Free Pushing Up Daisies by Melanie Thompson Page A

and its crew, but he felt it was important to make friends with the nomads. He spoke their language reasonably well. It was just a bastard variation of Arabic. When they began talking about disposing of him, he spoke up.
    They were shocked to hear him speak their language. The surprise passed swiftly. He was a man after all. “My name is House and I can probably get you anything you want from the company I work for if you let us go.”
    The leader’s name was Masaad Abdalla, House had already picked up on that. Abdalla leaned forward and blew out a huge gust of tobacco smoke. “What is your name?”
    â€œMy name is Dane Wolfheart,” he said in Arabic. “My friends call me House.”
    Abdalla called him Bayt, which was the Arabic word for house, more specifically the Egyptian Arabic word for house. “Bayt, how can you do this for us?”
    â€œI just have to ask. My people will find me. We’re fitted with tracking devices.”
    â€œAll of you?”
    House shrugged instead of answering. There was no point in picking out Sarah as different from Daisy and him. “Make me a list of the things you need.” House took another hit off the water pipe and blew it out slowly. He felt very mellow. The Rizeigat were desperate or they wouldn’t be this far from their home.
    â€œWe are so poor,” Abdalla said. “We need many things.”
    â€œWhy are you far from your home grazing lands?”
    â€œThere is a new kind of war in Sudan. Outsiders have come in and caused much trouble. They bring new weapons and demands of our government. They have no patience with the old ways. We have traveled freely for the ages and would continue to do so, but they wish to restrict us to certain areas. It is the same with our ancient enemies, the Misseriya. They are forced further and further south with their cattle. We came here.”
    â€œWho are these outsiders?” House felt like he already knew the answer but needed to be sure.
    â€œThey call themselves Muslims and fighters of the jihad, al Qaida. But they are only after money and a homeland for themselves. They don’t care about the people, only killing.”
    House knew al Qaida was making a push in the Sudan and in Nigeria. He and his team had made a run there earlier in the year and lost many of their men. It was a dangerous and dark area with few allies. He felt sorry for these people, innocent of any wrongdoing but losing everything beneath the heavy feet of al Qaida.
    â€œIf you let me and my people go, we’ll return with supplies for you and your families. You’re in Ethiopia. I’m sure the government understands and sympathizes, but who knows how they’ll react. You really need to head back to the Sudan.”
    Abdalla frowned. “I will not willingly take my family and my tribe back there. We will all be killed.”
    House checked out the assembled males of the tribe. They were hanging on his every word, desperation clearly shining from their eyes. He had no idea how he could help them. Grazing lands in Kenya were limited to the southern part of the country. In North Kenya there were a lot of game preserves and wildlife sanctuaries, more of the same in southern Ethiopia. The government would freak if they saw this band of camel herders trekking through game sanctuaries. House still couldn’t understand how they had managed to get here without being shot by wardens as poachers. But this group of Bedouins had a legitimate problem. “I’ll talk to my bosses and see what I can do.”
    â€œHow do we know we can trust you?” Abdalla asked.
    House pointed to his chest. “Because my heart and my words are true.”
    A sudden burst of automatic weaponry from outside set the camels to honking and running. The men leaped to their feet. “We are under attack,” Abdalla shouted.
    The men began to pass out rifles. House saw his M-4, his vest and his