Then the telltale hum and whirr of tech turning back on. Enyemaka straightens but doesn’t loosen her grip. “A two-fang. It is not yet dead, but it has been poisoned by the air. It has wandered here.”
And that’s when Ify sees it. It lies on its side, its flank rising and falling slowly, one head lying on top of the other, both mouths open, gasping for breath. It’s as though the mist has cleared to reveal it, and a memory flashes behind Ify’s eyes.
She’s younger, a baby almost. And the ground is cold under her, and she holds an animal by its neck close to her chest. It’s gasping for breath, its chest heaving against Ify’s, and she’s crying into its fur. Someone has shot it, this animal she cares for, and she has gathered it in her arms while the shooting and the screaming continue outside her room.
Then, she’s back.
Enyemaka’s shoulder is cold against her cheek, snapping her out of the memory. The droid’s fingers press into her bottom, cradling her. The wet air cools her scalp. She shakes her head.
“Let’s go, Enyemaka.” And she prods her heels into Enye-maka’s ribs like she’s seen people in her downloaded movies do when they ride horses in the desert. Enyemaka plays like she’s galloping in place, and Ify giggles.
Before long, they get to the armory, and from there, it’s a short trip to the mess hall for the evening meal.
Between the armory and the mess hall lies the clinic. Ify slips off of Enyemaka’s back when they get near. A crowd of girls gathers outside the tent. Onyii sometimes helps with the women or girls rescued from outside the camp or whenever someone catches an infection because of their tech or when some of the girls’ night terrors keep them awake. Even though she’s scared Onyii will find out about her Accent, she smiles at the thought of seeing her sister again and skips ahead of Enyemaka to the tent’s entrance.
She makes her way to the front of the crowd and takes it all in. A nurse named Nneka is leading a bunch of the others around a table that has a woman on it whose face is scrunched up in pain while she clutches her stomach. Ify looks around, then finds Onyii sitting on a crate by the tent entrance.
“Hey, little one,” she says with a tired smile. “How was school?”
The woman on the table moans. Ify can’t stop staring, as the woman in torn clothes clutches something to her chest. And Ify feels something invisible press against her own chest. The memory of that wounded animal she’d held as a child. And she’s caught, trapped where she stands.
A snapping sound brings her back. Onyii’s face is directly in front of hers.
“Hey!” Onyii says. “Where’s Enyemaka?”
“At her side,” the droid says, lumbering past the gathered crowd. “As always.”
Onyii looks up and smirks, as if to say, Are you being smart with me? “Good.” Then Onyii gets up from her crouch. “Well, let’s go. It’s mealtime.”
The three of them head toward the tent’s entrance, but Ify turns and sees that Onyii has stopped and is looking at the ground. She’s got her fists balled at her sides, and it looks as though she’s at war with herself, trying to decide something. The woman on the table whimpers. Then Onyii reaches into her sack and pulls out a piece of clay. An eto-eto!
Swiftly, Onyii forms arms and legs out of the clay and a head with something of a face. She turns and brings it to the woman, and the woman stops her squirming and groaning for a moment to stare into Onyii’s eyes.
Ify sees Onyii struggle with being kind from time to time but feels a surge of pride every time she watches Onyii move with love.
The woman grabs Onyii’s wrist and tightens.
A bell rings inside Enyemaka, but the mealtime bell already rang.
The machines the woman is hooked up to start beeping.
Faster. Faster.
“Oh no,” someone whispers.
“Ify!” Onyii screams. “GET OUT! IT’S A BO—”
CHAPTER
5
The world comes to Onyii as though she’s wrapped in gauze. The sounds are muffled, the shapes blurred together, so that it’s all colors swimming. The screams and the explosions sound like they’re happening on the other side of the forest. But the pain. The pain is immediate. It screams through her limbs. Twice, she tries to get to her knees but can’t. On the third try, her head hits something metal. Flecks of something black and gray come off in her hair. She turns around and falls on her back to find the burned-out husk of Enyemaka crouched over her. Enyemaka shielded her from the worst of the blast. There’s almost nothing left of the droid. Just its blackened limbs and charred torso. Silhouetted against the light-enflamed medical tent, Enyemaka looks like a silent, solemn tree.
Onyii pulls her way free and staggers to her feet, and that’s when she sees Ify. The little girl has her cheek pressed into the dirt, her entire body caked in mud. Skidding to a stop at her side, Onyii pores over her body for wounds, tests her wrists and arms and legs for broken bones, cradles her head in her hands. “Ify, please,” Onyii whimpers. “Please, please, please.” And when she opens her eyes again, Ify is looking at her, dazed but very much alive.
Thunder booms overhead, and both their gazes snap skyward to track the arc of a burning mech as it sails through the air. It trails a comet tail of smoke behind it and crash-lands in the forest so close to the camp that the impact tosses Onyii onto her back.
Automatic weapons fire chatters all around them. Katakata. Chaos.
Onyii scoops Ify up in her arms, and the child murmurs in Onyii’s ear, “What’s happening? Where’s Enyemaka?”
“The camp is under attack,” Onyii breathes as she runs toward the camp’s periphery. On the way, she catches Chinelo leading a small squadron of War Girls from the armory. “Chinelo! The mechs.”
Chinelo nods, then shouts a command to Chike, one of the smaller girls in the group, who salutes, then leads the others into battle. Chinelo dashes in another direction. Onyii runs and runs, past the Terminal and past the storage area for the suits and past the greenhouse to a small patch of untended land. Ify hops out of Onyii’s arms, and Onyii scrambles around for something but can’t find it. She lets out a curse, then starts digging with her hands.
Ify joins her, and they paw and scrape at the ground. Suddenly, it gives way, and dirt and brush fall into what looks like a small underground tunnel.
“Get in,” Onyii says, pushing Ify so hard she nearly trips. Before Ify even makes it all the way into the cave, Onyii is moving brush and broken boards and slabs of metal. Sparks fly from her right arm. Some of her circuitry must have been fried in the blast.
“No, wait,” Ify says.