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“Fine,” she gasped. “We only have thirty minutes to go and we should pop out near that highway leading into Bahir Dar.” She pointed in the general direction they were heading, the leaves crunching loudly beneath their feet.
“You’re limping more.”
“Tough. I want to get the hell out of these woods and flag down a motorist. Let’s push harder.”
He loved her spirit and he saw the hardness and perseverance in her green eyes and the set of her jaw. Willow had never been a pushover. She was a strong-willed, self-reliant woman. She didn’t need a man in her life to fix anything for her. Although he’d always found himself wanting to. “You’re looking pale.”
“I get that way when I push myself beyond my physical limits.” She gave him a quick grin. “Hey, I’m a jet jockey, not a ground pounder like you. I don’t even think you’re breaking a sweat, Porter. I’m swimming in it,” and she made a disgusted face, tugging at the tee that stuck firmly to her glistening skin.
“Well,” he soothed, “when we get home? I’ll draw you the biggest, nicest bath you’ve ever had. Fair enough?” His heart melted at the grateful look Willow gave him.
“Sounds wonderful,” she admitted, her voice suddenly scratchy.
Shep saw the tears appear for a split second in her eyes, and then they were gone. Willow had rarely cried in front of him when they were married. She always took off and hid somewhere. There were times when he’d known she’d cried because her eyes had been red-rimmed. She would never talk about what made her cry. They’d missed so many opportunities to have serious conversations. He wanted to learn how to be a part of that emotional life she’d constantly accused him of never wanting to connect with. Yet, when she had a bad mission. She never discussed it. They both had top secret clearances and she could have said something to him but hadn’t. If they got out of this alive? He was damn well going to do everything in his power to change that situation with Willow. They both deserved a second chance.
Near three p.m., Shep halted. The woods seemed to be thinning out ahead of them. He gripped Willow’s hand. She was breathing hard, her face flushed. They’d run out of water and were nearing the heat-exhaustion stage. “Up ahead?” And he cocked his head, an ear toward a new and welcome sound. Was he hearing things or not?
“Do you hear that?” Willow demanded, her voice suddenly cracking with emotion. “That’s cars and trucks less than half a mile from here, Shep.” She looked behind her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I hear it,” he told her. Catching her hand, he wrapped his fingers around hers. “Come on, last half mile?”
She gave him a weary grin. “Let’s go for it.”
And they did. There were always downed branches here and there, hidden beneath the thick layer of leaves. There was a slight slope downward and more than once, Willow would wince and almost fall. Shep would steady her with his hand on her upper arm, slowing down, giving her time to rebalance. As they came out of the line of trees, a modern-day four-lane asphalt road stared back at them.
They hurried across it, the traffic moving around them. On the other side, Shep stepped up, trying to flag down a large, lumbering truck in the slow lane.
It sped on by, honking its horn, ignoring them.
He tried a black Mercedes Benz coming toward them at high speed.
The driver flew by, going at least a hundred miles an hour.
Shep cursed silently, seeing a white Toyota Hilux truck chugging its way toward them, dark smoke trailing out the tailpipe. It was going slow enough that he stepped out in the middle of the highway, waving his arms for the driver to slow down and stop. The driver had gray, curly hair, close-cropped, and was wearing dark glasses. His face was deeply lined and Shep guessed the Ethiopian man might be in his sixties. He slowed and pulled onto the graveled shoulder, stopping in front of them. Shep hurried to the driver’s side. He knew enough Amharic, along with a comfortable smattering of Oromo, and asked, “Can we get a ride with you into Bahir Dar? We need help. My wife is injured. We can pay you in US dollars.”
The man pushed his glasses up on his head. “Praise Allah. Does your wife need help?” and he was already out the door, coming around the end of the pickup. The man hesitated as he looked at their feet. Shep wasn’t going to try and explain. Uneasily, he scoured the slope and the thinning woods for any movement that would indicate Tefere David and his soldiers were just about upon them. What he didn’t want to see was dark shapes hurrying toward them, raising their AKs. The man moved to where Willow stood.
She greeted and thanked the driver in the Amharic she had become fluent in over the past year.
The driver nodded politely toward her.
Shep admired her knowledge of the language, speaking it almost with the fluency of a native-born Ethiopian, unlike his attempts. The man, about five foot seven, wearing jeans, and a white t-shirt with dirt smeared across it, stood, and listened respectfully to Willow. She made it clear they needed to get out of here pronto. That she needed to get to a hospital for her injured leg. Shep produced a wad of US dollars, and the man needed no further inducement, gesturing for them to climb in.
Shep placed his arm around Willow’s waist, and he could feel her leaning wearily against him, trusting him with herself. It was a helluva good feeling.
“I asked him for his cell phone. He has one,” she said. “Once we get in the pickup? Give Luke a call?” She pointed to mile marker nearby. “Give him this reference point?”
“Good idea,” he said. “You sit between us. I’ll take the door.”
Willow nodded, climbing in first, watching as both men got into the truck from either side. They were squeezed like sardines in the small space. Slamming the rusted door of the old Toyota shut, the driver handed Shep his beat-up cell phone and then quickly took off. In the distance was the port city of Bahir Dar.
Shep didn’t think he’d get Luke. He was right but got one of the security women on duty instead, Emma Anderson. He quickly gave her the details of their situation and the phone number of the driver’s cell. Within five minutes, Luke was on the phone.
“If you’ll take Willow over to the hospital ER? Dev and I will meet you there. Where are you?”
Shep gave Luke the marker number where they’d been picked up. Instantly, Luke swung into action, saying, “Okay, that puts you roughly five miles outside the city. I’m calling General Hakym right now. I’ll be back with you shortly.
“Talk to you then,” Shep promised, shutting off the phone. He’d given the driver sixty U.S. dollars. The man’s face had lit up, and he’d smiled, revealing the sight of half his upper teeth missing. That kind of money would keep him well-fed for a good six months, perhaps longer.
