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Her lungs burned. She needed air. She surfaced, gasped, then dove again.
This time, she braced her feet against the wreckage and pushed with everything she had.
Her muscles screamed.
The metal shifted.
Then gave way.
Zora grabbed the man’s arm and pulled.
His body came free, limp and heavy.
She fought upward, dragging him with her until they broke the surface. Air tore into her lungs. Behind her, people shouted from the shore, but still no one entered the water.
She wrapped an arm around his chest and swam.
Every stroke felt impossible. The current pulled. Debris struck her side. Twice she nearly lost him. Twice she held on harder.
“Just a little more,” she whispered. “Just a little.”
At last, her feet touched mud.
She dragged him onto the shore and collapsed beside him.
For a second, she could not move.
Then she turned.
The man lay too still.
“No,” she whispered.
She tapped his face. Nothing.
She pressed her ear to his chest.
Silence.
Her hands shook as she placed them over his chest.
“You don’t get to die after I brought you here.”
She pressed down once.
Twice.
Again.
“Breathe,” she cried. “Please breathe.”
Nothing.
Tears blurred her eyes.
Then faintly, beneath her ear, she heard it.
A heartbeat.
Weak.
But there.
She pressed harder.
Again.
Again.
Suddenly, the man coughed. Water spilled from his mouth as his body jerked, dragging in a sharp breath.
“He’s alive!” someone shouted.
Zora let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh.
“You’re not dying today,” she whispered.
But when she looked around, no one came close enough to help.
So she wrapped his arm around her shoulders, stood on trembling legs, and dragged him away from the river.
Behind them, the wreckage sank slowly into silence.
By the time Zora reached her shack, the sky was dark.
Every step felt like it might be her last. The man’s weight dragged against her. Her body shook from exhaustion, but she kept moving.
Neighbors stared.
“Who is that?”
“Where did she find him?”
“He looks rich.”
Zora ignored them.
If she stopped, he might die.
Inside her shack, she lowered him onto the mat and finally allowed herself to breathe.
He looked different now, away from the river and smoke. His torn clothes were clearly expensive. His cracked wristwatch still gleamed. Even unconscious, he carried a quiet authority that did not belong in a place like this.
But none of that mattered.
He was breathing.
“Kelechi,” she called softly.
Her brother stirred. “Sister?”
Then he saw the man and stiffened. “Who is that?”
“I found him in the river.”
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
Zora touched the man’s forehead and her heart tightened.
Fever.
He needed medicine. Real medicine. A doctor. Treatment.
All the things that always came with a price.
She went to the small wooden box in the corner and opened it. Inside were a few crumpled notes, some coins, and a worn bracelet.
Her mother’s last gift.
It was not valuable to anyone else.
To Zora, it was everything.
She picked it up, closed her fingers around it, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Then she ran to the clinic.
The nurse barely looked up.
“Do you have money?”
Zora placed the bracelet on the counter. “Please. He almost drowned. He has a fever.”
The nurse glanced at the bracelet. “That is not enough.”
“It is all I have.”
“We don’t run a charity.”
“He will die.”
“So will many others,” the nurse said.
Something in Zora snapped—not loudly, but enough.
“Then give me something,” she said, her voice shaking but firm. “Anything. I will pay you back. I swear.”
For a long moment, the nurse said nothing. Then she sighed and placed a small packet on the counter.
“Basic antibiotics. Fever tablets. That is all.”
Zora grabbed them. “Thank you.”
By the time she returned, night had settled fully. The man had not moved. Kelechi sat beside him, watching.
Zora cleaned the man’s wounds with water, crushed the tablets, mixed them carefully, and lifted his head.
“Come on,” she whispered. “You have to swallow.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his throat moved.
She exhaled in relief. “Good.”
All night she sat beside him, listening to his breathing.
When morning came, he was still alive.
By afternoon, his fingers moved.
By evening, his eyes opened.
At first, they did not focus. Then they found her.
Zora leaned closer. “You’re safe. You’re not in the water anymore.”
His lips moved, but no sound came.
“Don’t force it,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot.”
His gaze shifted around the shack, confused. Nothing here belonged to him. Nothing made sense.
“Do you remember your name?” she asked.
He closed his eyes as if reaching for something deep inside himself.
Nothing came.
Zora saw the fear flicker across his face.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to remember yet.”
He looked at her again.
“You saved me,” he whispered, barely more than air.
Zora shook her head.
“No. I just didn’t leave you.”
The next day, two cleanly dressed men came to Makoko.
They stood outside her shack and asked questions.
“We’re looking for someone,” one of them said. “There was a plane crash. We’re searching for survivors.”
Zora’s body tensed.
“I don’t know anything.”
“If you’ve seen anyone, it is important you tell us.”
Behind her, inside the shack, the man lay silent.
Zora straightened.
“I haven’t seen anyone.”
The men studied her for a moment before walking away.
Inside, the man’s eyes were open.
He had heard everything.
“My name,” he said weakly. “They said it outside. Obinna Adeyemi.”
Zora repeated it softly. “Obinna.”
The name meant nothing to her, but the way the men had spoken it did.
“You are important,” she said.