The Other Side of the World: Book 2 (Talia's Story)

By Suzanne Whitfield Vince

Her mission in life is simple: Make a difference in the lives of others...

After three tours in the Middle East as an Army physician, Talia Fournier accepts a position in a field hospital in South Sudan. Love was never part of the plan. But when she finds herself falling for the sexy and insufferable Jack McCabe, she begins to reevaluate her life.

His only fear in life is falling in love...

But when Dr. Jack McCabe meets the breathtaking new doctor, his resolve begins to crumble. And when Talia decides to adopt seven year old orphan Hadi Okafor, Jack realizes an even greater fear: becoming a father.

In a country torn apart by conflict, Talia wages a war of her own in order to save the child from a fate worse than death. Her opponent? Leader of the Army forces in Sudan, General Abdul-Samad Hamid who has claimed Hadi as his own child.

Will Talia succeed in getting Hadi out of the country without getting caught? Will Jack put aside his fears and help them escape before the brutal dictator finds them? Find out in this second installment of The Other Side of the World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Whitfield Vince
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370194001

Suzanne Whitfield Vince

Suzanne grew up in Park Forest, Illinois—twice an All-American City—in a hectic and chaotic but loving family. After graduating from Loyola University of Chicago with a Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration (major in Accounting), she said goodbye to snow shovels and ice scrapers and followed her parents out to California. Suzanne currently live in Sacramento with her husband and our four furry children. She still have my day job—for now—but spends most of her free time writing.

Book preview

The Other Side of the World starts here:

To Get Book One for FREE

Visit http://suzannevince.com

Chapter One

Raga, Western Bahr el Ghazal State

South Sudan

May

Jeremiah Okafor stepped into the batter's box, lifted the makeshift bat from his shoulder, and squinted in concentration. His cousin Nathaniel's lips twitched with pleasure as he prepared to launch the ball. Nathaniel was the best pitcher in the village, but he was no match for Jeremiah's hitting prowess.

The first pitch was a ball. Jeremiah stepped out of the batter's box as the catcher tossed the ball back to Nathaniel. From the corner of his eye, Jeremiah saw his twin sister, who was playing first base, turn her gaze skyward.

Strike one, the referee—also known as Nathaniel's brother, Paul—called.

Jeremiah heard the call but his attention was fully directed at his sister, who now pointed at the sky. The bat dropped to his side. He looked up but didn't see anything.

What is it, Keturah? he asked.

When Keturah turned toward him, her eyes were wide with fear. Her thin body trembled.

Within seconds, the spray of bullets from the government helicopter scattered people and cattle in all directions. Mothers and fathers scurried about, grabbing children and running for cover. Chickens ran in circles and squawked. Jeremiah sprinted toward his sister, pinned in place by fear, and carried her to the bushes, where some of the other children had taken refuge. Stay here, he ordered, and went after the rest of his family.

He scanned the melee for signs of his father and little sister. Across the clearing he caught sight of the purple floral dress his youngest sister wore as often as she could get away with. The brightly colored fabric poked out from beneath their father, who lay on top of the little girl. Jeremiah ran to them, dodging bullets as he went.

When he reached them, he crouched down and gently shook his father's shoulder. When there was no movement, he lifted his father and turned him over. His torso was riddled with bullets and his eyes were lolled back into his head. Jeremiah gently rolled his father off the girl, lifted her into his arms, and carried Hadiya's limp body to the bush, where more children had congregated. He handed her to Keturah, and scanned the corpses that littered the yard for his mother. And then he remembered.

She was dead. Raped and murdered before his very eyes by soldiers. Men wearing government uniforms. And when Jeremiah had refused to go with the men, they'd shot him and left him for dead. But he'd survived. His father, who had been visiting a sick friend in a neighboring village, found Jeremiah and tended to his wounds. And when he was strong enough, they'd fled war-torn Darfur to this remote village, where his father promised they'd be safe. And now he was dead, too.

Jeremiah's hands balled into fists. He bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He wanted to tear the men who had done this to his family apart limb by limb. Watch them die slowly. Painfully. But in the distance he saw a group of men—more soldiers—riding on horseback as they approached the village. His visions of revenge would have to wait.

We must go now, he told the rest of the children.

No. I have to find my mother. Nathaniel tried to push past him. Jeremiah put a hand up to stop him.

She is dead, Jeremiah said. All the others, they're all dead. Now come, we must go.

He lifted his youngest sister into his arms and brought up the rear of the group. As he jostled Hadi in his arms, her body began to move. Jeremiah nearly fainted with relief that the girl was alive.

Baba! Baba! she cried out.

Jeremiah covered her mouth with his hand. We must be quiet, Hadi, he told the girl. We don't want the bad men to follow us.

We'll need supplies, Keturah said. I'll just run back and—

No. Jeremiah grabbed her arm. There isn't time. He peered around the corner. The men on horseback had reached the camp. They wore green uniforms and turbans on their heads, and carried torches and AK-47s. One by one, they set fire to the huts, shooting at anything that moved.

The children turned to leave, but before Jeremiah could stop him, Nathaniel climbed into the rear window of the nearest hut. Jeremiah urged the others to leave and promised he and Nathaniel would catch up. Nathaniel tossed out blankets and articles of clothing, a satchel filled with food, and a bible. He handed down two large containers of water and then climbed out.

Jeremiah nearly dragged Nathaniel out of the window and the two of them, carrying the meager supplies, raced to catch up with the others.

They walked swiftly and silently through the plain, hiding behind trees and bushes wherever they saw or heard people approaching, stopping only when the day gave way to night. At fourteen, Jeremiah was the eldest boy in the group, and thus became their leader. There were nine children in all, including his two sisters, his cousin Nathaniel and his brother, Paul, and four others.

Jeremiah took inventory of the supplies. They wouldn't last long. They'd have to find supplies in other villages as they passed through.

That night, they huddled together under the woolen blankets and a sky littered with stars.

Where will we go? Paul asked.

My father told me we would be safe in Ethiopia if anything should happen. As he said the words, Jeremiah knew that their chances of making it that far were slim.

That's a very long way, Nathaniel said.

Go to sleep, Nathaniel, Jeremiah said.

Jeremiah dozed off but was awakened by soft cries from his little sister. He sat up and lifted the small child into his lap. She was four, but was small for her age.

What is the matter, my little Ha Ha?

She sniffled. I want my dolly.

Her dolly, a straw thing made by their mother, wore an exact replica of the dress Hadi wore. She'd named the doll Zilpah, after their mother. She carried it everywhere, especially since their mother had died two years before.

Jeremiah rocked the girl in his arms. I am sorry about your doll, he whispered. When we get to Ethiopia, I will get you a new one. Okay?

The younger children had the hardest time. When they could walk no more, Jeremiah and some of the older children carried them. But by the fourteenth day, they had exhausted their supplies. Though it was only May, the temperatures were in the upper nineties during the day and they all felt the effects of deep hunger and dehydration. They needed to find food and water soon.

When they had traveled for three weeks they came upon a leopard, hovering over the carcass of a kudu. Jeremiah held up his hand and everyone stopped walking. Putting his finger to his lips, he grabbed a branch from the ground and indicated to the other boys to do the same. On his signal, the boys charged the leopard. They jabbed and prodded while the animal hissed and snarled, before finally relinquishing its prey and running off.

Jeremiah's heart galloped in his chest as he dragged the kudu over to a clump of trees where the rest of the children had gathered, and laid it at Keturah's feet.

And what am I supposed to do with that? Her hands rested firmly on her hips.

Jeremiah's teeth gleaned in the sunlight. Why, dear sister, I will make a fire and you will cook it.

His twin sister glowered. Why do I have to cook it?

Because you are the woman. he said. I do the hunting—you do the cooking.

Keturah opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Make the fire then, brother.

Over dinner, the children were more animated than they'd been since they'd fled their village. They laughed like they used to and played word games while they ate. When they finished eating, Jeremiah read to them from the Bible before snuffing out the fire so they would not be visible to anyone near or far who might see the smoke.

They trusted no one. Though the war between north and south Sudan had begun many years before as a struggle over religious freedom—the Islamic faith of the north versus the Christian faith of the south—it had morphed into much more. Now, they fought over land and oil, and there were so many factions of soldiers fighting against one another that it was impossible to know who to trust. So every time they saw someone in the distance, they took cover in the bush.

Though the kudu provided much-needed protein, lack of water was still a major problem. They had resorted to drinking their urine, but they were so dehydrated that their bodies were not producing enough volume to sustain them.

On the thirtieth day, they made camp at nightfall. Jeremiah laid the youngest child, Daniel, whom he'd been carrying all day, onto the ground. The boy did not move. Jeremiah gently shook him. Daniel stared up at him, unblinking. Jeremiah shook him more firmly but the boy still did not move. He checked Daniel's pulse. The boy had died sometime during the day in Jeremiah's arms.

Before the day evaporated into night, they had a service for Daniel. Jeremiah read once more from the Bible and lifted Daniel up to God. He prayed for all of them, asking for guidance, for safety, for water. After the service, they wrapped Daniel in their warmest blanket, covered him with branches and huddled closely together. They all knew, without speaking a word, that unless they found water soon, they were all on borrowed time.

Jeremiah lay awake all night, praying fervently to God and to his ancestors. Daniel's passing had frightened him. He knew the rest of the children were counting on him and he had no idea what to do. In that moment he didn't want to be a man. He wanted to be a boy, playing baseball or beating his sister at her own board games. But that time was gone now. In truth, his boyhood had been stolen from him the day his mother had died. He prayed to God to give him strength.

As the night wore on, the impenetrable black sky softened into a deep purple. The color of a plum. He listened to the even breathing of the children, and a newfound strength he didn't know he possessed filled him. The energy of his ancestors flowed into him, along with the knowledge that they needed to head south. There, they would find water.

In the distance, Jeremiah thought he heard voices. He sat upright, stilled his breath and listened, hoping that perhaps he was only hearing a couple of the children whispering. But the children were still sleeping.

The voices grew louder. He leapt to his feet, crouched down and peered through the trees. A group of soldiers wearing green camouflage uniforms and carrying rifles marched swiftly toward them. His heart leapt to his throat. Though the early morning air was cool, sweat trickled down his temples.

The soldiers drew closer.

Jeremiah nudged Nathaniel, one year his junior, and covered his cousin's mouth tightly with his hand. Listen to me, he said sternly. The soldiers are coming. I must go. You are chief now. Go south—you'll find water there. Do you understand?

Nathaniel's eyes rounded with confusion and then, as understanding took root, fear.

Do you understand? Jeremiah's voice was more urgent now.

Nathaniel nodded slowly.

I'm going to let go now, but it is very important that you stay quiet. Okay?

Another nod.

As soon as I am gone, gather the children and head south. Keep low and run as fast as you can. He let go of Nathaniel and ran into the clearing. The soldiers were within a hundred yards of them. Jeremiah raised his arms in the air. I am lost from my people. He strode quickly toward them.

Gunfire erupted around him. Jeremiah ran toward the men, praying that none of the children had been hit. Praying that Nathaniel had understood and would keep them all quiet. When Jeremiah reached the soldiers, they grabbed him roughly on either side and turned back in the direction from which they'd come.

Chapter Two

San Francisco, California

Two Years Later

Dr. Talia Fournier lathered and scrubbed as the surgical team bustled around the operating room on soft-soled shoes, readying trays of instruments and preparing her eighty-two-year-old patient to receive her brand-new hip. It was Talia's fourth and final surgery of the day.

After donning the sterile attire, she crossed the room and looked down at her patient. Ellie Buchanan looked peaceful in sleep, and the bright lights above cast her in an ethereal glow. She looked like an angel.

Don't worry, Ellie, we'll have you back in those dancing shoes in no time.

Talia stretched her neck toward her right shoulder, and then her left, before signaling to the nurse, who pressed the play button on the iPod. Whole Lotta Rosie by ACDC throbbed from the speakers, filling every nook and cranny of the room.

Talia closed her eyes and pulled in a long breath. For a moment she was back in Iraq. The chatter of machine gun fire and the occasional mortar blast faded into the background as screams of panic and chaos from a mass casualty took center stage. A feeling of calm settled over her. She was in the zone. Opening her eyes, Talia reached out her hand and accepted the instrument from the surgical resident. It was game time.

Thirty minutes into the surgery, an alarm on the heart monitor sounded. What's going on, Sam? Talia asked without looking up.

Sam Tully was young and enthusiastic and brilliant. A child prodigy, he'd entered Harvard Medical School at the age of nineteen. Now thirty, he was one of the best anesthesiologists she'd ever worked with.

She's tachycardic. And her temperature is rising, he reported. It's 101.5…make that 102.

Hang in there, Ellie. I've almost got the old hip out, Talia said.

Temperature is 103, Sam reported less than five minutes later. Heart rate is climbing.

Talia heard the concern in Sam's voice. She needed about thirty more minutes to complete the procedure, but before she could continue, she felt Ellie's muscles tighten.

Temperature is 105 and climbing.

Talia had only seen one case like this in her career, and she'd been a resident then. It happened to only one in a hundred thousand patients. Malignant hyperthermia—an adverse reaction to commonly used general anesthetics—was far less common than it used to be, but no less deadly. They needed to act fast or Ellie would die. Adrenaline shot through Talia's veins, bringing with it a familiar and welcome rush of excitement.

Sam, Talia said with practiced calm, discontinue the anesthetic agents. Administer 100 percent oxygen and 2.5mg of Dantrolene stat. Push 2.5mg of Dantrolene every two minutes until her temperature starts coming down.

Sam sprinted into action. With a quick look at the monitor, Talia saw that Ellie's temperature had climbed to almost 108. Tami, she said to the scrub nurse, administer cold saline and grab a cooling blanket. Ted, she said to the surgical resident, grab an armful of ice packs.

While the surgical team hopped into action, Talia refocused on the surgery. She was almost finished. When Ted brought the ice packs, she instructed him to place them on Ellie's groin and abdomen in order to accelerate the cooling process. Another look at the monitor told Talia that Ellie's temperature was still climbing, but more slowly now. With the new hip joint in place she instructed Ted to close up.

Ten minutes later, Ellie's temperature had begun to decrease and