WAR: Opposition: (WAR Book 3) Read Free

airport in the capital of Dahomey. Her plane had been grounded due to mechanical issues and there had been no seats on any flights heading north until next week. With a series of storms threatening the region, she’d wanted to get up to the UAR as soon as possible. The concert to raise money for the victims of the rebels was too important for her to miss, so she’d hired a taxi to take her to the bus station.
    Since Dev continued to mistake her childhood irresponsibility for lack of intelligence, he’d be surprised that she’d made it this far.
    Frustrated when all the coach buses had either been full or had already left for the day, she’d been relieved when George had befriended her. He’d found her a spot on this repurposed school bus headed west to New Accra in Volta. From there she’d try to get on a coach bus heading north to the UAR.
    She had a few days before anyone involved with the concert would miss her.
    “Not long now. Perhaps another half an hour.” George gave her his shy smile. She figured him to be in his middle forties, an average looking man with a slight paunch, sad eyes, and medium brown skin. Yet he also seemed tenser than the other passengers, as if expecting trouble. It wasn’t obvious, but Kirra was trained to read subtle body language cues. Although he held himself in an outwardly relaxed pose, his muscles were tensed, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
    Why? The rebels weren’t active in this section of West Africa. At least, not according to the research she’d done before leaving home. If George had concerns about attracting the attention of any rebel sympathizers among the passengers, he wouldn’t have offered to help Kirra, a white woman. The rebels were notoriously anti-foreigner.
    George’s tension might be due to anticipation of a strained meeting with his family, but he’d appeared relaxed and happy when he spoke of them.
    His underlying wariness added a note of discord to his pleasant demeanor as he’d played tour guide, pointing out the occasional wild animal along this coastal road and giving her a history of the people. This was her first trip out of South Africa and she found the differences in culture and environment fascinating. Already the sights and sounds had inspired several ideas for new songs.
    She shifted sideways and craned her neck to check that her guitar—her lifeline once she’d emerged from the coma—still rested securely in the luggage rack up front. Yep. She spotted its neck between a bulging bag of yams and two suitcases. Satisfied, she settled back in her seat and rotated her ankles. After sitting for so long, she couldn’t wait for the next stop when she could stretch her legs.
    She pulled her backpack onto her lap and replaced the water bottle, then reached for her—
    An explosion threw Kirra back into her seat. Her cell went flying down the aisle.
    “The rebels have bombed the bus!” a man screamed from the front. “Run!”
    Automatic gunfire punctuated his words.
    Passengers leapt to their feet and fled down the aisle toward the rear exit. Heart pounding, Kirra glanced toward the front. Flames engulfed the bonnet and poured through the broken window, licking at the items in the luggage rack.
    “No!” Her hand reached out as her guitar case caught fire. Her guitar had been her savior. Her reason for holding onto life. She couldn’t lose it. She’d—
    “Hurry!” George cried. He shoved Kirra into the aisle and her backpack tumbled to the floor. Trained to never leave anything behind that could identify her, Kirra automatically snatched the pack up before the river of panicked passengers carried her swiftly to the exit.
    The people ahead of her either jumped out or fell out the door. “No. Wait!” Kirra cried. But fear fueled the crowd. Someone shoved Kirra and she plummeted into open air.
    Kirra tried to land properly as she’d learned in self-defense class, but the weight of her backpack threw off her balance. She landed hard on