In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Todd shakes me awake, not that I've been sleeping long. Shallow sleep or no sleep have been dogging me for months. Exhaustion is my constant companion. Light is just creeping across the horizon through the flap of the tent. Guilt settles across my chest as I snatch up my pre-packed backpack and duck out the door.
We shouldn't be doing this. Like so many things I've seen over the years, this is just another god damned fucking tragedy.
My jaw tightens as I trail Todd toward the waiting vehicles. All the other doctors, nurses, and logistical coordinators are filing out of the makeshift buildings and into waiting cars. There are armed men with machine guns flanking the vehicles and in open top jeeps around the provisional hospital.
"Todd," I say, keeping my voice low. "A skeleton crew was supposed to stay. We can't completely abandon them."
"They shot at us again yesterday. It's against international law, but no one in the Democratic Republic of the Congo seems to give a shit," he says over his shoulder, and then he stands and waits for me to slide into the vehicle first, as though he knows I'll protest and try to stay. "Doctors International is withdrawing everyone from this part of DRC."
"For how long?" I should get into the vehicle. An evacuation like this always needs to be fast and clean, but I can't make myself get in. Locals are starting to mill around the edges of the camp with the breaking of dawn. We didn't tell anyone we were leaving even though we found out yesterday.
What a fucking mess.
"Get in," Todd says, impatience clear in his voice. "This isn't the first time you've done an evac. Get in the fucking car before you start putting people at risk."
The armed guards shift restlessly around the convoy of extraction vehicles. We need to get moving before we draw too much of the wrong kind of attention, so I do as I'm told, even though it's the last thing I want to do.
"For how long?" I ask again once we're both in the vehicle. Others are cramming in around us. "I want to be reassigned."
"You know it doesn't work like that, Blake."
The locals have figured out we're leaving. Some of them are hanging off the arms of the doctors and nurses who haven't managed to get into an SUV. As long as we're here, this area is relatively safe, at least by their standards, even if it's unsafe by ours.
"God, I hate this," I mutter as I shift to stare out the window, the one that shows the confusion of the locals rather than their desperation. My black hair, which has gotten too long, shifts around my cheeks and along my jawline. I brush it back impatiently.
"None of us like it," Todd says. "But the mission is to save lives without putting our own at undue risk. You were in the vehicle that was shot at last week. You helped treat Brenda and Brian who were injured. Two weeks ago, they kidnapped Smith. Granted, they took him for a joyride and held him overnight before returning him, but they're getting bold. It's escalating. We never take a withdrawal lightly."
