stage, with a skirted bottom to hide the scaffolding. The perfect place to hide.

“Hello?” Mo crawled inside. It was so dark her eyes took a while to adjust.

“Shhh,” said a figure sitting on the other side. “Don’t be afraid. My dad will be here soon. He’ll make everything okay. He always does.” It was a little girl, with her hair tied up in a ponytail.

“Your dad?” Mo swallowed the lump in her throat. The girl couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but her faith in her father was so strong, that she was reassuring a grown woman. “Where’s your dad?”

“My teacher said he went to drop off the balloons. She told me to go with the other kids, but then he won’t be able to find me. I know he’ll come to get me. He’s always in the front. Right there. See?” She pushed the stage skirt aside and pointed to the chairs.

“Yellow balloons?” asked Mo. The man with the balloons, that had stopped her in her tracks. “Your father was holding yellow balloons?”

“Yes! Did you see him?”

“I did.” Mo sat back. She’d seen him leave the mall, minutes before the chaos erupted. Even if he made it back inside, she had no idea if he’d make it to his daughter unharmed. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“Why are they doing it?” asked the girl. “What do those bad men want?”

Mo took a deep breath. She was wrestling with the same question herself. “I wish I knew.”

They were whispering in the dark, between violent cracks of gunfire. Their insides clenched with each shrill, sporadic barrage of horror. But in-between, they pretended as if they were meeting under different circumstances.

“What’s your name?” asked Mo.

“Lily. What’s yours?”

“Mo.”

“You’re pretty. I like your glasses. Are you married?” Lily paused at the sound of shattered glass. Something crashed. There was a moment of silence and then the hoarse howling of people. “I think my father should get married,” she continued. “He misses me when I’m away. I know he’s lonely, even though he has Goma.”

“Who’s Goma?”

“My great-grandmother. She made me this skirt.” Lily smoothed the circle of her tutu.

“It’s beautiful.” Mo touched the fabric and felt small, sharp shards of regret assail her. She should have called her parents more. She should have gone home for Christmas. She should have mailed Ro postcards and silly knickknacks. Suddenly, she had the overwhelming need to reach out to her family. Her parents were in Thailand, but Ro would be in her flat. For once, Mo was thankful for the one steady constant in her life—her sister.

The space under the stage glowed blue as Mo powered up her phone. She noticed a bunch of missed calls. Someone had been trying to reach her, but she had missed them in all the chaos. She dismissed the notifications and dialed Ro’s number. It rang a few times, and then went to voice mail. Mo moved to the other side, away from Lily, and lowered her voice.

“Ro, I’m in Kilimani Mall. A shit storm just broke out. Something bad is going down. There are gunmen everywhere. I’m hiding under the stage, in some kind of hall. There’s a little girl with me. She’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Lily.

Mo put her hand over the phone and turned to her. “It’s my sister. In England.”

“Oh. Tell her not to worry. Tell her my father will be here soon and then we’ll be okay.”

“Yes, sweetheart.” She held her tears in check as she spoke into the phone again. “We’re going to wait it out. I think it’s safe here, but if I don’t . . . if I don’t make it, I just want to say I love you, Ro. Tell Mum and Dad I love them too. I don’t want you to worry when you listen to this message. We’ll probably laugh at this someday. It’ll be another one of my crazy stories, like when I thought I was going to die on that ferry in Australia.” She paused as urgent footsteps entered the hall. “I have to go now,” she whispered. And then, because it sounded like a goodbye, and she didn’t want her sister to panic, she added, “I’ve taken all the chances, Ro . . .” She trailed off as the footsteps came closer. When they stopped outside, a few feet from the stage, Mo hung up and held her breath.