They need our assistance. Their entire families need help. And the local government is working with Koku, a bastard of a warlord, stealing the aid packages that are supposed to be going to the refugee camps.”
“And you think a protest is going to make a difference?” Buck shook his head.
“We had to do something,” Angela said. “The local government wasn’t helping.”
“I’m not here to argue with you. I’m just telling you that you’re in danger.”
She jerked her hand free of his and squared off with him, her shoulders back, her chin held high. “We knew that when we started. It was a risk we were all willing to take.”
“Yeah, well, the only way to reason with a man like Koku is with force.”
“We were protesting the local government, not Koku,” Angela insisted.
“Since they’re in cahoots with him, it’s the same thing.” He narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step toward her. “Now, are you coming with me peacefully, or am I going to have to carry you out of here?”
Angela backed up a step, then another. “I don’t have to go with you. I have to get back to my practice.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me until we know what’s happening. And the longer we stand here arguing, the greater chance there is of one of Koku’s men finding us and settling our argument with bullets.” He lunged toward her, bending as if to scoop her up.
“Hold it right there, buddy,” she said. “You don’t have to carry me like a Neanderthal.”
Sounds of gunfire erupted.
Angela ducked, her heart pounding. Maybe he was right. Now wasn’t the time to argue. “Fine. I’ll go with you. For the time being...”
Graham grabbed her hand and ran, leading her away from the street and into the shadows of a crumbling wall. They followed the wall until they came to the back of the building, which was no more than a pile of rubble.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “And what the hell is happening back there?”
He nodded toward the damaged apartment building. “We’re going there. And I don’t know what’s happening. Hopefully, we’ll find out when we meet up with the rest of the team.”
“Team?” she asked but was cut off when he practically yanked her arm out of its socket, dragging her toward the damaged apartment building.
Just as he started to climb a set of stairs leading up, five men came running down.
“Abandon ship,” one of them said and raced past them.
“What’s going on?” Graham asked.
“If the motorcade belongs to Koku, he’s not here to schmooze with the locals,” the second man down the stairs said. “He’s here to destroy it and the people inside.”
The man behind him continued speaking. “We think the trailer that just pulled up in front of the compound is full of explosives.” He kept running.
A big blond guy with massive shoulders was the last one out. “Run!”
Graham and Angela raced after the departing men. As they neared the structure on the back side of the abandoned apartment building, an explosion rocked the ground, spewing chunks of concrete, rock and splinters of wood into the air.
Angela fell to the ground and covered the back of her neck.
Graham fell on top of her, using his body as a shield to protect her. When the debris stopped falling, he was back up, dragging her to her feet.
The rapid report of gunfire sounded behind them.
The men didn’t stop until they reached a beat-up old van a couple blocks away.
The first guy there threw open the side door, leaped inside and crawled into the driver’s seat. The others piled in after him.
When Angela reached the van, Graham lifted her and tossed her in like a load of laundry. He dived in behind her, landing on top of her, and someone slammed the door shut.
Angela could barely breathe with Graham’s weight pressing her into the metal floor.
The popping noise of automatic weapons sounded close by.
“Go! Go! Go!” someone shouted.
The man behind the steering wheel shifted into Drive and spun out, leaving a layer of rubber on the street. Something hit the side of the vehicle.
Graham grunted and stiffened, letting out a string of curses.
Finally, he rolled off her and sat up.
Angela dragged in a deep breath, filling her lungs, and then pushed to a sitting position.
Two men sat in the seats up front. The bigger guy had sandy-blond hair. The driver had black hair. Three other men besides Graham crowded into the back, sitting or squatting with their backs to the walls of the van.
When her gaze came back around to Graham, he held his hand over his arm, his lips pressed tightly together.
“Damn, Buck, you’re bleeding,” one of the men said.
Angela looked again at the hand holding his arm. Blood leaked through his fingers and dripped onto the floor.
Her pulse leaped. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was too busy getting off you so you could breathe,” he said. “Besides, it’s just a flesh wound.”
Angela moved closer. “Let me see.”
He removed his hand from the wound. Blood oozed from the injury, but not at an alarming rate. Still, she needed to stop the bleeding.
“Anyone have a knife?” she asked.
Four wicked-looking knives appeared in front of her.
She selected one, ripped the hem of the robe Buck wore and tore a length along the bottom all the way around. She folded it into a tight pad and applied it to the wound. “Use that to apply pressure.”
Buck forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She tore another length off the robe and used it to tie around his arm, knotting it over the wound to maintain the pressure. Some blood soaked through, but not enough for her to be worried about it.
“When we get back to the refugee camp, I’ll sew you up.”
“Let’s get this straight,” Graham said. “We’re not going back to the refugee camp.”
Angela stared around at the others. “But we have to. All of my equipment and supplies are there.”
“We’re not even supposed to be in South Sudan,” said the big blond guy in the front seat. “We can’t
