“That’s exactly what you’re going to do.” Ngozi’s heading toward them with a feline saunter. Her hand drifts behind her in case she needs to reach for her pistol. Ify knows now to keep her eye on it. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Grace steps between Ify and Ngozi. “Go where?”

Ngozi looks Grace up and down, as though surprised by what she’s seeing, then smirks. “Somewhere safe.”

“How do we know you’re not just going to drive us around until the end of time?”

Ngozi frowns at Grace and takes a step toward her so that their noses are nearly touching. “And if that’s my plan, what will you do?”

“Ngozi,” Ify calls out, warning. “Ngozi, please.”

Grace backs away so that she can look at both Ify and Ngozi. “We have a job to do,” she tells Ngozi, while never taking her eyes off of Ify. “There are lives at stake.”

Ngozi stares without saying a word, her expression one of immovable cliffside rock.

“Ify, let’s go.”

“Where would we go?” Ify asks.

“She’s right, you know.” This from Ngozi, the pistol out from her waistband and firmly in her hand.

Grace notices it and stays still. “Ify. Please. Those children are dying.” All the while, Grace has eyes for nothing but that gun. “Ify, what are you doing? Ify, please!” Her face changes, her spine straightens. “All right. Fine. I’ll do it myself.” She takes a step back, but that’s when Ngozi raises her gun arm.

“What?” Grace asks, defiant but shaking. “Because I’ve seen your face I can’t leave alive? After you shoot me, are you going to stuff me in your trunk, find somewhere quiet, and set it all on fire?” She looks to Ify, the accusation thick and dark in her eyes. “And you would let her?”

“You don’t understand,” Ify says, hating the weakness in her voice. “You’ve never had a country like Biafra.”

Grace looks at Ify like someone she no longer recognizes. For a long time, her mouth forms around words but refuses to speak them. Then, she appears to give up. Her arms fall to her sides. “You have no idea what I have or haven’t had.”

Ngozi’s arm hasn’t wavered the whole time.

Ify steps forward and puts her hand on Ngozi’s, pushing the gun to the floor. “Let her go. She can’t harm us.” The two Igbo women share a meaningful glance, then Ngozi relents and tucks the pistol back into her pants.

Grace runs back in the direction of the forest and vanishes.

“Think of the children, right?” Ngozi says, joking, as she and Ify head back into the van and set off.

Staring out the window at the country she feels she’s seeing for the first time, Ify is surprised at how little guilt there is in her heart.

CHAPTER

32