The prisoners had long ago devoured the rest of the food in the basket. With the closing of the door and the pilot’s window, the engine’s deafening noise had decreased, or perhaps, her eardrums had been punctured, Nola could no longer tell. The pumping of oxygen to her brain must have been blocked, for slices of time lapsed. Her nodding off wasn’t sleep, she realized, but sickness. Even though she hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, her intestines heaved with a force that threatened to burst the veins in her temples. Bitter fluids filled her throat, but when she tried to wash them down with tea, her hands trembled so much that she was unable to hold the cup. The shaking of her body was independent of the wild jolts of the plane as it struggled through erratic air pressures.

The men had been afraid to look at her but glanced at the baby. Once Lulu was back in her basket, one of them smiled at her.

Nola was cold, and her teeth rattled. Things disappeared from her view, then returned, like a chopped-up film. Then the film burned, leaving holes. Ming-Ji had warned her about introducing foreign bacteria into her body. It had happened in spite of her caution, Nola realized. It had been in the food or in the water. Another stomach cramp seized her, bore down, stabbing her insides, until she doubled over in agony.

In the two hours that followed, the prisoners took turns playing with Lulu. They made Chinese sounds to which the baby responded with delight. But whatever Nola saw or heard was through a befuddlement of odd sensations. She drowned in warm goo. She swam in a swamp, hacking her way through reeds and undergrowth.