Chapter 45
OTHELLA
The Cockpit Jungle, St. Elizabeth Parish
Tony Schaefer fell into a hole in the ground and took me with him.
I kicked and kicked, grabbing onto whatever I could, but he clung to me and did his best to drag me down.
Yet with nimble fingers and strong arms, I grasped a vine, a root, a limestone ridge—anything within reach—and as soon as I felt steady, I kicked him in the head.
Not once. Not twice. But again and again, my legs and feet pounded against him, hitting his back, shoulders, and the meaty parts of his flesh.
Then, at last, he fell, screaming into the abyss, and I thought he must be dead, which meant I was free. Except I’m still in the hole and I’m not a bird. I can’t flap my wings and fly up and away. I must climb. Scale the muddy rock wall and rise toward the opening above.
Minutes pass—long, rain-soaked, mud-covered minutes. I am so tired but I refuse to stop. I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Too much to do to quit now. I keep climbing.
What a strong girl! I think to myself. I’ve almost made it to the top and am nearly out. Then the mud gives way, and I drop, falling a few feet, and then a few feet more. I reach out and grab onto a vine—a strangling fig vine—which Robbie says is the strongest.
Now, I have to climb again. I can’t give in to the feeling I should give up, but I am almost—almost too exhausted to hold on. Then I hear something—someone in the jungle above me.
I whisper, “Help me.”
A cacophony of sounds—screams and voices—call out my name. I recognize them—Vivian Jean and Zinzi. What are they doing out here?
I repeat my cry, this time louder: “Help me.”