"Everybody get to the chopper!"

The stern-faced representative from the US Embassy in Amunville probably didn't intend to quote Predator. Kurt and Marlene chuckled anyway as they boarded the helicopter.

Sohail struggled to climb into the rickety Bell Huey, lugging a duffel bag of equipment. The chopper landed in a muddy clearing just outside of Qufar village in eastern Khasib. The mid-afternoon glare reflected off its propellers.

"Man, it breaks my heart to leave the villagers behind like this," said Sohail. "I am totally feeling my first world privilege right now."

"Sure, just go ahead and make it about yourself," snapped Kurt.

"Cut the drama—both of you!" said Amari, locking his seat-belt. "We've got enough problems on our hands already."

"Look, I just don't think it's fair that Nabila and Joost can't join us," said Kurt.

"Yeah, well, take it up with Uncle Sam. This thing can only bring four of us, and the Embassy said Americans get priority," said Amari. "We can discuss the relative fairness of US diplomatic policy once we're safe in the capital."

Sohail looked out the window as the cluster of tin-roofed shacks receded into the distance. Beyond the hamlet was the dense woodlands of Doctor Yousef Bakr National Park.

* * *

* * *

The beat-up Land Rover Defender navigated the dusty roads of the Central Highway. On the crackling AM radio, government emergency broadcasts urged citizens to stay calm and remain indoors, particularly near the country's eastern borders.

"It is what it is," said Nabila, cursing in Arabic under her breath. She had already moved beyond her initial rage and was now focused on getting the hell out of Qufar.

The highway cut across Qufar province into the capital in Amunville via Dukki Gel and Aryamani. They had made the drive in about eight hours when they first came to town but now there would be checkpoints and roadblocks along the way. Because of the sudden departure, their guide Ruslan had not been able to fill up the gas tank. They would need to stop for petrol in New Kerma.

"Maybe this is what Allah willed," said Joost with a smug grin. Always a smart-ass, even in a crisis. Nabila shook her head and glared at him.

Frankly, she was more concerned about Ruslan. For the last eleven days, he had joked with them, translated for them, and shared horrible native moonshine with them. He flirted with Marlene, bantered about FIFA rankings with Sohail, and misquoted Vin Diesel movies. Throughout that time, he had always been a cheerful, laid-back host, even when things didn't go according to plan. Now he looked jittery and tense, his eyes locked on the highway in stoic attention.

They only had a few hours of sunlight left. Even with the intermittent solar lamps along the highway—thanks, EU development loans—it would still be a huge risk to stay on the road after dusk.

"I am sorry," said Ruslan, almost whispering.

"Excuse me?" asked Nabila. "What did you say?!"

"I am sorry, friends, but if we encounter the rebels, I will need to turn you in," said their guide, nearly in tears. "You must understand, if they know I am helping you, they will kill me first. If you surrender, there is a chance they might let me go."

Nabila tried to defuse the situation. "Can't we just worry about that if or when it happens?"

Ruslan abruptly went off-road, pulling over the 4x4 beyond the highway shoulder.

"No! I am serious," he said. "If you will not agree to this, I will be forced to take more drastic measures."

At that point, Joost tried opening the passenger door—it was child-locked.

"If we say yes to your plan, will you keep going?" asked Nabila.

That's when Joost pulled a handheld taser from his pocket, shocking Ruslan on the back of his neck. The burly Qufari collapsed onto the dashboard.

"Are you crazy?! What did you do that for?"

"Hello! Didn't you hear? That bastard was all set to rat on us!"

"He was scared, you psycho. Just like we are! Now what are we going to do?"

"I say we tie him up, drive to New Kerma as quick as we can, get a full night's sleep, and figure everything out tomorrow."

"Do you even know how to drive this thing?"

"I figured you would know!"

"Just great! So we're basically stuck here with an unconscious friend, low fuel, and just enough supplies to last the night. Even if one of us stays up, we're screwed if the rebels find us."

"Well, frankly, I don't trust this guy enough to stick around here."

"So what do you propose we do, huh?"

"We hide in there," said Joost, pointing to the overgrown foliage in the distance.

* * *

It all happened so quickly.

Thirteen months ago, fresh graduate Amari Suleiman had the idea to set up Soukly, an app-based platform for nomadic artisans in rural Qufar to sell their handicrafts directly to consumers in the industrialized world. Amari's family came to Philadelphia in the early 90s, refugees from the civil war that lead to Khasib's secession as an independent sultanate. Amari agreed that Qufari beadwork and woven accessories were marketable enough to be a viable social enterprise.

Amari's college buddy Sohail agreed to build the app. His on-off girlfriend Marlene signed on to handle the visual design and digital marketing.

Amari grew up speaking the Qufari dialect, so he was fluent enough to make arrangements with the craftspeople. But he still needed someone who could deal with the Arabic-speaking officials in Khasib. That's how he met polyglot Nabila at a TED Conference in Seattle. Not only was she enthusiastic about Soukly, she was an African Studies scholar with a focus on development in Central Africa.

Amari shopped the idea to angel investors for several months with little interest. Luckily, he ran into an old acquaintance, Joost Visser, who had just accessed a sizable trust fund. As fate would have it, he was looking to back a social enterprise project to alleviate his guilt about his family's diamond mine holdings. He did have one condition: his biz school bro Kurt would need to come on board to manage Soukly's finances.

It turned out Kurt delivered the coup de grace for Soukly: he somehow won them a social enterprise grant through NextAid, a project of US State Department. The funding would be enough to send them all to Khasib to lay the groundwork for Soukly's operations.

Eleven days ago, the Soukly team set up a makeshift office in a shed in Qafar town. They quickly settled into the task of convincing local craftsmen to sell their wares on the platform.

Nine hours earlier, the Prime Minister declared a state of emergency. Armed militias from the Dhergham People's Revolutionary Front had crossed the eastern border into Qufar province from the neighboring Democratic Republic of Shibl. As tensions mounted, the State Department called on US citizens to flee Khasib ASAP.

* * *

Nabila and Joost took only their own belongings as they trekked into the forest. It probably would have been simple enough to grab Ruslan's bags, or loot them for essentials—who knows what he might have carried with him "just in case". But the pair agreed that they probably shouldn't antagonize him any more than they already had.

Joost remembered the basics from his Lonely Planet guide: they were near the southwestern perimeter of Doctor Yousef Bakr National Park. He figured they were only a few kilometers hike from a tributary of the Qufar River, so at least they would have a fresh water source.

Sure enough, they came upon a running stream just after nightfall. They agreed to nap in three-hour shifts, rationing their supply of Hiwan, a foul-tasting Sudanese energy drink that boasted criminally high taurine levels.

Nabila's first watch began just before midnight. Joost was snoring away inside the tent, while she stretched out on a hammock suspended between two acacia trees. At one point, it almost felt tranquil—she found comfort in observing the stars through the tree line. She was looking for Polaris when her focus was interrupted by a blood-curdling roar in the distance.

Another growl. Now it was clearer, more threatening. Nabila had no way to gauge the beast's location until it was too late. A solitary lion emerged from a thicket several meters away, pacing towards their campsite.

It wasn't a particularly majestic creature. Its mane was growing thin and its teeth looked withered. Perhaps it was an older or infirm male that had been cast out of its pride. Even so, it could probably overwhelm two weary humans with ease.

Steeling her resolve, Nabila stood upright and looked the animal in its eyes. Bad move. The lion snarled at her. It edged closer, poised to strike.

Nabila's fight-or-flight instincts kicked in—she could probably climb up the acacia tree, out of the lion's reach. But that would mean being trapped in the branches while the animal mauled Joost in his sleep.

Once again, the lion roared, its call shaking the ground below. That was finally enough to rouse Joost, who screamed out loud at the rough awakening. This seemed to catch the lion off guard. The beast took a step back, giving Nabila a moment to gather her wits.

She reached for an open pack of beef jerky from her rucksack and tossed it towards the lion. It sniffed at the chunk of preserved meat, almost like it was prey that had been surrendered by these lesser creatures.

With the lion momentarily distracted, Joost nodded at Nabila and motioned in the direction of the stream. They both leaped into the water. They sunk below the surface, wading in the direction of the current until they couldn't hold their breath any longer.

Nabila panted heavily as she helped to carry Joost out of the stream. They were scratched up from the escape but at least they lost the lion, for now. But that wasn't the only thing they lost. In their haste, they had abandoned their gear at the campsite. Luckily, they still had two of the most important objects: the Swiss Army knife attached to the carabiner on Nabila's belt buckle, and the waterproof compass in her pocket.

They had doubled back in the general direction of the highway. But with each passing hour, it seemed as if they had been wandering in circles. Every creeping vine, bug-infested thicket, or alien-looking shrubbery appeared to blend into the next one, and they started to lose hope about their chances for survival.

That's when they finally came upon a ramshackle cabin in the middle of a clearing: a park ranger station, by the look of it. The pair kept as silent as possible as Joost looked into the half-open side window. Sure enough, a platoon of Dhergham militia men were fast asleep in the cramped workspace. From Joost's viewpoint, they appeared to be unarmed but there was no telling what kind of weapons they might have stashed away.

All of a sudden, someone grabbed Nabila was from behind. A Dhergham rebel held a machete to her cheek while covering her mouth with his other gloved hand. She had the presence of mind to lift her leg, striking him in the shin from behind with the heel of her boot. The man released her but swung the knife at Joost, cutting into his upper arm.

Just as the travelers prepared for the worst, the lion pounced on the rebel with a fierce roar, slashing at his throat. The noise awoke the insurgents who rushed outside packing submachine guns.

With the rebels distracted by the lion, they didn't notice Ruslan pull up in the Range Rover, escorted by infantry units from the Royal Khasibi Army. He signaled to Joost and Nabila, who ran to the vehicle.

Joost passed out in the back seat, his wounded arm in a makeshift sling. Nabila felt too overwhelmed to rest. It was a long, tense ride to Amunville.