Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(34)

Sweat poured from my face and neck and drenched my shirt; it clung to my body. The panicked adrenaline was leaving in droves and my hands were shaking with the release.

I heard footsteps on the wood creak behind me. I turned to find Dingane, his white linen shirt had three buttons unbuttoned near his collar instead of his standard two and his usual carefully rolled sleeves were in disarray.

“How is she?” he asked about our little girl.

“She’s fine.” I paused. “I don’t really know. I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know.”

Dingane leaned against one of the wood posts holding up the aluminum awning and nodded.

“How often does this happen?” I asked him, staring at the dark outline of the baobab tree.

“Too often.”

“Why can they not be stopped?”

“They are illusive and they get protection from Northern Sudan.”

“Why?”

“Who knows. They’re evil?”

“Without a doubt.” I looked behind me into the schoolhouse. “How are the others?”

“I believe there will be no more death tonight,” he said solemnly.

I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and quiet tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry for them.”

Before the last word had even escaped my lips, the orphans in their beds above the kitchen, the original fifty-nine, began chanting their beautiful traditional songs and this made the tears fall even harder. I had no idea what they were singing, but their innocent voices rang throughout the camp and I couldn’t help but take solace in them. I listened for quite some time while the tears streamed.

“I thought they’d be asleep by now. It’s close to six in the morning,” I said, turning to Dingane.

“They couldn’t sleep I’ve been told.”

“Understandable,” I said, looking back up at their windows.

After a few minutes of beautiful song backed by a symphony of singing insects and night animals, I turned back to Dingane. “Why do they do it?”

“Because it brings them joy.”

“And what is there to be joyful about?” I asked honestly, thinking on the images of dead children curled into themselves at the village. Another burst of silent tears streamed down.

“Life, Sophie. They still live. They breathe, they love each other, they find joy in the world around them for no other reason than because they are children. They are resilient. They will always rise above. Always. It is a curious facet of the innocent young.

“If I hadn’t seen it before with my own eyes, I never would have believed it. Cynicism comes with the harshness of the world and only as you get older. I’d give anything to have their inherent happiness.”

Dingane turned toward me and I toward him, leaning on the post beside him. We stared at one another for a moment and a sense of understanding passed between us. I didn’t believe that he’d ever like me, but after the night we’d experienced, I did believe he would be more tolerant of me.

“You two should get some sleep,” Charles said, breaking the trance between Dingane and me.

“You and Karina should sleep. I can stay with them. They’ll sleep as well,” Dingane told him.

“I can help,” I added and Dingane whipped his head toward mine, nodding slightly.

“We’ll cancel classes tomorrow,” Charles said when Karina met his side. “Sophie and Dingane will watch them for a few hours. We can have Ruth and Solomon relieve them after breakfast.”

Karina nodded and both slumped toward their cabin. Dingane sat in the doorway and I followed his example, sitting against the pole opposite him, both our legs spread out before us. I crossed mine at the ankles.

“I’ll check them every few minutes,” he explained.

“I’m glad Karina had sedatives.”

“It’s the last of our supply. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to replenish.”

“You don’t have a regular supplier?” I asked.

Dingane smiled softly sending butterflies in my stomach fluttering, the basic attraction I held for him not being able to be denied despite our current situation. “We don’t have anything like that, though I wish we did.”

I just couldn’t imagine that this very desperate place couldn’t get aid from western civilization.

“Uganda is a forgotten place, isn’t it?”

“Uganda, South Sudan, Kenya, Africa, really.”

“Why?” I asked softly.

“Two reasons. People think this, our predicament, is an exaggeration or they’re in total denial. Pretending it doesn’t exist allows for a light conscience.”

I scoffed at that in disbelief but then thought on it. I’d never really heard of these places save for the occasional TV ad asking/imploring people for aid. I never thought twice about it. Ashamed, I turned my head.

“And the other?” I asked him directly after gathering my guilt.

“They assume someone will take care of it, their governments really, but all they need to do is take the problem into their own hands. Governments are unreliable, corrupt entities. It will only be solved by the hands of many. Thousands of small pebbles, giant splash and all that.”

It was quiet for a moment and the night air was filled with those singing insects again.