I’d often wondered since then if a child could be inoculated in the womb against the horror of the world through the power of its mother’s love; if that love could infuse joy into a child even when her presence couldn’t. God knows, if ever there was a woman who wanted to live to raise her child, who’d fought like a hellion just so that he could be born, it was she. She told me it was because he was the only thing in her life that was truly hers.

“I have a letter for you, Granny,” Doctor now said, smiling proudly as he handed the envelope across.

He was painfully thin and out of breath from the short sprint. Breathing should never sound that way. As though lungs are blades and air is something solid to be chopped up. Still, Doctor had lived three years longer than any of us had expected and he accepted his condition stoically.

“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve done a good job getting it to me,” I said solemnly as I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He beamed at the contact. “Could you put it in my pocket?” I asked, indicating my dirty hands and turning so he could tuck the envelope into the back of my trousers.

•   •   •

It was after midnight when Xavier and I finally parted ways, exhausted yet triumphant. The generator was running again. Disaster had been staved off for another day. Seeking refuge in my room, I made my way to the narrow bed and lifted the mosquito net to sit on the cotton sheet I’d paid such an exorbitant price for.

The view from there was of my makeshift wardrobe, which consisted of a pole balanced between two columns of raised cinder blocks. The few items of clothing I owned were hung up while my empty rucksack sat propped in a corner of the room. Amelia, the UN aid coordinator, would’ve had a fit if she’d seen it, since we’d been given strict instructions to be ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice.

Where did you flee to, though, when you were already in purgatory and surrounded by hell on all sides? And how was running an option when it would mean saving yourself while abandoning hundreds of defenseless children?

I lit the candle on my bedside table, pushing away thoughts of the threat across the border just as the light pushed away the darkness, and bent down to undo the laces of my boots. We usually wore flip-flops because of the heat, but they’d been banned that week because it was impossible to run in them. Boots made your feet sweat, but they wouldn’t trip you up or twist your ankle if you needed to sprint to safety.