Five Ways To Surrender

REVEREND TOWNSEND BURST through the door of the makeshift schoolhouse, interrupting Alex’s reading lesson. “Alex, get the children out of the building. Now!”

Alexandria Parker’s heart leaped into her throat. “Why? What’s wrong?”

The reverend’s wrinkled face was tense, his hands shaking as he waved children toward the door. “Kamathi just came through the village and told everyone to get out. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have known.”

Alex closed her reading book. “Why do we have to leave?”

“Al-Waseka is coming.”

Fear rippled through Alex. One of the men in the village had been captured by al-Waseka, the most notorious Islamic State leader in all of Niger. He had been beaten, whipped and burned in many places on his body. The only reason he’d survived was because they’d thrown his body off the back of a truck, presuming he was dead. He’d crawled under a bush and waited until his captors had left the area. Then he’d used what little energy he had remaining to wait near the road for the next friendly vehicle to pass. Fortunately, it had been the good reverend’s.

In his seventies, Reverend Townsend got around well for his age. He worked hard and never complained. The villagers loved him and treated the white-haired old man and his wife like family.

Standing in Alex’s makeshift schoolroom, he appeared to have aged ten years. “By the time I left the village, every man, woman and child had gone. They ran into the hills. We have to get these children out of the orphanage as quickly as possible. Take them into the hills.”

Alex waved to her assistant, Fariji, the tall young man who’d been more than happy to help her with her lessons and, in the process, was learning to read himself. “Help me get the children out.”

“Yes, Miss Alex.” He had the older kids hold hands with the younger ones and led them out the door.

Alex herded the rest of the children toward the door. “Leave your books,” she said. “Older children, help the younger ones.”

The children bottlenecked at the door, where the reverend hurried them through. Once they were all outside, he faced the children. “Follow Miss Alex and Fariji,” he said. “Stay with them.”

Alex turned to the reverend. “Where do I go in the hills?”

“Anywhere, just hide. Some of the older children play in the hills. Let them lead you.” He turned to stare into the distance, where the road led into the village.

Alex didn’t like that the reverend wasn’t coming with them. “What about you and Mrs. Townsend?”

“Martha refused to leave the sick baby.” He looked back at her. “Go. We are in God’s hands.”

Maybe so, but the ISIS terrorists didn’t believe in the reverend’s God. They believed in killing all foreigners and many of their own people in their efforts to control the entire region. “Reverend, let me help you bring Martha out of the village.”

He shook his head. “She won’t abandon the mother and child she has been helping for the past few days. They can’t be moved.”

“Have you considered the fact that you and your wife staying with them might give the terrorists more reason to not only kill you and your wife, but also the woman and her baby?”

He nodded and repeated, “We are in God’s hands.” He nodded at the children running toward the hills. “Go with them. They need someone to ensure their survival.”

Torn between saving the children and saving her mentor, father figure and friend, Alex hesitated.

“You can’t help everyone,” the reverend said. “Martha and I have lived long, productive lives. No regrets. You and the children have not.” He waved her toward the children. “Go. Live.”

Alex hugged the reverend. “I’ll go, but once the children are safe, I’m coming back for you and Martha.”

He patted her back. “Only if it’s safe.”

An explosion rocked the ground and was followed by the sound of gunfire.

Her pulse hammering in her veins, Alex hurried after Fariji and the children running through the village streets toward the hills.

She counted heads, satisfied she had all of her little charges. Some of them clustered around her, while others ran ahead. One little girl tripped and fell.

Alex scooped her up and set her on her feet, barely slowing. She clutched the child’s hand and kept moving.

More gunfire sounded behind her. She didn’t look back. She had one goal: to get the children to safety. Only then would she think about what was going on in the village.

At the far end of the community, they neared the base of the bluffs rising high over their heads.

A shiver of fear rippled through Alex. She had never hiked in the hills because she was afraid she wouldn’t find her way back out. Now she was purposely heading into unknown territory—with children. For a moment, she hesitated.

Then another explosion shook the earth beneath her feet. She glanced over her shoulder. A plume of dusty fire and smoke rose up into the air near the road leading into the village.

She didn’t need any more motivation. Bullets were bad; bombs were even worse. “Hurry!” she yelled.

The youngest children had slowed, their little legs tired from running through the village.

Alex despaired. How could she get all of them up the steep slopes? And if they did make it, where would she hide them?

She’d heard from some of the elders that there were caves in the hills. In the past, when their village had been invaded, the people had fled to the hills and hidden in the caves until the attackers moved on.

Alex lifted one of the smallest girls and settled her on her back. She started up the hill, holding the hand of a little boy, small for his seven years. She tried not to think about what was happening down in the village.

If the threat was the ISIS faction, the reverend and his wife were in grave danger. Alex’s heart squeezed tightly in her chest. The elderly couple were incredibly kind and selfless. They didn’t deserve to be tortured or killed.

Ahead, Alex caught glimpses of other villagers, climbing the rugged path upward. She felt better knowing they were heading in the right direction. Hopefully, the men terrorizing the village wouldn’t take the time or make the effort to climb into the hills to capture villagers and orphans. What would it buy them?

However, Alex, being an American and female, might be a more attractive bargaining chip. Or she’d make for better film footage on propaganda videos. She had to keep out of sight of the ISIS terrorists.

Once they could no longer see the village, Alex breathed a little more freely. Not that they were out of danger, but if they couldn’t see the village, the attackers couldn’t see them.

Ahead and to the north rose stony bluffs, shadowed by the angle of the sun hitting the ridge to the south.

Alex paused to catch her breath and study the bluff. Had she seen movement? She blinked and stared again at a dark patch in the rocky edifice.

A village woman slipped from the patch and climbed downward to where Alex stood with her little band of orphaned children.

Another woman followed the first, and then another. Soon five women were on their way down the steep slope to where Alex and Fariji stood. Each gathered a small child and headed up to what Alex realized was a cave entrance.

Alex, burdened with the girl on her back, started up the path, urging the other children to climb or crawl up the slippery slope. By the time she reached the entrance, she was breathing hard.

She slipped the girl from her back and eased her to the stone floor of the cave.

More than a dozen women and children emerged from deep in the shadows, their eyes wide and wary. They gathered around Alex, all talking at once.

“Where are the others?” Alex asked in French.

“Scattered among the caves.” A woman called Rashida stepped forward. “There are many caves. This is only the first one.”