“Spread this wound open for me. I can’t seem to reach the metal inside.”
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I leaned over the girl and reluctantly pulled the wound as wide as I could. Karina’s tweezers were ready and dove in without hesitation, digging back and forth, making me cringe. She pulled out a large piece of sharp metal and it clinked into a porcelain bowl on a small table beside the bed. One by one she removed the metal embedded in the girl’s tiny chest.
“There’s one more.” She pointed to another deep wound near the heart.
“What if it’s too deep?”
“Spread the wound.”
I obeyed and almost had to avert my eyes at the blood gushing but held my ground. After what seemed like forever, Karina fished out a small but substantial piece of metal and it clinked audibly next to the other shrapnel.
Karina worked steadily, stitching each wound, as I cut strips of clean gauze and readied the iodine solution. She poured the solution over the stitches, covered them all with an antibacterial ointment and we placed the gauze over each one, finally wrapping the girl’s frame similarly to how Dingane and I had at the village.
When we were done, Karina gave her a renewed dose of sleeping meds through her IV and I stood, removed my bloody gloves, tossed them in a bin and walked into the night air. The sun wouldn’t show its face for at least another hour. I begged for it to rise, to renew the day, to erase the night. The screams would live in my subconscious for the rest of my life.
Sweat poured from my face and neck and drenched my shirt; it clung to my body. The panicked adrenaline was leaving in droves and my hands were shaking with the release.
I heard footsteps on the wood creak behind me. I turned to find Dingane, his white linen shirt had three buttons unbuttoned near his collar instead of his standard two and his usual carefully rolled sleeves were in disarray.
“How is she?” he asked about our little girl.
“She’s fine.” I paused. “I don’t really know. I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know.”
Dingane leaned against one of the wood posts holding up the aluminum awning and nodded.
“How often does this happen?” I asked him, staring at the dark outline of the baobab tree.
“Too often.”
“Why can they not be stopped?”
“They are illusive and they get protection from Northern Sudan.”
“Why?”
“Who knows. They’re evil?”
“Without a doubt.” I looked behind me into the schoolhouse. “How are the others?”
“I believe there will be no more death tonight,” he said solemnly.
I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and quiet tears began to fall. “I’m so sorry for them.”
Before the last word had even escaped my lips, the orphans in their beds above the kitchen, the original fifty-nine, began chanting their beautiful traditional songs and this made the tears fall even harder. I had no idea what they were singing, but their innocent voices rang throughout the camp and I couldn’t help but take solace in them. I listened for quite some time while the tears streamed.
o;Never,” he said quietly, turning toward me again.
The remaining two-and-a-half-hour drive was met with silence. Thoughts circled my head and I tried so hard to imagine, to prepare myself for what I was about to witness but nothing could have readied me.
I smelled the burnt straw of the village homes before I actually saw them and it enveloped the cab, making me cough violently. Dingane threw a t-shirt at me to cover my face so I did. Finally, after rounding the bush that the little village must have tucked itself into in attempt to camouflage themselves, little piles of remaining flames flickered and twisted throughout the open field before us. I saw no one but heard faint screams and wails tear throughout the night. My gut tightened and my hands gripped the dash in front of me, my knuckles white with strain.
Dingane stopped the truck abruptly and ran into the center of the village. I jumped out and followed suit behind Charles and Solomon but stopped short at the terrifying sight before me.
Groups of small children sporadically spread throughout the camp, bent and weeping, cried into the night over the corpses of their burning parents. I immediately fell to my knees in want to vomit but could only dry heave at the sheer horror. The smell of burning flesh seared into my own and I had to cover my mouth in terror.
“Sophie!” someone screamed harshly beside me. I looked up toward the voice and Dingane stood above me. He grabbed my arms, picking me up and brought me close to his face. “Can you do this?” he asked but his eyes were sympathetic. He brushed a tear away with his thumb but one more fell in its place.