Lagoon (25 page)

Slowly, Adaora laid Ayodele on the ground. Then she looked up. Everything around her was slightly tinted periwinkle, the same color her fin had been. It must have been the effect of her force field. The soldiers were staring and staring, their guns raised, fists clenched. She could see Anthony and Agu not far behind the men.

Ayodele was looking up at her, and for the first time, Adaora could see how badly hurt she really was. Her neck bulged grotesquely, and Adaora could see the white of bone. One of Ayodele's legs was twisted in an impossible direction, as were both her arms. She had been shot in the abdomen; bright red blood was soaking through her white dress. Her face was swollen and bruised. Her eyes were battered nearly shut.

“Garden eggs. Nothing better.” Ayodele chuckled weakly.

Adaora smiled, remembering how Ayodele had eaten the vegetables raw like candy.

“Close your ears,” Ayodele said, placing a hand on her knee. Adaora put her hands over her ears. She looked across at Anthony and Agu. They did the same and dropped to the ground.

Ayodele mouthed something to Adaora and she understood. “Let go,” Ayodele had said. And Adaora let the force field drop as she squeezed her eyes shut.

GBOOOM!

*   *   *   *

When she felt Ayodele's hand leave her knee, Adaora opened her eyes. In the space where Ayodele had lain a white mist swirled, as if a fog had rolled in off the water. It had the faint tomatoey scent of . . . garden eggs. As she knelt on the concrete, covered in Ayodele's blood, Adaora was overcome with a craving for garden eggs. For their crunchy cool fruit, sweet or bitter. “Oh,” Adaora whispered. And instinctively, she knew that this fog was rolling like a great wave over all of Lagos. She could almost see it in her mind. And everyone was inhaling it. Everyone in Lagos was craving garden eggs. Ayodele. What had she done?

She felt hands on her shoulders. “Please,” a man said. “Let me help.” It was one of the soldiers.

“Leave her!” she heard Agu shout.

“Agu, it's okay, please,” she said.

“Are you all right?” Anthony asked.

She nodded. She could see the soldiers who'd beaten Ayodele standing all around her. She didn't want to look into their guilty faces.

Ayodele was gone. Ayodele was here. “Lagos will never be the same,” Adaora said.

CHAPTER 52

INFINITE POSSIBILITIES

The president of Nigeria sat in the middle of the backseat of the armored black Mercedes. Already he was writing his speech in his head. Originally, he'd planned to present the one named Ayodele as he gave his speech, but she'd died. He didn't understand what Adaora had said about inhaling her essence. That wasn't important.

Beside him was his second wife, Hawra. She had never been so proud and happy to be in Lagos. Her husband was thinking like a president, but she knew he had to think even more broadly. There were infinite possibilities.

Anthony sat to the president's right, his cheek pressed to the window. He would go home to Ghana. What had happened was only the beginning. The Elders had plans for him and his country.

Agu and Adaora were squeezed into the passenger seat. Agu held Adaora's cool hand as he thought it all over. He was a home-wrecker with superhuman strength that came from the Ancestors or the soil or whatever. And he had a new purpose in life—to be a proud soldier for the New Nigeria, whatever that was. When things calmed down, he would go and see his family in Arondizuogu. Hopefully, Adaora would come with him. They wouldn't stay long because they would certainly be needed in Lagos. But he would make sure they were okay and maybe tell them his story. He touched the cut on his forehead. It had finally stopped bleeding.

Adaora's mind was blank. Whenever she tried to think, she only saw Ayodele.

One of the soldiers from Tin Can Island drove the vehicle. Over and over, he replayed the memory of his
ahoa
being pulled into the sea by some sort of giant squid. And then how they'd beaten the woman, and how she'd disappeared. His hands shook as he grasped the wheel.

The other soldiers followed in a second vehicle. They were confused, afraid, and eager to see what would happen next.

How would you have felt?

CHAPTER 53

CASTING BROADLY

The drive was smooth. Many had left Lagos, and those who had stayed were safely in their homes, waiting to see what would happen next. The Area Boys who haunted the streets were waiting for the sun to set, which would be in less than an hour.

The president had never felt so calm. His body seemed to hum. His mind was clear. Ever since Ayodele had dissipated, he'd been feeling strange. Not only did he crave raw garden eggs, but he felt so calm, as if all that had happened was something he could understand. He had been in Saudi Arabia yesterday. He'd been more than half dead. Yesterday, he had felt his death in his bones. Today, he felt like he'd live forever.

The Elders. They'd told him the waters off the coast hid aquatic forests. All the offshore drilling facilities would be destroyed by the people of the water. Even in the delta, all was lost. Oil could no longer be Nigeria's top commodity. It could no longer be a commodity at all. “But we have something better to give you all,” the Elders had said. Their technology.

The president smiled.
We will be a mighty nation,
he thought. He made a few phone calls as they drove, managing to reach one soldier on Victoria Island who claimed he'd tried to help Adaora's daughter when she was shot and that he now had the island back under control; his VP Wishwell Williams who was not surprisingly safe in Nigeria's capital, Abuja; and two governors in northern and southeastern Nigeria. All that each reported made him
smile more. Things were settling down and things were looking up.

When they arrived at the television station, there were three men and a woman waiting for him. All were dressed in semi-casual attire, but three of the four of them looked nervous, staring at the president. The fourth, a short young woman with neat braids in a white blouse and a long black skirt, spoke first.

“You all can sit here,” she said, motioning to some chairs set up outside the broadcasting room. She picked up three stacks of clothes. “We have everything ready for your speech, Mr. President.” She handed him a stack and then handed the guards theirs.

He blinked at her for a moment, looking into her brown eyes. She looked to be in her early fifties, but she had the alertness of someone much younger. Her calmness reminded him of . . . Ayodele. “Oh,” he whispered, understanding why. “Em, Miss . . . I need a room where I can . . .”

“Get your thoughts together?” she asked, finishing his sentence.

“Yes.”

“Come, I'll show you.”

“Honey, do you want me to go with you?” Hawra asked.

“No,” the president said. “Thank you.”

“We will stay outside your door,” one of the guards offered.

“That is all right. You need to change your clothes too. I will be fine.”

The president glanced at Agu, who was watching him intensely. The president nodded reassuringly at him. Agu didn't nod back.

They followed the woman to an office down the hall. The guards were shown into one room, the president into the one next door. He shut himself inside. The space was plain, with an old computer on the desk and some filing cabinets against the wall. It smelled of face powder and perfume; it was probably usually used by a woman. But he didn't care. Not tonight. He sank into a cheap leather chair and sighed, glad for the solitude. It felt good to be alone for a moment. He'd composed his speech in his head, but he needed to just be still.

“This is all happening,” the president said aloud. “Just hold on.”

Everyone needed him to do this right. Everyone in Lagos. Every­one in Nigeria. Maybe everyone in the world. He worked best when people needed him. And as it always did, this knowledge calmed him down. Since taking office, he'd found himself powerless to fight against Nigeria's soul-crushing corruption. Wherever he tried to make changes, people around him were always trying to drain some sort of shady profit from his efforts. If he tried to create a program to improve schools or hospitals, someone set up a fake contract that would bleed money from the program. When he tried to address unemployment, health care, inflation, electricity, education, agriculture, any time there was money to be spent, it was the same result: The vampires always came. This had worn him down. It had made him feel futile, useless. Now, for the first time, he felt like a president. And this speech would be his first real act as Nigeria's
true
leader. Oh, it was exciting.

He removed his dirty clothes and stood in the room in his boxers, looking down at his body. He'd filled out since the alien woman healed him. His ribs were no longer so prominent. His skin was smooth instead of splotchy. Months before he had left for Saudi Arabia, he'd been so thin that he'd resorted to stuffing his clothes to appear bulkier. He slipped into the fresh white caftan and then the white pants. He filled them out nicely now. He truly was cured. They'd done this to him. He thought of Ayodele and wondered what else they'd done to him.

Someone knocked at his door. “Are you ready, sir?” It was the calm woman who reminded him of Ayodele.

“Yes. I'm coming.”

His guards followed behind him as he walked with the woman. “When the broadcast goes live,” she said, “it will appear on all of your people's screens. As it did before. Everything with a screen will turn on, whether it is plugged in to anything or not.”

He stopped walking, looking at her. She stopped too, and smiled
a small smile. “Mobile phones,” she said. “Computers, desktops and laptops, televisions, e-readers, all things with screens.”

“How?” he asked. “How do you do that?”

She laughed. “The knowledge is in you. Ayodele made sure of that. We will explain, later. But for now, just be aware, you are reaching everyone in this city.” She paused. “Unless you'd like it to reach farther?”

He considered it. “Can you make it reach all of Nigeria?”

“It won't be exact, there will be some spillover into other countries, but sure.”

“Okay, do it.” He considered his speech. No, he wouldn't have to change much of what he was going to say. He hadn't been thinking only about Lagos. He'd been thinking of his entire country.

Yes, it was right.

*   *   *   *

A leather chair nicer than the one in the office where he'd changed clothes was set behind a wooden desk. The Nigerian flag hung behind it, over a full bookcase. He sat down, and his guards stood behind his chair in their fresh, spotless uniforms.

Technicians rolled the camera in front of him, and someone applied makeup to his face. He smiled when she didn't linger. He didn't need much. Before, he'd needed thick makeup to make him look less sick.

“I don't need the teleprompter,” he said. He tapped his forehead. “It's all here.”

The technician nodded.

The president inhaled, watching the technicians. The woman who was not a woman stood on the other side of the camera. She placed her hand on it, and he saw the tips of her fingers sink into its black casing.

A technician said, “Five, four, three, two . . .” He motioned to the president, and the red light lit up. The president was on the air.

The woman who was not a woman's fingertips were in the
camera. Again it hit him.
Oh God,
he thought. He looked into the camera, his brilliant words escaping him. So much of Nigeria was seeing him right now. Even in the most rural places, these days more often than not
someone
carried a mobile phone or was near a television or a computer.

He sat up straight. This was his time.

“Greetings, Nigeria,” he said. He was strong. He was healthy. His country was seeing him. The world would see him. This was the most positive thing to come out of Nigeria in a long time.
Let
the world watch,
the president thought.
Let them see that we are
mighty.

“This is a historic moment for our nation,” he began. “For it marks an important milestone in our march toward a maturing democracy.”

The president had never been a great orator. But today, this early evening, he was feeling his words. He was tasting them. They were humming to the rhythm of his soul. He smiled as he spoke. “For the first time since we cast off the shackles of colonialism, over a half century ago, since we rolled through decades of corruption and internal struggle, we have reached the tipping point. And here in Lagos, we have passed it. Many of you have seen the footage on the Internet or heard the news from loved ones. Last night, Lagos burned. But like a phoenix, it will rise from the ashes—a greater creature than ever before.

“The occasion that has put me here before you tonight is momentous. It marks another kind of transitional shift. Now listen closely to me. This shift is cause for celebration, not panic. I will say it again: celebration,
not
panic. There are others among us here in Lagos. They intend to stay. And I am happy about it. They have new technology; they have fresh ideas that we can combine with our own. Hold tight. We will be powerful again, o! People of Lagos, especially, look at your neighbor. See his race, tribe, or his alien blood. And call him brother. We have much work to do as a family.

“Now let me tell you about my own adventure. Then we will get down to business. . . .”

The president spoke of his failure as a president and of the corruption he could not stand up to. He told of his pericarditis and fleeing to Saudi Arabia to die, away from his country. He spoke of his shame. Then he spoke of being healed by Ayodele. He said nothing of her subsequent sacrifice. He wasn't sure how the people would take it, especially the part about her dissipating into a fog that they'd all inhaled.

He mentioned Adaora, the marine biologist, who would serve as his scientific expert because she'd been up close and studied their . . . guests. He spoke of Anthony the Ghanaian rapper, explaining that he was the man who “eagerly offers celebrity endorsement from a neighboring country.” The president knew Anthony wouldn't mind because Anthony didn't think the world needed to know
what
he planned to do, he just needed to do it. The president spoke of two soldiers, one named Agu who had interacted closely with the newcomers and developed a rapport with them, and the other the soldier he'd spoken with at length via phone. His name was Hassam, and he'd restored order on Victoria Island. These were the trained officials he was appointing to take the lead in keeping everyone safe. All were part of the old world, the president explained, and part of the new world. However, he didn't say a word about the fact that despite it all, he
still
felt Agu, Adaora, and Anthony were witches. Good witches, but witches nonetheless. Old outdated ways of thinking don't die easily, and sometimes they don't die at all.

He warned people to stay away from the waters for now. And then finally he told of his meeting with the Elders. He spoke of aliens among the people, and he spoke of them as friends.

“Listen to your own hearts and look around you,” he said. “We tore at our own flesh last night, as we have done many times in the past. Now, as we hurt from the pain and loss, let our minds clear. And see.”

Then he spoke of alien technology and how the land would be pure and palm nuts, cocoa, and other crops would grow as they never had before. Extinct creatures would return and new ones would appear. Nigeria would have much to give the world—and to show it. “In the coming months, we will set up solid programs. The change will be both gradual and swift.” He paused. “Corruption is dead in Nigeria.” Then he smiled.

The red light went off. The broadcast had ended. The president felt his entire body relax. He was drenched in sweat. His armpits were soaked. He felt damn good.