Later, Hosea said our time behind the wall of the storm lasted a minute or two. I called him a liar, but William’s corroborating nod confirmed his story. For me, it lasted an eternity as terrifying images whirled around me. Jones, breathing red flames. William, cradling a baby. Sky, palms up, pleading. Kiwi and Covington, pointing bloody fingers. An empty-eyed Hannibal, a pyre. The images turned on a reel, around and around, screaming like banshees. Jones, Fount, Hannibal—Hannibal, Kiwi, Covington. Their bodies warped in the middle, bending back and bulging forth. Careening and spinning around until, suddenly, on the most disturbing image—William’s face—it stopped.

The Compromise

THE COMPROMISE

I opened my eyes and looked around—where was I? Not the desert. I lay on the ground, surrounded by sparse forest. Branches of dark foliage loomed overhead. Beneath me, yellow flowers bloomed in patches of dirt, instead of sand. The air was moist with pungent spring vegetation. My jaw dropped. Only one place in the Kongo was rumored to be this lush. Somehow, I’d woken up in an oasis.

“Arika?” William came forward and bent over me, blocking out the beautiful scene. His face filled my view, just as it had in my nightmare during the gust.

I gasped, forgetting the paradise, as my eyes narrowed on the mole on his cheek. It seemed to swell as I stared, not believing my eyes. I touched my own cheek and reared back from him. “Get away from me!”

He leaned closer. “Arika, hush. You safe now.”

I rolled away and emptied my stomach, losing precious ounces of water.

“Arika?” He reached out to help.

I fended him off with a fist, my eyes on his face as if seeing it for the first time. “You—don’t touch me!” I shouted.

He sat back, confused.

I jumped to my feet and glared down at him. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Before he could speak, I turned and ran into the nearest clump of trees. Hosea shouted behind me, but I ignored him. Trunks lined my path, their branches reaching out like dark hands. I blinked. Dark hands, pale faces. I forced my eyes open and sped up; the memories persisted. I saw myself as a baby, leaving the nursery, arriving at the Schoolhouse. I’d seen two faces that night. The pale face of Teacher Jones—and the serious black of William’s. It was his dark hands that had delivered me to the Schoolhouse.

Suddenly, Hosea tackled me.

I gasped as we clamored to the ground.

Recovering quickly, I shimmied away.

His arm clamped over my ribcage.

“Let me go!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He breathed hard.

“You can’t stop me.”

“I will stop you. You had a choice in the village, Cobane. You chose to spy for Jones, and you’ll pay for it!”