Annette waved at Noah as the slender black man exited the back of the lowered cargo ramp. A bush mechanic from the nearby building approached and circled the plane, eyeing the smoking wing.
Chuckling to herself, Annette walked toward Noah. It wasn't easy being married to a Caspertein. She was only beginning to understand the patience required to live with Titus.
"All right, Noah. Where'd you let my husband run off to?"
"Is Kit with you?" He stopped before her.
"Yeah, she's in the car. This heat, huh? Phew! Didn't Meikles go with you and Titus?"
"They were both with me. Sometime after the last supply drop, they fell out the back."
Uneasily, Annette chuckled, then frowned at the man's serious face. Maybe, with the accent, she hadn't heard him right.
"Fell out? What do you mean?" She stepped around Noah to check the plane herself. "Stop playing. Where is he?"
"He fell out the back. I was north of Malilangwe when I looked back. Titus did have a harness, but he must have unhooked it."
"What?"
Annette realized there was definitely a communication gap between them. She ran to the plane and skidded to a halt at the back of the ramp. The cargo bay was empty. A flexible black cord hung from the ceiling. No Titus. No Meikles.
"If you're messing with me," she said to Noah as he caught up to her, "you'd better fess up, Noah, because I'm about to lose it. Where's Titus? Did you drop him off somewhere?"
"No." He showed the palms of his hands. "He really fell out. And he refused to wear the chute. I don't know why he would unhook his harness. Maybe Meikles was near the ramp. I fly with it open. Titus may have tried to help Meikles. I don't know."
Blinking at the man, Annette's mind was blank for a few moments.
"Well, how can you just stand there now? You're telling me my husband fell out the back of your plane, and you did nothing?"
"What do you think I should've done?" His shoulders slumped. "My son is gone, too. Kit was so excited that he was learning to read the Bible. I'm the one who convinced her to allow me to take the boy on his first airdrop."
Annette placed her hand on her forehead. Maybe she was feverish from the heat. This wasn't really happening. A man like Titus Caspertein couldn't just fall out of the back of a plane! She couldn't already be a widow!
"Well, did you land? I mean, to see where they fell?"
"No. I flew back here. There's nowhere to land in those mountains."
"So you don't even know if they're dead. You just left them, Noah? They could be injured and dying out there!"
"I was above five thousand feet. They're not alive. I'm sorry."
"The bodies. We have to get them."
"Maybe."
"What do you mean, maybe?" Annette gasped. Noah gazed toward the south. "What are you looking at?"
"I was just thinking. The Shangaan tribe is friendly in that area. The people we dropped food to would welcome us. But there's a wovits warning in that area. Farm invaders, poachers, and children of war vets from the property wars of the 1970s. Some of them are very dangerous to outsiders."
"What are you saying? We just leave our family members out there?"
"This is Africa, Annette. We can't rush into anything without careful planning. Unless we want to die. It's three hundred kilometers to the Malilangwe Reserve. If poachers or wovits are there, you'll be in danger. You're white."
"So? I'm not leaving my husband out there to be eaten by wild animals!"
Annette elbowed past the pilot and marched back to the car. Kitwe shielded her eyes to peer in her direction.
"Where are you going?" Noah called.
"Back to the hotel. I'm getting my sat-phone and calling Corban Dowler!"
*~*
Chapter Four
Titus Caspertein felt Annette poke him sharply in the ribs, but he still pretended to sleep. Another jab made him wince.
"Hey, that hurt!"
He started to rise, then froze, his eyes sightless but directed toward the sky. Such pain didn't seem possible. The prod to his ribs was no longer his concern. His whole body felt both numb and immensely sensitive all at once.
"I can see your bones," a small voice said.
Titus had difficulty gathering his senses past the agony. Once, he'd climbed out of a frozen lake in New Zealand after falling through the ice. He'd almost died that day. His body felt like that now. Pain. All over. Except the cold was replaced by suffocating heat.
"Numb is bad," Titus mumbled an old medical adage. "Pain is good."
"Why is pain good?" the small voice asked. It wasn't Annette.
"Because it means I'm alive and my nerves are still working." Titus blinked at the boy, Meikles, standing on a steep clay slope beside him with a crooked stick in his hand. "What happened?"
"We fell out of the plane."
"Oh." Titus dared not nod for fear the movement would start a new wave of anguish. "Makes sense."
"Why?"
"Because I feel like I fell out of a plane." Titus looked past the boy. They were in a deep wadi, eucalyptus and baobab trees on both banks. Beyond the trees were tall grasses and steep hills, almost mountains. "Climb that hill there. You'll have to go for help."
"I already climbed it."
"What'd you see?"
"A marsh."
"Just a marsh?"
"Grass. Tall grass. I couldn't see over it."
"There must be a farm or village within walking distance."
"I climbed that baobab tree to see over the grass."
"Good boy. What'd you see?"
"Dogs."
"That's bad."
"Why?"
"Wild dogs might try to eat us. I didn't fall out of a plane to be eaten by wild dogs. How about you?"
"I don't want to be eaten by anything." Meikles adjusted his grip and made stabbing motions, striking Titus on the brow once. "Sorry."
"No, I probably deserve it. Besides, it'll blend with all my other welts."
"This is a good stick for wild dogs."
"How did we fall out of the plane? I don't remember."
"I don't remember. I saw some birds in the marsh grass."
"Tall or short birds?"
"Herons. Tall ones."
"Herons." Without moving his head, Titus surveyed the horizon as best he could. There was no sign of wood smoke that might indicate a settlement. "We'll need food. Can you find us some heron eggs?"
"I'll try."
"Take your stick. Stay out of mud that's too soft to walk on."
"Okay. But I can see your bones."
"I understand. Go on now. You're the hunter. Carry the eggs back here when you find some."
The boy scrambled up the clay slope causing pebbles to trickle down on Titus, but it didn't make him angry. The youngster would probably keep him alive, if he survived his wounds.
Cringing from the pain, he raised his right arm.
"I see my bones, too," he said, his eyes tearing. "Oh, Lord, what are You teaching me now?"
The answer came to him the same instant. For three months, he'd been studying the Bible with Corban at his home in New York. He'd been taught that God would communicate to him through sovereignly designed circumstances. But lately, he'd been restless, faithless, and thankless, especially on the mission to Africa. Zimbabwe had seemed below him, but it was just the operation Corban had intended to teach him about brokenness. The Bible could be learned frontwards and backwards, but until a person put his faith in action, he'd never knew how weak he was.
"I'm pretty weak, Lord. It ain't easy putting up with me, but I wouldn't mind if this were a short lesson."
Titus used his left hand to grip the wrist of his broken right arm from which bones protruded raggedly through the skin, an open fracture. He'd need a splint and sling soon, but one thing at a time.
A growl erupted from his throat as he gathered the courage to tug the wrist hard enough to set the bones. With as much strength as he could muster, he jerked his brok
en limb. His breath caught and his body went into spasms. He was close to passing out. The seizures jarred other joints and muscles, which confirmed an underlying fear: he had other injuries to address as well.
*~*
Chapter Five
Gezahgne Wolde hung up his phone and walked outside the confiscated farm house. Southwest of Malilangwe Wildlife Reserve, he had claimed the farm after killing its original foreign owners. A few of the boards on the porch needed replacing, but he wasn't the type to swing a carpenter's hammer. Maybe when the boards squeaked or rotted enough, he'd claim a new farm that had a porch with better boards.
He lit a hand-rolled cigarette and listened to the creatures of the night. What a land! Sometimes, he stayed in one of the city hotels and watched television, but it didn't appeal to him. The world was too advanced. It seemed like he lived on a different planet. Cell phones and fashion shows, computers and sports cars. If Geza could help it, he'd keep them all out of Zimbabwe. Foreigners might want his land. They may have even lived there before he was born. But he'd take it back, one farm at a time, and push them out. All the while, rhino poaching would keep him living comfortably.
The phone call both disturbed and excited him. It had been the Director of the Interior, a quiet supporter of Geza's ongoing liberation movement. He'd warned Geza that a Zimbabwean couple and an American from Harare would visit the Chiredzi District the following day. The supply drop had been their doing. An American? Foreigners had visited the Singita Pamushana Resort, celebrities who wanted to experience the best of Zimbabwe, but Americans weren't normally or personally involved in the well-being of the Chiredzi crisis.
Geza needed to hunt rhinos the following day for a Vietnam contract, but if he could manage it, he wanted to meet this American. After all, Americans embodied all the threats Geza hoped to keep out of Zimbabwe. And he wanted to see the American's face when the man realized all the digital recorders and water filters he'd parachuted into the district had been seized by Geza's troops.
Foreigners wouldn't return to Zimbabwe, even if it were to help Zimbabweans. Geza would rather die before a foreigner placed a foothold in his country!
*~*
Chapter Six
Annette Castpertein leaned against the backseat window of the four-door Mazda as Noah Gallavan drove through the night. Kitwe sat quietly in the front passenger seat. Maybe the grieving mother was asleep, or maybe she was mourning while wide awake, like Annette.
Her emotions were all over the place, but she hadn't cried, yet. The tears would come eventually, but for now, she was angry that Titus had fallen out of the plane, heartbroken for Kitwe since she'd lost her adopted son, and overjoyed that it seemed Titus had been with Meikles in their final seconds.
The car jolted over a pothole, and Annette was reminded they weren't driving straight south on the highway to the humanitarian drop site. Rather, Corban Dowler had arranged a slight detour before they entered the volatile Masvingo Province of animal poachers and government-sanctioned raiders.
"We're there," Noah said, but kept the engine running. "Annette, you awake? This is your deal. I'll flash the lights if I notice danger.
Annette leaned between the two front seats to see the plantation-style homestead lit up by the car's headlights. Two sheep dogs, disturbed from their slumber, trotted through the light and approached the vehicle. More light from the house suddenly illuminated a narrow porch and a man with a duffel bag.
Exiting the car, Annette shivered at the chill of the African night. She met the farmer halfway up the walk to the house. The two shook hands in the headlights Noah had left on.
"Sorry to hear about your husband," the black man said. Annette knew from Corban that his name was Simon Vundu, but this wasn't a social visit. "I have three of the local churches praying for you and the pilot's family. How's your family handling all this?"
"Oh, my family doesn’t know yet. I've just been focused on bringing my husband home. I mean, his body."
"You're very brave to do what you're doing."
"Thank you." Annette accepted the duffel bag, wishing Titus were there to see her managing a clandestine exchange. "Everything's in order?"
"Our friend on the phone knew what I had in inventory here. I've packed for you what he told me to include. I'm just a bush missionary, sister. I've never used these weapons, even if they are non-lethal. I hope they help you against wild animals or the renegades we've been dealing with to the south."
"I'm sure they'll be perfect." Annette wanted to drop the bag and see what COIL weaponry Corban had ordered for her. She and Titus had spent two weeks at COIL's boot camp in Mexico where they'd become proficient with a wide range of non-lethal weaponry. All she carried in Zimbabwe was a tranquilizer pen for close contact. "Thank you for your faithfulness here."
"Stay safe. Our Lord is with you."
They shook hands again, then Annette returned to the Mazda. She rested the duffel bag on her lap as Noah drove away, then turned onto the southbound highway. It was after midnight, and the moon was below the horizon, but the starry sky was bright enough to inspect the weapons by the light through the back window.
"Did you get what you need?" Noah asked.
"Looks like it."
She drew out two NL-3 rifles with an effective range of one hundred yards, two NL-2 machine pistols with holsters, and five flash-and-bang grenades. In a zipper pouch she found compact field glasses, two signal flares, and a knife. On the bottom of the bag were two tarpaulins, thin and folded. For a moment, she guessed Corban had included the tarps for sleeping on the ground under the stars, but then it hit her. They were for the bodies. When she found Titus, she would have to wrap his body in a tarp for transport. At least, what was left of his body after a high velocity impact. Would she even recognize him?
"We're two hours away from the Chiredzi District." Noah held up his handheld GPS. "We can start our search at daylight."
"When do you sleep, Noah?" Annette asked. "You flew all morning, and now you've been driving all evening."
"My sadness keeps me awake."
Annette closed her eyes. She knew what he meant. No parent should have to bury their four-year-old son, and no wife should have to recover the body of her husband of only three months. But Noah had summarized their situation very simply earlier that afternoon: this was Africa.
*~*
Chapter Seven
Titus had stopped the bleeding and immobilized his right arm with a stick. His collar bone felt broken as well, but he could do no more until he could see in the daylight. Dawn was an hour away. A much more debilitating injury was his right leg fracture, though the bone wasn't protruding as his arm one had been.
Meikles whimpered beside him, snuggling against his left side for warmth. Titus' left arm was draped over the boy, and in that fist he held a stout stick. Meikles had brought Titus four different tree branches before he was satisfied with one that would work as a club against the wild dogs.
The dogs were there, but Titus didn't wake Meikles, whose fear and weeping might only agitate and excite the bone-crushing carnivores. With the boy's help, Titus had managed to crawl up the steep slope of the wadi three more feet to sit on a ledge where they were farther from the animals. Though Titus had been initially concerned about a flash flood roaring down the draw if it rained, their higher elevation kept them out of the jaws of the dogs. Besides, it hadn't rained in months in Zimbabwe.
The blood Titus had lost had soaked into the clay below, and the smell no doubt piqued the wild animals' senses.
Titus adjusted his hip for comfort. Comfort? The idea was laughable, but he wasn't hopeless. God was his Father, and Titus' faith transcended the things of this world. The humbling lesson hadn't been lost on him; seeing that God had kept him alive against all odds made him want to serve Him more. Perhaps he would rescue people with more care when Corban deployed him, he thought, simply because he now understood what it meant to be rescued.
His body had begun to swell from the trau
ma to his tissues and organs, but shock hadn't incapacitated him. He'd been shot and stabbed over the years as an international thief and smuggler. After all, he was the African Serval—the wily desert cat that survived by wit and cunning. Past underground contacts had called him the Serval ever since he'd assumed the name from another man, but his old reputation wouldn't help him in this latest predicament. He had to rely on whatever God had given him—like Meikles. Until help arrived, Titus would learn to work with the boy for a few days . . . If the wild dogs didn't get to them . . . If the lions didn't find them . . . If they didn’t die of thirst . . . If they didn't die of hypothermia . . .
Annette was surely tracking him down, but would she feel much urgency? Surviving a fall from a plane was so unlikely, who would race to recover his body? Having survived at all was a miracle, Titus believed, with their landing in the eucalyptus tree above and the wadi below. The tree and the steep slope together had decreased the impact per square inch against his fragile body. Of course, he didn't remember landing in the tree or on the slope, but the freshly-broken tree branches and marks in the clay around him indicated he and Meikles had tussled with the earth there. Gravity had won. But God was bigger than gravity.
Light reached the wadi, and Titus' stomach rumbled for food. He nibbled on the edible eucalyptus leaves, but water was of greater importance. Meikles had found only two eggs the day before. They'd each eaten one, raw. The boy had pried apart some of the lining of the nearest baobab tree to find moisture in the trunk. The local elephants hadn't chewed on it yet, which may have been an indication of how dry the whole land was. When Meikles had brought him pieces of soft baobab wood, Titus rung and squeezed out a few drops of water. They needed more, but Meikles was just a boy without the proper tools to cut into the moist wood.
The wild dogs trotted away, toward the marsh above the wadi where the grass grew tall. Meikles' feet were still caked with mud from his egg hunt the evening before, so there was indeed some moisture in the area.
Predators made everything more difficult. A four year old couldn't wander around for food and water while an invalid lay helpless nearby with nothing in his hands but a crooked club. And whatever wild dogs lingered, other alert carnivores were often drawn to the area for a competition over a bit of flesh.
"You kept us alive from a free fall, Lord. I'm interested to see how You'll keep the hyenas at bay now . . ."