Page 79

CHAPTER 78

THE SUN WAS directly overhead. Kira was on her hands and knees at the bottom of the mine, using her shovel to scrape loose dirt off yet another pile of rocks. It was hot, sweaty, endless work. And at the moment, she didn’t see a way out.

While her complexion could take a lot of sun, it was not meant for this kind of intensity for days on end, especially when the sun was directly overhead, shining down into a pit that concentrated the heat like an oven. Her pale skin was blistered, and her hands were raw from the constant digging. Each worker was allowed four bottles of water a day, barely enough to replace what they sweated away. Kira had already gone through most of her ration.

“This one, not that one.” The young woman named Vanda worked right next to her, helping her sort the valuable rocks from the junk. She had a good eye. Other workers, especially the children, stayed clear. Vanda said they still thought Kira possessed evil powers.

When they first met, Kira spoke to Vanda in Swahili. Then, word by word, she started teaching her English. In the beginning, the vocabulary was limited, like their world. “Rock.” “Water.” “Copper.” “Tired.”

And, of course, “baby.”

Once Vanda had enough English in her brain, she talked about her baby all the time, usually with tears streaming down her face. She also talked about how dangerous the mine was, how many other people had died there.

“This place means death,” she said. “I will die here, too.”

Kira wiped the sweat from her eyes. “No,” she said. “You won’t.”

Suddenly Vanda’s spade was blasted out of her hand. The handle shattered and flew away from the blade. A bullhorn crackled from above. “No talk. Just work.”

Kira jumped up to check Vanda’s wrist. It was grazed by the bullet, but not broken. Kira poured what was left of her water bottle over the wound. Vanda pulled away. She crawled to a wooden crate and pulled out another tool.

Kira pulled the broken handle of Vanda’s spade under her sleeve. She let Vanda see it, but nobody else. Then she hunched over and picked up two junk rocks. With small, quick movements, she started pounding and filing the three-inch metal prong.

The pit was a prison. And she was honing a shiv.