Woman Overboard

Chapter 18 : Familiar (2)

Afiba

September 1st, 1820

(11:12 PM)

Everything was all too familiar.

The scents, the sounds, the sights. The cabins and the footprints in the dirt. The aroma of sweat and waste and the tobacco they used to chew and spit on the plants to kill the bugs. The complete darkness, the complete silence while the exhausted field hands slept. Walking down this alley was like fading into a memory.

The plan had worked like a charm. While the South Carolina Militia was engaged in a shooting match with Aless's crew, Afiba and the others hand snuck right by. Shockingly enough, the militia wasn't well-organized enough to realize that there was another pirate crew on the loose. Thank goodness for volunteer militias, Afiba thought. If they had come face to face with an aisle of train soldiers, they would have been dead within seconds.

They walked at a reasonable pace but didn't run. If they made too much noise, even the most asinine of townsmen would be alerted of their presence. No, for now, they needed to keep a low, quiet profile.

Afiba had a plan, and she had shared it with her excited crew the moment they stepped into the lane of slave cabins: they would get in, find their crew members, send those three and any close family found back toward the woods with Abigail. Then, they could raise hell and free everyone else. The signal was still Roshambo.

The purpose of the plan was to make sure that everyone who was most important to them would get out safely. Afiba knew that she sure as hell didn't want her little sister running amid a cloud of unarmed slaves, being shot at left and right.

Suddenly, Jaiye grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the pack. "That house," he whispered, pointing across the lane at a broken down cabin with two stacks of firewood flanking the entrance. "Ain't that ours, Afi?"

Afiba blinked at it. The scuffling of shoes on dirt grew fainter with every second. "I reckon so," she breathed. Her breath caught with wonder as she stared at her childhood home, her prison, the little one-roomed cabin that had confined her for so many years. The place where she spent so many exhausted nights passed out and so many agonizing days having grease rubbed on her fresh wounds.

Her heart skipped a beat when she thought about Orisa. "Oh Lord," she muttered. Every noise made her jump -- if they didn't go soon, she feared the militia would follow them before they got their families to safety. But another fear plagued her just as diligently. "Jaiye? What if she ain't there?"

"On'y one way t' find out, right?"

Afiba nodded. She felt sick to her stomach with apprehension as she and Jaiye darted across the street toward the little cabin. Now that she looked at it closer, Afiba recognized the little nuances of the cabin that made it definitively their home: the chipped windows, the faulty stair that you had to stretch over to reach the door, the thick shag of ivy coating the outside walls. They stood outside, staring.

"C'mon," Jaiye said. His voice shook with anxiety as he tugged her arm, stepping toward the house.

Afiba wanted to break down crying. She wanted to spill all her insecurities about her family to Jaiye and let him reassure her that they still loved her and everyone would forgive her. But there was no time for that. With every second that she stood still, Afiba became more and more convinced that the gunshots were growing closer.

Every few minutes, they would hear the telltale scream of a mortally wounded man. All they could do was cross their fingers that the scream came from a militia man. But Afiba had to admit, she would be okay as long as the screams stayed male.

"What're we gonna say?" Afiba asked.

Jaiye yanked her quivering hand again. "Anythin', Afi. It don't matter." With that, he marched up the wooden steps, skipping the infamously faulty one, and pushed the door open.

Hand in hand, they stepped into the perfectly preserved museum of their childhoods that was the cabin. Everything looked the same. The corn sack beds were arranged the same way Afiba remembered them being. The big cast iron pot still sat empty in the rightmost corner and the fireplace was still glowing with the last embers of that night's fire, lit to keep the flies away. Afiba knew that if she stood and stared any longer, she would break down, so instead she tiptoed to the fire and added some more kindling, prodding at the flame with an excess twig.

There were people in the corn sacks of course, but Afiba couldn't bring herself to look at them. What if her sister and mother weren't there? What would they do, then?

But Jaiye had already begun surveying the people in the cabin. "Afi!" he hissed. "Get o'er here!"

She padded back over to him, her stomach tied in an uncomfortable knot. He was kneeling beside a corn sack with a small form tucked inside it. Afiba's heart palpitated painfully when she locked her eyes on the outline. "Is that . . . ?"

"Sure is," said Jaiye. He had a wider smile on his face than Afiba had seen in awhile. But Afiba couldn't smile. She just stood over them, her mouth open like she had forgotten what she was going to say. "Shoul' I wake 'er?"

"I - I s'pose," Afiba sputtered.

Jaiye cupped Orisa's face in his hand, running his thumb over her cheek. "Issy?" he whispered. "Wake up. Aw, there ye is. Hey, there."

Afiba had to focus on breathing. Suddenly, she was seized by the urge to get Orisa out of here as quickly as possible. She could already imagine the militia crusading in on their happy reunion. They had no time for this right now.

"Who are you?" asked a small, sleep-ridden voice.

Afiba's heart melted. She dove for the floor, enveloping Orisa in her arms before the girl could say anything else. "It don't matter, Baby," she whispered. "You's gotta come with us, okay? Jus' be real, real quiet an' e'erything's gonna be okay."

"W-wait," Orisa whispered. "Afi?" She pulled back, her little face lighting up when she saw Afiba in front of her. Afiba couldn't help but smile. Orisa looked just like her in miniature. She wished she could stay and study the changes that had come over Orisa's face in the past few years, but they didn't have the time for that.

"Yeah, 's me," she whispered back. "We gonna talk later, alright Orisa? Jus' be real quiet for now."

"The ain't callin' me that no more," she said. "Master says my name be Sally."

Afiba started to respond, but Jaiye pulled her to her feet before she could say anything else. "We gotta go," he said. "C'mon, Sally."

A shock went through Afiba's body. She turned to Jaiye. "Ye looked at e'erybody in here?"

"Yea."

"An' she be the only one we know?"

Jaiye averted his eyes. "Sally," he said to Orisa. "D'ye know where your mama be?"

Sally nodded gravely. "She in heaven, now."