Chapter 21

21

- Alba -

The hat works well. A lot of sap drips on me, but none of it gets through the layer of hard, singed sap. It’s not plastic, of course, but it’s hard and smooth.

Still the walk through the jungle is getting worse and worse. My back aches, and I’m sure I must be running a fever. The jungle is always hot, but now it switches between far too hot and icy cold.

It should worry me more than it does. But my mind has other, darker things going on.

Each step is taking me further away from Anter’az, his caring ways, his strong urge to protect me, his little caresses and his piercing eyes. And from the hope I had that we could find a way. I was really hoping for that, it turns out. Because now I don’t have much hope left for anything.

He can’t leave his tribe. I get that. To these guys, a tribe is like a family, a job, a home town and a country all rolled into one. Leaving his tribe is the craziest thing any of them can imagine. Being cast out is a fate worse than death to them.

And I can’t live there if they hate and fear me so much that they try to kill me.

“Why can’t you have a better tribe?” I mutter as I stumble through the dense undergrowth. “Why can’t they be more like you? ”

“ My tribe isn’t so bad,” Anter’az says. In English, which I appreciate. “ I can cure it!”

I nod as I walk. “You can cure anything. Your tribe is full of bacteria, causing them to hate women.”

“ I will kill the bacteria. That’s my cure. If they hate, it’s because they fear. But I don’t fear you. I was cured! That same cure will work on them.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Of course it will. Call me when it’s done so I can come and see you. Oh, do you have my number?”

“Woman Alba!” someone says in front of me.

I raise my head. “Yes?”

It’s Dror’iz, the Borok man. Why is he here? Oh yes, we’re going back to the village.

He’s frowning. “Are you all right? You’re talking to yourself.”

“Just talking to… well, he’s not here. I thought he here.” I struggle to find the words.

The caveman leader bends down and peers at me. “You appear hot, Woman Alba.”

“It’s the planet,” I explain. “It’s really warm.”

“Ah. Of course. Here, drink this.” He uncorks a sack of water, and I gulp down a good amount.

“Thank you.”

Dror’iz barks some orders to the men, and they get busy with something. Then he points at the ground next to a root. “Sit down, please. We’ll take a break.”

I gratefully sit down and lean back, then forwards because my whole back feels sore and stiff against the hard root.

Before I know it, four men grab me and lift me as if they want to carry me the rest of the way. But they only place me on a stretcher-like thing they’ve made from the leather that was used to make my cubicle in the camp.

“I can walk,” I protest, feeling sorry for the men who now have to carry me along.

“Later,” Dror’iz says soothingly. “For now, just lie back and relax. Try not to talk.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, half inside another fever fantasy. “You don’t have class tomorrow.”

They place my spear next to me, lift me, and carry me with them. It’s a bumpy ride, and I feel every little movement in my back.

Reaching for the hair clip, I clench it to make sure it doesn’t drop. “Can’t be too careful with that.”