Obianuju

He finally woke up.

I fed him and treated his wounds. He tried to offer me the rest of his food, and after some hesitation, I took it. We both knew we needed our strength, and for once, I didn’t argue.

We had agreed to rest for a few days before moving again, just enough to catch our breath.

But peace, as always, was temporary.

Evening came, and with it, soldiers.

Nigerian soldiers. Searching.

We hadn’t been seen yet, but they were close—too close. If we didn’t act now, it would be over.

I helped him to his feet, my fingers tightening under his arm. It reminded me of the night I carried him unconscious through the bush. He’d been heavy then, all limp weight and silence, but I hadn’t stopped.

Now, at least, he was awake. He tried to walk on his own, even as his body swayed and buckled with every few steps.

We didn’t look back.

We couldn’t.

The forest thickened ahead. Shadows clung to every tree, and every rustle sounded like a footstep. The darkness played tricks on my mind, dragging up memories I wanted buried. Memories of running with Adaugo, of blood-soaked clothes and shaking hands.

My legs froze. My breath caught.

I couldn’t move.

I think he noticed.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly. “You alright?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The blood. The screaming. Her body going limp in my arms.

My hands trembled violently.

“Obianuju!” he said sharply.

I turned to look at him, but the images wouldn’t stop. I was there again, trapped in that night.

Somehow, he managed to grab my arm and pull me with him. I stumbled along, numb, until we reached a dense patch of undergrowth, cloaked in shadow and silence.

We dropped to the ground together, hidden beneath leaves and branches.

I collapsed beside him, chest heaving, heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted to escape my body.

My chest rose and fell in erratic gasps. I tried to ground myself. To focus on the sound of the leaves or the way the earth felt beneath my fingers. But the memories had already taken hold.

Adaugo’s scream.

The blood on my hands.

The weight of her body. The silence that followed.

I curled in on myself, trying to disappear into the earth. My fingers dug into the dirt. It didn’t help.

Then I felt it.

A hand on my back. Steady. Soft.

Salisu didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask questions. He just stayed beside me, drawing slow, gentle circles on my back like he had all the time in the world to wait for me to return.

I didn’t know why it helped but somehow, it did.

My breath slowed.

The shaking eased.

And at some point, without even realizing, I drifted off into a sleep too heavy to fight.

---

By morning, the fog had lifted around us, and inside me.

I moved first, gathering our things, refusing to look at Salisu long enough for him to ask anything. He watched me quietly but didn’t press.

We walked without words, staying off the main path but keeping the stream close. I didn’t know where we were going. Only that we had to keep going.

Sometime near midday, he staggered.

“Salisu?” I rushed over. “What’s wrong?”

He hunched forward, one hand clamped to the side of his head, his face pale.

“Nothing,” he said, breathless. “Just... just a little dizzy.”

“That’s not dizziness,” I said sharply, kneeling in front of him. His skin was clammy, his brows furrowed in pain. “Is it the fever again?”

“No.” He forced a weak smile. “It’s an old injury. From the war. An accident.”

It didn’t look like an accident. But I didn’t argue. Not then.

We found a shaded spot and sat down. I watched him carefully as he leaned against a tree, eyes closed. When the silence stretched too long, he broke it.

“You want to talk about last night?” he asked.

My body stiffened.

“No,” I said quietly.

His voice lowered. “Nightmares?”

I nodded. Once.

He hesitated, then asked, “Is it your father? Is that why you don’t want to go back to him?”

I looked away. My throat tightened. The words sat there, sharp and heavy.

I opened my mouth—

Voices. Footsteps. Snapping branches.

Our heads turned at the same time.

They’d found us again.

We didn’t wait.

We ran.