Impossible Odds

was gone and Poul’s people weren’t going to ride in with bags of cash, what would his life be worth? How much of their frustration and outrage would they take out on him? I had been forced to watch them beat him with branches for nothing more than showing them some resistance, some hesitation to snap to and follow their orders.
    If I died, I feared they would sell him to Al-Shabaab. They’d have to. The only thing I felt certain of was that his death with that group would be worse than my death from illness, more terrifying and far more violent. I curled up in a ball again and lay with my back to the largest clump of sleeping men. It was a useless gesture, but it gave me the illusion of shutting them out in some way.
    For the next minute or two I lay without moving, focusing on my breathing and trying to slow my thoughts. Each time I started to feel myself drifting there was another little noise. It sounded as if the giant beetles that populated the area were coming out of their nests for the night. The things were so large I sometimes heard them skittering across my sleeping mat, loud enough to wake me up.
    But I’d already paused to listen, shined the light around, seen nothing, and that was all I could do about it. Now I just ignored the bugs while I heard them coming closer and I tried to find sleep again. Before long, I heard the little sounds right at the edge of the mat.
    I didn’t bother to move. There wasn’t anything left to worry about. I had once been concerned about the possibility of poisonous bites from those insects, but what difference would that make now? It was over. I’d rather get some stinking sleep.
    I think it’s fair to say I was beaten, then. I curled up as tightly as I could. This was the deepest, darkest cave I’d ever been in, and I had nothing left by way of response. All my past promises about avoiding despair were smoke in the wind. There was nothing around me to come to my aid, and I had depleted my inner resources to the bone.
    At that instant I heard someone, Dahir, I think, leap to his feet and give out an intense whisper, calling for his boss. I heard him cock his rifle. His voice was full of panic.
    “Afree-cahn! ”
    Nothing. No sound of African or anyone else reacting to the alarm. Dahir kept his voice low but tried again.
    “Afree-cahn! ” There was a hanging pause, then sudden sounds of movement all around the camp, men jumping to their feet, weapons being cocked . . .
    Then everything exploded. Instant Armageddon.
    Gunfire broke out in every direction, and even the shock waves were terrible. All my pent-up fear and anxiety took over my thinking. I was aware of chaos but had no understanding of it. I’m sure I was screaming but couldn’t hear myself above the din. I don’t know if I was praying in silence or screaming out loud, but all I could think was the phrase, “Oh, God, Oh, God,” repeating on a loop.
    It had to be another clan coming to steal us, or even a raid by Al-Shabaab. I put my heart and my mind with my family. I sent out my love to Erik the same way I would have released a homing pigeon with a message, if I could have done it. I swear to God, Erik, I would have been a good wife, I would have loved you, I would have given you children. We would have been so happy.
    Between the staccato gunshots, I heard the Somalis screaming useless orders to each other, then screaming with the impact of bullets, then screaming in their death throes. A flash lit up Dahir’s face for just an instant. I saw a mask of pure fear. It was the face of a man who knew he would never see his children again.
    Someone shouted, “Oh, no!” It might have been Dahir, but I couldn’t be sure. I heard him gasp when the bullets hit him. Darkness hid his expression, so at least I didn’t have to watch him die.
    Strong hands grabbed at my blanket. I put up a fight to keep it. I don’t know why it represented some primal security, but it did.
    “Jessica!” a male voice called.
    It stopped me like a slap to the face. An American accent?
    I relaxed a bit in confusion, and somebody snatched away the blanket in that instant, tricky bastards. My face was no longer covered, but the black sky blended well with the black masks I could see in front of me. They were like ghosts with deadly weapons.
    Something in my brain couldn’t register that these people might be attempting to help me. I’d only heard my name—was I wrong about the American accent? Had I just been duped