I can see the fence glinting through the blur of the trees. It stands 12 feet high, topped with razor wire. It’s what separates the Over Here from the Over There.
I feel my stomach flip as my body is shaken about like a rag doll in the back of the van. I don’t know who’s driving, or any of the people around me. But I do know that they are just as afraid as I am. They sit there with wide eyes and clenched jaws. Some people are crying. Very softly. The drivers told them to be quiet or they would throw them out for the guns to get them. This made one lady cry even more.
I know that I should be crying too. But I don’t. Papa said that I’m too old for tears now. He said that now I must be very brave and very strong. So I won’t cry. Even if I bite my lip so hard it bleeds.
I pick at the dried blood on my clothes, trying to distract myself. But I can’t keep the images out of my mind, of my Papa lying on his back, blood seeping from a wound in his chest. Killed. By the guns. The guns that chased us here. The guns that press in on us, squeezing the air from our lungs. I know they will come back, barking like hounds on our trail.
I lie in the back of the van surrounded by other sleeping bodies. We have stopped for the night. The drivers are tired, and so are we. I can see the bright crescent moon through the small window near the roof.
It reminds me of my bedroom window back at home. Papa would sit with me and point out all the different constellations and planets in the sky. I reach my hand into my pocket and pull out a small piece of paper. On it there is an address scrawled in my Papa’s handwriting. My mind flashes to him pressing it into my hand as he took his last, wheezing breaths.
I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to shed any tears. I know it will be a long night.
We take to the road again before the sun rises. I sit, bleary eyed. I didn’t sleep last night. The drivers tell us that we will reach our meeting point soon. There we will meet the guide who will take most of us to our deaths.
I often wonder why they do it. Do they ever feel guilt? Watching so many souls die? I know that Papa paid them a lot of money. I know he paid even more to convince them to bring me. I remember him opening our hidden savings and grabbing all of it. Everything we had, clenched in his fist.
I am pulled from my thoughts as the van doors swing open and we are dragged out. There is a man dressed in black, a balaclava covering his face, leaving only his piercing eyes uncovered. He yells at us in a language I don’t understand and motions for us to follow him.
We walk for hours. We have no food. I’m hungry and tired, but the man keeps moving. So I do too. I hear the guns in the distance. I hear screams too. So I keep walking.
A kind-eyed young man, who speaks my language translates what the man is saying. He explains that he’s bringing us to the border and that he will help us across but then we are on our own.
* * *
The fence rises up high above the horizon. The setting sun dyes the sky blood red. The man in black, motions us forwards. There are two others now. Like the man, they’re waiting.
They start telling us to crawl under the fence. Even they are scared of being caught. I shuffle under the wire mesh on my hands and knees. I stand up and brush the dirt from my trousers.
I freeze. A loud bang echoes through the trees, followed by another, and another. The men panic and push people under the fence, shouting at us to run. I sprint blindly, my muscles burning, but the guns moving closer to the fence are enough to keep me going. I hear agonising screams, but I keep running.
In the fading sun light I see a van parked on the road. The doors are open and people are calling to us. I throw myself into the back. The doors shut, and we speed away. I shut my eyes and choke back tears.
Pulling my knees to my chin, I try to forget what I had just witnessed. I slow my breathing, like Papa had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
I carry on for what seems like hours. Until my hands stop shaking and my heartbeat slows down. I sigh. My eyes sting with tiredness. I know I must sleep. I lie down clinging to myself for comfort. My eyelids get heavy. And I drift off into the darkness.
* * *
The van jolts, and I spring awake. For the first time I can see just how many people didn’t make it. The baby and her mother are no longer here. Neither are the crying woman and the old man. Or the young girl who smiled whenever I caught her eye.
I feel a tightness in my chest, and a sinking in my heart. I realise just how dangerous this. And just how low the chances of survival are.
The van stops, and the doors open. I am hit with the smell of salt. We are at the sea. I have only been to the sea twice. Once with Mama and Papa, and then once with just Papa. We went swimming, and we built sand castles and ate ice cream.
Mama said to me that I was the best thing that ever happened to her, and that she loved me more than anything else in the whole wide world.
I still remember the feeling of her taking my hand and leading me to the water, the warmth and safety of her grip. Her eyes twinkled as bright as the sun on the sea. Papa watched us both from under the umbrella, a huge smile on his face. We splashed around in the water and played for hours and hours, right until the sun was setting, turning the whole sky into a bright rainbow of light.
Those were the two best days of my life. The wind blowing through my hair, the smell of the ocean waves filling my nostrils. I’d give anything to have those days again.
* * *
The boat is small, very small. Way too small for so many people. I am crammed in between the young man with the kind eyes and an old woman. We are surrounded by ocean. In the distance I can see the land from which we set sail. It is just a small strip of green against a bright blue canvas.
There is no shelter on the boat. If it rains we will be soaked through to the skin. There is no room to move either. And even less room to breathe among the thin, fearful bodies.
The night creeps in, and the cold air wraps its long fingers around us.
* * *
Dawn breaks, and the sun sits high in the sky as we reach the port. It’s a cargo port. As if we are just cargo, and not human beings. We begin to disembark. The sea is calm, and the sky is clear. I close my eyes to feel the sun on my face.
A loud bang rings out around us, followed by screams and shrieks laced with fear. I snap my eyes open. The guns are here. More and more shots sound around the port. We run, and keep on running.
Then there is the loudest bang of all. It hits me like a brick wall. I fly backwards. I hit the ground and all the air flees from my lungs. My eyes sting from the thick smoke and debris that fills the air. I lie on the hard ground, trying to catch my breath. I don’t dare to move.
When the smoke clears and the guns have gone I move. One limb at a time, until I am standing.
I look around, at the destruction. Some are alive, most are dead. I feel panic shoot through my body. I look at the pale lifeless body next to me, dead eyes staring back at me. I clamp my hand over my mouth in horror.
There’s an ache in my stomach and I spin around to vomit. I know I must move, I must get out of here. The distant shouts still send shivers up my spine.
We were going to the Safe Place, together. But now I must go alone. So I pull my stiff body away from the death. And I walk towards the rising sun.
