Part of the woman’s cheek and head was covered in lesions, replacing some of her cascading, nearly black waves with a warty bald patch. Even then, I recognized the face that I had dreamed about a thousand times over the years. “Mama,” I said, my eyes welling with tears. I reached forward to grasp her hands.
She stepped back, her hands fixed at her sides. “I haven’t been much of a mother to you. Call me Miriam.”
I choked. Her hollow, cold words didn’t seem real. Mrs. Nagi would have held me, put a kiss on my forehead. Mrs. Nagi would have comforted me, said she was glad to see me after so many long years. The woman who was my mother only stared. She had to turn her chin slightly upward to meet my eyes, and she brushed some of her thick dark hair behind her ear. Her eyes were the same yellowish honey-brown color as mine, a color I hadn’t seen on any other person. Miriam’s deep blue dress hung regally from her shoulders, adding to her hard, steady presence. It was like looking into a distorted mirror. She was my mother. Whatever fantasy I held about my mother shattered. I broke my gaze, turning my attention to the floor.
“Why did Papa always tell me you were dead?” I asked.
She clenched her jaw and crossed her arms tightly in front of her. “I’m sure he thought I was dead. I thought I was going to die. I was very ill. Henri took me to the doctor, and they did some tests. They said they would call us with the results.” She shut her eyes for a moment, looking pained by the memory.
“That night, I was laying on the sofa trying to sleep. My head hurt tremendously. There was a knock at the door, so I stumbled to get it. There were soldiers, three of them. They grabbed me. Henri tried to stop them, but they threatened to shoot him—threatened to shoot you, too, Sadira. They said it was because I was ill, that I could make other people die.”
“What happened then?”
“They said they were taking me to the hospital. But really, they opened up the gates to the city and threw me out with a few other people. I was still in my nightgown, with no food, no water, no shoes, even.” She trembled at the memory. “I walked until I thought I was about to die, and then Asif—he found me and brought me here.”
She sighed, letting her arms uncross and her body relax. “I always wondered what happened to you both. I wondered...” Her voice softened for a moment. “Asif told me you were looking for Henri. He is smart, strong. There’s a good chance he’s still alive.
Asif cleared his throat. “In light of this, I believe we need to call a meeting. Some of the elders I spoke with think we should keep you locked up here, so that you can’t tell anyone where we are.”
“We can’t stay here!” I cried.
He sighed. “Some of the other elders think that you and the boy should be killed.”
“But we haven’t hurt anyone. We’re just trying to find—”
“That’s why we need a meeting.” He gave me a small smile. “If they all see you, hear your story, I’m sure they will want to help you find your father.”
Cantara jumped up. “Do you want me to tell the elders?”
“Yes, thank you. Tell them we’ll be meeting after dinner tonight.”
Cantara slipped out of the room, racing down the dark halls. Asif placed his arm on my shoulder, warm and reassuring. “I trust your story, Sadira. I’ll try to convince the other elders to help you. But I can’t make any promises.”
My chest tightened. What if we’ve gotten this far just to be executed?
Here in the dim underground rooms, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. By the pangs of hunger twisting my stomach, I judged we had been in the city for at least four or five hours. Miriam led me back down the maze of dim hallways.
“Ma—Miriam?”
She raised her brows and turned to stare at me. “Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
She paused for a moment, then grabbed my hands with her small, rough ones. “I’m glad you’re alive, too. I never dreamed I would see you again. I was afraid to hope too much.” She raised one of her hands to my cheek, stroking my face. “Twelve years is a long time. I missed so much.”
She stiffened, drew back, and took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened to Henri.” Her pace slowed as she listened to my story of leaving Samalut and traveling through the badlands.
“If anyone could survive out here, it’s your father,” she said.
“Do you miss him?” I asked.
Her face hardened, and I knew I’d pushed too far. “I try not to think about it.” She stopped in front of a wooden door, pulled out a key, and pushed the door open.
Baruj still lay fast asleep on the sofa, but even in the short time I had been gone, he looked better. The rough flesh on Baruj’s arm had seamed together, leaving narrow streaks of white scars.
I kneeled beside the sofa and gently shook Baruj. He groaned, swatted at my arm, and finally opened his eyes.
“Where are we?” He shot upright, his voice fraught with panic.
“The dogs bit you. A girl led us here—”
He rubbed his eyes. “She was real? Where is she?”
Miriam stepped forward from the door, slowly approaching the sofa.
“You need to get up. Asif has asked that you both attend dinner.”
Baruj, still sitting on the couch, trembled as he stared at Miriam. “Who are you?”
“She’s my mother.”
“Your—what? But your mother is—” He studied both of our faces, then rubbed his eyes.“Look, whoever you are, I’m not hungry. We’re not going to dinner. Sadira and I are leaving.”
He moved to stand, but Miriam pushed him back on the couch. “If you try something like that, your life is forfeit. From what I understand, one of our scouts was already able to get close to you. You should watch your things more carefully, boy.”
His mouth dropped open, but no words came out. “You’ll do as I ask,” Miriam said, “or I cannot be responsible for what happens to you or Sadira. I can only protect you so much.”
He struggled to his feet, stumbling a bit on the floor. I rushed to him, pulling him up by his good arm. My legs shook under his added weight, but I didn’t buckle. I threw an arm around his waist and helped him straighten up. His head rolled onto my shoulder, his short beard scratching my neck.
“Lead the way,” I said. Miriam turned deftly and headed for the door, guiding us through a maze of corridors. After a left, a right, then another right, she paused, pushing open a great wooden door. The room beyond was the same large one Cantara had led me through earlier, but now it brimmed with people.
The people inside were a rainbow of complexions, from Asif’s pale, milky coloring to Cantara’s deep chocolate brown. Despite the differences, I noticed two similarities. First, everyone in the room had the same scaly lesions covering their bodies, though the severity varied widely. Some, like the doctor that treated Baruj, had only a few rough patches, while others, like Asif, seemed to be totally encased in warty, lumpy skin.
Secondly, Cantara was by far the youngest. The next youngest person was a man who looked to be in his thirties, but there were no children to be seen. It was just another way that Baruj and I stuck out in this place.
Miriam—my mother, I reminded myself—motioned for Baruj and me to sit in the far corner of the room where two solitary chairs stood with a small table between them. I understood immediately—as outsiders, we weren’t welcome to sit on the benches and mingle with the rest of the people. She turned and walked off without a backward glance, taking a seat beside Dr. Hennet.
Baruj collapsed in his chair. He still looked exhausted. Thick dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his shoulders sagged from the effort of sitting upright. I pulled my chair closer to his, and he rested his head on my shoulder.
Cantara walked over a few moments later with two trays of food in her hands.
“Here. Eat up.” A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips when Baruj looked up at her, but she pressed her lips back into the same serious, thin line
and turned back to the rows of tables to sit down.
The food looked odd, like a chunky reddish-brown stew, but it smelled delicious. There was no spoon on the tray, so I lifted a chunk of meat out of the stew with a piece of bread and chewed. It was a bit gamey—not one of Mrs. Nagi’s amazing dinners, but better than the jerky and stale bread we had been eating.
I turned to Baruj. “It’s actually pretty good. You should eat. It will make you feel better.”
He lifted his head from my shoulder and dipped his finger in the meat stew. After a taste, he decided it was safe to eat and dug in. If he was anywhere near as hungry as I was, the food was a welcome relief. It was our first proper meal in days.
The sounds of talking and eating quieted down, and soon I could see everyone in the room had finished their meal. Asif stood up and began to speak.
“We are brought together today to conduct a meeting about these two outsiders. Elders, please stand and take your positions.” Six people stood and placed themselves around Asif. Not all of the elders were actually old. Several looked to be in their thirties. Most did not look friendly. I began to worry about my chances of actually leaving this place alive.
“Let the meeting begin.” he bowed.
The first elder stepped forward, a short, stocky man with a hooked nose.
“What are your names?”
“My name is Sadira Pascal. This is—”
The elder interrupted me, a frown forming around his mouth and eyes. “The other can answer for himself.”
“I am Baruj Haddad.”
The elder scratched his bushy, light brown beard. “Is it true that you are Central spies?”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“Then please explain why we found this in your pack.” He held up Dr. DeWitt’s radio. A collective gasp ran through the room.
“It was from a friend,” I said weakly. “He helped us escape from our outpost.”
“That cannot be true. Everyone here knows that it’s illegal to own a radio on the Central bases.” Several of the other elders nodded their heads in agreement.
“That’s right,” I said. “This friend, he built the radio in spite of the laws because he knew the laws were wrong. We’re not spies.”
“Lies!” He threw the radio to the ground, where it made a sickening crunch. Small pieces of metal tinkled on the ground like metallic raindrops. My mouth fell.
That was the only radio to call Dr. DeWitt.
That was the only radio to call Timothy.
I rushed to the broken radio, snatching up the pieces. Maybe I could salvage it. Maybe I could piece it together. It was a faint hope, but I had to try. I picked up the pieces in my hands and rushed back to my seat, away from the elder’s anger.
The elder pulled his shoulders back, puffed out his broad chest, and sneered. “See? It must be a spy radio. Why else would she jump like that? She’s another of those Central sympathizers. I bet she has a tracker—”
Asif waved for him to quiet. “Enough, Ghazi. Let another elder speak.” The burly elder stepped back, his eyes narrow slits of suspicion.
The next elder stepped forward, a slender older woman with rivers of gray hair. “This question is for the boy,” she said. “Why did a young man of your age choose to walk across the desert with such a young girl? It’s highly improper. Did you abduct her?”
Voices buzzed around the room at the idea of such a scandal. I jumped up and started to protest, but Baruj pulled me back down to my seat.
He lifted his head wearily. “I did not abduct Sadira. She came of her own free will, in search of her father.”
“Surely there was another young man you could take?” The implication was clear, and it angered me. I opened my mouth to speak, but Baruj shook his head. He pushed himself up from his chair and began to walk toward the elders.
“My brother was the pilot of the hovership that crashed. Sadira’s father was on board the same ship. I know they both survived the crash. I tried to talk to my superiors to help me find my brother and his comrades, but everyone insisted they were dead.” With each sentence, Baruj took another halting step toward the elders. They shrank back.
“Sadira is one of the few people who put any trust in me. Her spy radio,” he spat the word out, “gave us messages from a friend, messages that helped us avoid Central soldiers on our trip. It gave us hope that our families were still alive. She walked by my side kilometer after kilometer through the desert. When I ran out of water, Sadira gave me hers. When a pack of dogs attacked us, she fought—she saved my life. There is no one I respect more.” He paused, standing less than a meter in front of the elders. “I would never do anything to hurt her.”
He turned toward me and smiled, and I felt a grin grow on my face.
The mood in the room shifted palpably. Several of the elder’s faces softened. The next elder stepped forward. “Is it true that you are Miriam’s daughter?”
My mother stood up, her shoulders square and proud. “It’s true. I was excluded when she was a small child.”
Yet another elder stepped forward. “What do you two hope to accomplish here?”
Baruj sighed. “I want to find my brother and bring him home.”
I nodded in agreement. “I want to find my papa.”
The angry elder, Ghazi, shot back forward. “Don’t you two understand that you can never go back home? How naive are you?”
I froze, confused. “What do you mean?”
Ghazi snorted. “You’ve shared a meal with the unclean, breathed our same air. What outpost will welcome you back now?”
Asif bowed his head. “Ghazi is right, Sadira. Even if you both find your family, you’ll never be able to go back to your outpost. Some people here have tried. They were shot on sight.”
My breath caught in my throat. I’d hoped to find Papa, prayed he was still alive and well, but I hadn’t thought of what I would do after that point. How could I have been so blind? Of course there was no going back. I wanted to kick myself. Amina, Timothy...
“Why can’t we welcome them to Bawiti?” asked Miriam. She stood, defiantly at first, but as the gaze of all seven elders turned toward her, she stared at her feet.
“And risk having Central’s eye turned on our village?” said Ghazi. “We’d be putting ourselves in danger to show these two hospitality. What if Central tracks them right to our door?”
Asif bowed his head, looking grave. “I’m afraid Central is already aware of our outpost. Child, I apologize. I took the liberty of going through your bag to see if you spoke the truth.” He held up my tablet. “This was in the girl’s bag. I began reading through some of the files—your father’s files?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“It appears that a few months ago, he had been asked to design a device to terminate any infected people.”
A buzz ran through the room.
“Kill us?”
“Those bastards!”
“Why would they do that?”
Asif raised his arms. “Quiet, everyone. It’s clear that her father did not intend to comply. In fact, he wished to help us. We should help these children.”
The other six elders jumped forward, all shouting at once.
“What about Central?”
“How do we know those notes weren’t planted?”
“Maybe it’s a trap.”
“We can keep ourselves safe. We don’t need some clean man to help us.”
Asif hung his head and sighed. My heart sunk. Papa wanted to help people. I knew it in my heart. He was a good person. Why couldn’t these other elders see that?
“We can’t kill them,” muttered one of the other elders. “They’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But we can’t keep them here, either,” said Ghazi. “It’s too much of a risk for us. Central’s scanners haven’t found us yet, and I don’t think they’ll find us now. I move that we expel them from Bawiti and forbid them to come within two kilometers.”
The rest of th
e elders nodded. Asif wrung his hands, but called out the motion. “All in favor of expelling the outsiders?”
“Aye!” they said in unison.
“At least they didn’t vote to kill us,” I whispered to Baruj.
“They may as well have,” he replied.
The silence broke, and the badlanders stood to leave the room. Miriam marched toward me, her chin held high. She stopped in front of my chair.
“Sadira, I wish I could help you. I wish—” Her eyes met mine, and they filled with tears. She blinked, and her face was somber once more. “I wish many things, but we can’t change the past. We can only pray for the future.”
She yanked a small silver ring from her finger, inlaid with tiny blue stones.
“This belonged to my mother. I always meant to pass it on to you.” She dropped the ring in my hand.
“May God put courage in your hearts.” She stared at me a moment longer, then turned, walking back into the crowd of people leaving the dining hall. I slipped the ring on my finger. Maybe some little piece of Miriam was still my mother after all.
.
Asif led us back to his room, with Cantara following closely behind. “Gather your belongings. You have one hour to leave this place. If you come within the two-kilometer radius, any of our scouts is permitted to kill you.”
“How is this any different from being excluded from Samalut?” I said.
“It’s not, but it’s the best I can do.” He opened his cabinets and pulled out a couple of heavy cloth bags.
“Asif, I would like to go with them,” said Cantara. She began grabbing her own bag from the floor and wrapped a bright red scarf around her face.
He paused, dropping the cloth bags to the floor. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I can help them. I can help them find their families. I’ll make sure they don’t come close to here.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I can’t stop you, Cantara, but be careful. Here is more food. Take care to ration it. Sadira, here is a new pair of shoes for you.” He handed me a pair of soft, leather boots. I pulled them over my feet, and though I still had sore cuts across them, the shoes were very comfortable. They came up a few centimeters above my ankle and cinched around my calf.
“Here is more water as well,” he said. “And a new map.” He handed Baruj a crude drawing of the area. “This mark here, this is our Bawiti.” He pointed to another mark. “This is where Cantara found you both. The blue dots are the oases in the area. Don’t camp in them, because then you’ll be too easy to find. But don’t stay too far away from water, either.” He drew a rough circle around the city. “This is the two kilometer mark. Take care not to cross it. It will be patrolled.
And your tablet, Sadira.” He produced the tablet from a pouch tied on his waist. “I’m sorry your father’s words couldn’t persuade the other elders.”
I slipped the tablet back into my knapsack. “Thank you for all your help, Asif.”
“You’re quite welcome.” He kissed all three of us on the forehead. “God be with you.” He gestured toward the ladder. “You must go now. Cantara, return as quickly as you can. I’ll tell Ghazi you are on patrol, but you need to be home by morning.”
Baruj, Cantara, and I made our way back up the ladder.
“Which way should we go?” I asked.
Baruj pulled out the two maps. “Last known coordinates of the hovership are that way.” He pointed. “And it looks like there might actually be an oasis near there.”
“Let’s go.”