I realize I am hearing nothing.
Not even chirping of bird and grunting of shorthorn. Why am I hearing nothing?
Then I am smelling it. Fire.
First I am smelling it, then I am hearing it—the crackle and the pop and the rustle and the crackle again—then I am seeing it. By the time I am seeing it, it is wall of fire where I am facing. I am running the other way, but the air is being clear for only a few moment before it is being filled with smoke again. I am turning every way and running but I am finding no clear air anywhere, and even though I am not coughing I am feeling damage happening to my lungs and the other parts inside me. Water is building in my eyes to protect them.
I am looking and looking, then I am finding tree with thick trunk and I am leaping up to be climbing it. And I am climbing and climbing then jumping to other tree and climbing then, when I am reaching top of that tree, I am jumping to next tree and climbing until I get to the very top and can see far far far in the forest, so far in the forest that I am seeing where it is ending and Redland is beginning.
Everywhere there is fire. Everywhere in front of me, everywhere behind me.
I am smelling sulfur, and I am thinking maybe this is part of fire, but then I am remembering other time when I am smelling sulfur like this, and then I am falling from tree because my body is shaking and I am no longer controlling it.
Because I am having epileptic fit, and where I am falling is fire. Only fire. And I am feeling nothing because my brain is no longer belonging to me. There is only the air that is twisting around me, the wind whistling in my ears, and as I am falling, I am sadding. Because I am thinking of all the gosling that is now no longer having home.
* * *
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
When I am waking up, I am hearing footstep and I am knowing right away that I am moving, but my feet are dragging along the ground and my arms are being held up, even though I am not feeling them because they are broken. I am hearing heavy breathing on both sides of me and it is not sounding like droid or metal person that is breathing. Is sounding like red-blood. Like human I am spending so much time avoiding. But these people are carrying me over their shoulders. And I am opening my eye as much as I am being able and I am looking to one side and I am seeing Ngozi. Part of me is wanting to struggle and thrash because I am not wanting to go back to Xifeng, who is just using me for her mission and not caring about me, but my body is not listening to my brain. I look to the other side and can feel the insides of me warm and heat up with surprise and disbelief and what I am realizing is gratitude because when I am opening my eyes and seeing who else is carrying me, I am seeing Ify’s face. And she is the only person I am knowing who is not lying to me. My cord is dangling, so it is not connecting to her, and she is looking straight forward, but I am hearing how her body is speaking when she and Ngozi are carrying me to their aircraft and to the woman named Grace Leung, who is standing guard over it. I am listening to what Ify’s body is telling me and it is like color and feeling are being sent to my brain, not just word, so that I am not only hearing but feeling with my whole body Ify telling me, Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry.
I am wanting to tell her thank you, but my mouth is not moving, so instead I am crying and hoping that Ify is understanding that this is how I am being able to say thank you.
CHAPTER
47
Ngozi clears a space in the section of the aircraft behind the cockpit. She works swiftly, dismantling the seats that lined each side, fetching a medkit from her mech, and preparing a makeshift bed for Uzo, with medical supplies in a neat, efficient array beside her, among the supplies a sort of liquid battery that feeds nanobots into Uzo’s prone, motionless form by way of a needle injected into her damaged left arm.
When they’d first brought Uzo into the plane and laid her down, they’d all shared a moment of despairing shock. The synth’s skin peeled in a number of places, revealing metal rusted with corrosion beneath. Pistons and gears and divets the color of blood with dried oil like grease puddles around some of her abrasions. Soot blackened her face, and even now, in slumber, her chest heaves with labored breathing. Watching Ngozi hook Uzo to the external battery and get to work settling cushions beneath Uzo’s head, Ify remembers watching so many loved ones hovering over the hospital beds of patients in her care, whispering words she was sure the patient couldn’t hear or trying to stimulate responses by touch when Ify knew the patient had no way of responding. And annoyance had cut through her, watching that. It was illogical, what they were doing. And yet she kneels by Uzo’s side, wanting to run her fingers over the backs of the synth’s charred hands, wanting to murmur nothings into her ear, not caring whether she can hear her or not.
“Some of these will have to be replaced,” Ngozi says from behind her mask as she takes her tools to the exposed metal of Uzo’s shoulder. Her legs are riddled with rashes and burns as well. These, at least, Grace treats with healing pads and gel from the medkit. “But I’ve managed to restore brain function. She wasn’t out for long before we found her, thank God.” A smirk. “She certainly has Onyii’s luck.”
An ease settles into the back of Ify’s mind. As though a worry has been checked off her list. If Uzo is still alive, that means Ify has a working braincase to examine. That means they are that much closer to helping the children in Alabast.
After a while, Ngozi sits back and hangs some of her tools on hooks in a makeshift stand next to her. Then she takes off her mask, wipes the sweat from her forehead with her arm, and sighs. It’s a large sound in the small area of the plane behind the cockpit. “She’ll live.” When Ngozi says it, Ify doesn’t hear the joy she expects. “We need to talk about how you get her out of Nigeria.”
Grace stops swabbing Uzo’s legs and watches the cream dry, smoothing the ragged edges of the broken skin. “We can’t go back, can we?”
Ngozi shakes her head. “It’s no longer safe for you here.”
“They’ll find us.”
Ify considers them both, then looks down at Uzo’s still form. “We haven’t even asked her yet.”
They both look Ify’s way.
“What if she refuses?” She can’t stop scanning Uzo’s wounds, the story all her markings tell. “What if she doesn’t want to come with us?”
“Where will she go?” Ngozi asks, annoyed. “She’ll be hunted here. And they will catch her sooner rather than later.”
Ify smirks. “You’ve managed to steer clear.”
Ngozi puts her hand to her chest. “I’m a fugitive. No one lasts long as a fugitive here.” She lowers her voice, drains the anger from it. “I’ve made my peace with this. I only made it this far because there were others. If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together. That was our rule. Who will watch over her?”