Page 25 of Mayflower

“Trouble.”

She shakes her head grimly. “Trouble? No, no trouble, Raven. We’ll all get shot. So, that’s that.”

On day three, I start exercising. Candy doesn’t show up, but she left enough medical supplies to change the dressing for my wound. The girls seem to know how to take care of themselves. They make simple food for us, too. They have a routine. The oldest braves up and shows us where to wash up at the sink behind the curtain.

The most pressing issue is contacting Ayana.

We don’t have our phones. My Ayana bracelet was cut off back in the jungle. Ali’s bracelet should’ve sent a signal by now. He took it off to trigger an emergency alert, but nothing seems to be happening.

Another day goes by.

Candy brings more food. The girls sweep the floor. They ask questions. They play with the ball, tossing it from one cot to another. They read a picture book or cuddle up on one cot and play with two rag dolls. And they look with curiosity when Ali goes to the farthest corner and prays on his knees.

We haven’t left the bunker yet. Ali is restless. I’m getting my strength back. And we talk. For hours. About him, me, Maddy, Archer, God, where we came from.

On day five, I see him smile for the first time. We sit on the floor between the cots, on our blankets. The girls play with the small ball, throwing it between them from one cot to another. Without his top uniform jacket, only in a dark undershirt and trousers, barefoot, with his dark thick beard, Ali looks humble, more relaxed. The youngest girl with the ball in her hands turns to look at him then smiles and throws a ball to him. He catches it and throws it to another girl. A simple move, a courteous acceptance of this game, but the little girl smiles, so widely, flashing her toothless grin at him, and claps her hands in delight.

And Ali smiles back, that sad smile that’s on par with his sad eyes.

I remember his file, his wife and kids killed during the bombing two years ago. My tragedy is far in the past. His is recent, and he still finds the strength to smile.

“Thank you,” I say then, out of nowhere.

He turns to me, and our eyes lock. I hold his gaze and say, “Thank you” again, feeling utterly grateful.

He knows what I meant. It’s a thank you for saving my life. For taking me here. For sitting this out by my side.

I want to say that the ice between us melted. But there was never any ice, I realized. A strange connection, a chain of circumstances and coincidences—that butterfly effect—brought us together. In a way, I realize, he is just like me—with many secrets and a shitty past and no desire to share that with anyone.

Candy shows up on day six, her gaze tired, avoiding eye contact. There’s a bruise on the side of her face. Several bluish bruises mar her wrists.

I don’t ask about those. “We need a phone, Candy.”

She snorts. “You and me both. They don’t work. Butcher put blockers all around Port Mrei.”

“Satellite phone?”

“No such luck. I would’ve asked around, but that would be suspicious.”

“How do we contact Ayana?”

She exhales loudly as she takes a seat on one of the cots and cuddles the little girl next to her. “You haven’t heard. Of course, you haven’t.” Playing with the girl’s hair, she raises her gaze. “There was an attack on the port the other day. In response, Ayana cut off Port Mrei.”

“Cut off how?”

“Pretty much in every way possible. The only shipments that come to the island go straight to Ayana docks. No personnel goes to Ayana anymore. Starting yesterday.”

Shock washes over me. “What do you mean?”

“Just like that.” She snaps her fingers, and the girl in her arms jerks, instantly looking up at her. “Ayana is in lockdown. No one crosses the surveillance division line between Ayana and Port Mrei. No one.”

Fuck… “So, what do we do?”

“Unless someone is coming for you with an army, you have to wait it out.”

No one is coming, of that I’m sure.

Another day passes, and my patience snaps. Ali and I have been here for a week, and I can’t sit still and do nothing, waiting for Ayana to restore relations with the town—if that’s even a possibility.

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