Nobody knows exactly when the rift appeared in the sky. It first became visible sometime last year; a streak of brilliant vermillion that trailed across the sky like the tail end of a shooting star. All the news channels streamed it round the hour. Media drones flitted around the brightening fold of energy in the sky like mosquitoes over a well. Mystics claimed it was the Second Coming and everybody ran to church. Sadly, their tithes didn’t inflate the economy because the hardcore nihilists were having the time of their lives looting every establishment that was lootable. Three months after—when everyone realized the world was not coming to an end and the streak of pure energy in the sky was just another glorified nightlight—life in Lagos begrudgingly resumed.
A sharp noise interrupts my reverie. I bolt from the window and into the kitchen at the furious hiss of my gas cooker. Water bubbles under the lid of the pot, trailing down the sides and into the flame. I flip the lid and the bubbling subsides. The aroma of white rice kisses me in the face.
“Uzor, time to wake up!”
I walk back into the single living/bedroom to find Uzor curled to one side of our bed. His arms are pressed against the mosquito net. He’s growing fast, already outgrowing the singlet and pair of pajama trousers he sleeps in.
“Uzor!”
“Ma?” he groans.
“Get up. It’s time for school.”
Uzor mutters something unintelligible as he crawls out from under the net and half-sleepwalks toward the bathroom. Every day he looks more and more like his father, even with his gait. I have no idea where he picked that up, and it’s fairly unsettling. At least he has my eyes, round and brown. He’s at the door to the loo when he suddenly stops and says, “I’ll make the bed. I haven’t forgotten yet.”
I smile. “Of course.”
I head back to my table by the window. This time, I ignore the rift blazing golden red in the predawn sky. Under the waning light of my rechargeable lamp, I eye the landlord’s notice to quit and a million other outstanding bills on my worktable, and sigh.
Today’s going to be a long day.
I pull up in front of Wisdom Springs Prep, Uzor’s school and my place of work. It’s supposed to be one of the best schools in the area because the proprietress is a US citizen (by naturalization) or something of the sort. Its glory days are long gone, though, especially now the proprietress is opening another branch in Lekki.
They pay well, and there’s a staff-children’s bonus, so that’s good enough.
Thankfully, Aunty Bisi is the teacher on duty at the gate, checking children’s bags for contraband. Quickly, I guide Uzor to the entrance before pulling the woman aside.
“Good morning to you too, Aunty Blessing,” she says.
“I’m sorry, Aunty Bisi, but could you cover for me?”
“Cover? Aren’t you here already?”
“I know…” My eyes dart around, but schoolchildren have little interest in whatever middle-aged teachers discuss in the mornings. “I’ve signed the teachers’ roster already, but I need to get to the dealership this morning. I won’t make it to assembly.”
Aunty Bisi casts a glance at my 2012 Toyota Corolla and nods sagely. “You finally decided to let it go, heh?”
“Woman must chop. Bills wan kill me.”
Aunty Bisi doesn’t laugh, thank God. We both understand how difficult it is living in this country.
“I heard Big Madam will be coming around today, so be quick.”
Shit, Proprietress? I nod furiously and head back into the car. As I turn the corner out the street I can’t help but notice the rift; once singular in its dominion of the sky, now branching, outwards.
I get stuck in traffic. Double shit.
I assault my horn as a clean Lexus (likely a ’24 model) stalls in-between two lanes, right in front of me. I still can’t wrap my head around selling my car. I’d hoped it would never get to this, but Proprietress has us working extra hours. Aunty Bisi believes it’s to keep us from job hunting or a side-hustle. She’s right. The salaries keep coming overdue too. No overtime bonus either, mind you. It’s a private school, not a bloody democracy. Besides, Proprietress will rather have us believe everything will normalize once the Lekki project kicks off.
We know better. Nothing ever normalizes in this shithole of a country.
As if to buttress my point two police drones flag a hooded kid painting graffiti on a factory wall. He’d managed to mural “CHOP LIFE B4 RIFT CHOP YOU” on the wall in neon-orange paint before the drones appeared. The kid’s most likely one of the Rifters, one of the many cults that popped up with the emergence of the rift. I only know the Rifters by name because they have insane clout. They claim that it’s because they aren’t a cult but a way of life.
Now the Rifter kid’s trying to fight off the spherical police drones with a baton. Wrong choice. I see a brief flash of discharging rounds and the kid convulses lightly before falling to the ground. The Nigerian government took care of police brutality by simply reassigning the role to machines. Remember what I said about normalization?
“Two-fifty.”
“Four hundred.”
The dealer chuckles in amusement. “Madam, your vehicle is seventeen years old. I’m doing you a favor. Nobody will want to buy this… junk.”
I swallow the lump of saliva at the back of my throat. “It’s an antique.”
“Madam, I don’t sell antiques.”
I eye the cars in his lot. The sun is up but the radiance that reflects on the hoods and windshields is from the rift. The dealer must see me looking upwards because he says, “Meteorologists say the photon densities of the rift have been rising lately. People have been leaving town.”
“Densities are always rising these days,” I say. Nobody can squeeze new content from the rift otherwise.
“But there must be something about it this time if people are leaving, right?”
That explains all the recent traffic, but I nod absently instead. Two hundred and fifty thousand naira can only handle rent with just little to spare. Uzor’s about to enter secondary school too. Besides, I need to buy electricity. I won’t be able to get away with charging my lamps in the staff room for much longer.
“…I’m thinking of leaving, myself. This Lagos, it gets to you after a while.”
I’ll need to renew security too. Brutal or not, it’s always safer to have a police bot hovering close by. Especially since… well, what happened four years ago.
I notice the dealer’s silence and chip in quickly, “The rift extends much farther than Lagos.”
“I heard it doesn’t reach the East.”
I don’t care. Either place, I’m a broke single mother who can barely afford a single-room flat. “Three hundred thousand naira. Please sir.”
“Two-sixty-five Madam, and that’s my final offer.”
It’s a few minutes past nine. There goes assembly. At least there’s a solid quarter mil sitting in my account now. The downside is that I have to put up with the congested danfo buses that are the lifeblood of Lagos’ public transport system.
A woman at the back preaches something about the end of days. Somehow her voice carries over the rumble of the engine and the conductor’s intermittent announcements of bus stop destinations. I tune out when she begins to talk about the prophet of her church and how he can lead the world to the Garden of Eden.
Out the window, the rift streaks across the sky. It’s too bright to look up for long, so I don’t. I bet there’ll be rift news trending on the streams for a while. I twirl my driver’s license between my fingers distractedly. The car was Papa Uzor’s idea, even though he only bought it in my name to hide his illegal funds.
Thunder rumbles overhead. Weird, it’s still so sunny up. Nevertheless, it brings back memories of the night Papa Uzor beat me into a coma. In sickness and in health went out the window after that.
The sky rumbles again, and this time it reverberates through the danfo. For a second, everybody goes still; even the preacher at the back. The hairs on my skin suddenly pull upward, and my eyes travel to the sky. A spider-web fissure encapsulates the entire sky now, each seam shimmering with white-bright threads of energy.
Another thunderclap drums against the interstice. It is almost deafening, like the crack of a whip against the surface of the sky. The shockwave visibly ripples against the clouds, and falls to the ground.
What…?
The roof of the danfo receives the brunt of the shock, crunching inward like an eggshell punched in. The back of the bus lifts into the air with the sickening groan of folding metal. Everybody is screaming. Something punctures the rift with an absurdity of kinetic energy—almost as a falling star would. It shatters the surrounding sky like a bullet through glass, rending the upper atmosphere into infinite fiery bits before falling to earth like the righteous thunderbolt of Amadioha’s wrath.
All I can think is, “Uzor—”
The aftershock hits me in the face.
An aching ringing thrumming numbness accompanies my return to consciousness. For a few seconds my mind remains a blissful blank slate of oblivion until…
Thunderclap. Rift. Broken.
A surge of adrenaline jolts my heart and I go into a coughing fit. Pain flares over every surface of my body as I try to orient myself. Thunder rumbles and I cough again. Smoke has risen all around, creating an asphalt-level fog. I’ve been tossed a few inches towards the sidewalk. On the expressway vehicles are overturned or on their sides. Many of them are burning. It takes a second for me to reconcile the thunder to the stampede of feet. People are running away from the burning vehicles.
Burning vehicles!
I will myself to rise but my left arm falls uselessly to one side. I grind my teeth against the pain as bodies shove roughly against me. Somewhere behind me one of the car explodes, pushing a wave of heat into the fleeing mob. I stumble and somebody steadies me before scrambling on. I blink away the sweat that has rolled into my eyes and turn amidst the commotion. I need to get to Uzor. I need to get to Uzor!
A roar reverberates in the sky. It is unlike anything I have heard in my life—so primal it makes my bones shudder. I lift my head to the sky—like the multitude of Lagosians on the pedestrian walks—and in the gaping blackness where the shining rift once was, winged creatures emerge. A sudden hysteria grips me as the creatures soar across the sky. Of course the rift was bad news! How the hell did we normalize it? I laugh at the absurdity as people around me throw apprehensive glances my way; too confused to even consider that someone might have gone mad.
One of the flying beasts opens its mouth in a howl. The temperature drops so suddenly that cold flakes instantly saturate the air.
The panic sets in.
A beam of white starlight jets downward from the dragon’s mouth. It tears into the earth’s crust, hemorrhaging a fiery explosion that expands skyward with the frigid atmosphere. The explosion happens so far out, yet the heatwave tenderizes my flesh and evaporates every bit of moisture on my skin. The other dragons open their mouths, condensing that earth-shattering energy again.
And we, the humans?
We run.
Between two collided trucks and the fallen shipping containers they once carried, I battle with my phone. I dial Aunty Bisi and get nothing. My heart hammers inside my chest. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!
A media snippet floats into view. #Dragonfall shatters #rift. A Rifter had somehow taken a video of the dragon razing the surface. It’s even a miracle the internet is still working (foreign infrastructure at its peak). I search online for Wisdom Springs and get a hit. Who knew Proprietress’ fixation on advertising would come in handy now?
A real-time drone feed replaces #dragonfall. The picture quality is low, but the rift still looks intact over the school building. The top floor has collapsed, though, and the after-quakes seem to have felled an electric pole right onto the gate.
They’re trapped.
I’m about to zoom in when my signal disappears. I scream in frustration and peep out the edge of the container. According to the #dragonfall posts, for now the dragons are flocking to massive sources of heat, leaving behind a trail of winter and burning earth. I need to leave Lagos. I thumb my debit card in the pocket of my palazzos.
First I have to get Uzor.
I undo a few buttons on my shirt to support my arm. I’m almost done when somebody runs into the cramped space. I turn to acknowledge them when a heavy hand grabs my neck, pinning me to the opposite container. Before I can scream the other hand stifles my mouth.
Terror pulses against my ears. Papa Uzor!
He grins as his hands clamp harder. His eyes are bloodshot—nothing has changed in four years. “Where’s your restraining order now, Blessing? Did you really think you could hide from me?”
My heart pounds painfully in my chest. My breath comes in shallow gulps. I want to scream for help but only a muffled whimper escapes. The only thing I can think is that he’s going to hit me. He’s going to hit me till I collapse. Then he’s going to hit me some more. Here, in the middle of nowhere where nobody gives a flying fuck.
“The rift couldn’t have timed this better, no? Now your stupid drones can’t tag me.” He chuckles darkly. “You sold my car!” He sees the panic in my eyes and his grin widens. “Where’s the card? That money belongs to me!”
The bastard has been stalking me. His hand leaves my neck to search my body. Instantly, I kick him in the groin and he doubles over. I gasp furiously for air and try to get away but somehow he’s faster. He jabs his elbow into my stomach and I scream. Papa Uzor towers over me now, his face contorted in a mask of fury.
“I’m going to take everything from you, Blessing. Then I’m going to take Uzor.”
Please no. I want to beg but I can only whimper. Please…
Something starts beeping rapidly. Recognition flashes in Papa Uzor’s eyes a second too late. One of the police drones hover into sight a few feet above Papa Uzor’s head…
…and fires bolts of anti-personnel charges.
“Restraining order violated. Restraining order violated. Restraining order violated,” it repeats, most likely busted. Papa Uzor slumps like a felled tree. I can’t move, whimpering and sobbing and grateful that the country had amassed so many debts a few years back, and the foreign intervention allowed for such new tech to come in. The drone keeps firing on Papa Uzor’s immobile body, repeating its edict. I wonder then, in a pool of my own sweat and tears, my mind partly numbed by pain and the glare of the rift in the sky, whether I’m like the drone too.
Broken.
After getting away from Papa Uzor I find an abandoned car with its engine still running. A 2018 Toyota Camry, with only part of the fender busted and hood crumpled. I did a lot of vehicle research while contemplating selling mine… feels like such a lifetime ago now. In this reality I’ve become a looting Rifter who ignores the bloodstains on the steering wheel and drives straight to their child’s school.
There’s a crowd outside Wisdom Springs trying to get the pole away from the gate. Anxious parents, all of them. I’m not the only one covered in soot and bruises. Many others have dents on their cars too, and there’s a missing windshield here and there. My eyes scan the fence for entry points, but the fence is electrified throughout. With the fallen electric pole and exposed wires, the place is a minefield waiting to happen.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Aunty Bisi. I pick up, fast.
“Where are you, Aunty Blessing? I haven’t been able to reach you!”
“I’m at the gate. You need to deactivate the electric fence and start sending the children out!”
“I can’t do that!” she whispers furiously. “Big Madam has refused to disable the fence until we can get the gate open. Considering the state of things right now, we wouldn’t want to risk losing a kid and facing charges, you know?”
“Are you kidding? The rift is bloody collapsing and all Proprietress can think of is litigation?”
Shit. Shit. Shit! I look around and notice the block of apartments right beside the school fence. If I’m right, then one of the windows look into the toilets on the top floor. Right above the fence. Most of the top floor has collapsed but this is my only shot…
I glance down at my arm hanging in a makeshift sling, courtesy of Papa Uzor’s belt. I can’t do this alone.
Among the crowd of yelling parents trying—and failing—to heave the concrete pole from the gate, I spot Mr. Akpan. If I remember correctly, his daughter is in Uzor’s class. He’s yelling at something, and thick veins protrude on his temple. I reconsider approaching him because of his muscular frame— I can still feel the soreness from Papa Uzor’s grip around my neck. Thunder rumbles overhead and a shiver licks up my spine. Some of the other parents get that haunted look on their faces too, and I know they know.
Fuck it. “Mr. Akpan. I have a plan that should get us inside the school. But I need help.”
“What do you need?”
I eye the next building and signal for him to follow. The pedestrian gate swings open with a nudge. Nobody follows behind. The two of us enter a dim stairwell and start climbing while I narrate my plan.
“We’ll need to convince the flat owners to cooperate,” I say finally, already winded from the brief climb.
“And if they refuse?”
“That’s why I have you.” I turn to meet his gaze, and I believe he sees the grim expression on my face.
“I understand.”
I knock on the door a few times. No response. I drop the civilized act and bang with my good fist. Still nothing. I grimace and turn to Mr. Akpan.
He barrels into the door.
Only one hinge survives. I dash in, searching for the window. The house looks like it has been cleared out in a rush. Hell, that car dealer was right. I need to get Uzor and head East.
Thunder rumbles again. This time dust falls from the ceiling as the building catches some of the tremors. I locate the window and slide it open. Opposite me, about four feet across, is the toilet window to Wisdom Springs’ top floor.
The window is shut.
“What now?” Mr. Akpan asks.
“Get a chair!” The man complies. I point to the window. “Let it fly.”
It takes two chairs but the window collapses. I wipe the beads of sweat on my forehead and consider the gap. Mr. Akpan has already begun stripping the curtains and the sheets and knotting them together. I tie one end to my waist and climb the window ledge. Mr. Akpan hesitates.
“Mrs. Blessing. Are you sure about this?”
Hell no. I stopped hitting the gym four years ago. Now hunger tones my muscles.
Instead I offer him a strained smile. “It’s Miss, not Mrs. I’m divorced.”
“Oh…”
I leap off the ledge.
Landing is painful. I can’t control my momentum so I hit my ribs on the wall on entry and my shin smacks against the WC. I grind my teeth as pain synapses across my body in actinic impulses. I have to get moving! The rift can shatter at any time!
I undo the rope on my waist and wrap it (securely) to the bottom of the WC. Then I give Mr. Akpan the signal from the window and head into the hallway.
There is debris everywhere. Fortunately, the top floor was a new addition nobody has found use for yet.
I crawl over the mounds of fallen concrete and roofing sheets, run down the stairs and burst into another hallway. The sound of children wafts across this hallway. I storm into Uzor’s class.
The teacher jumps in surprise. I point at Uzor and with a quick flick of my fingers I summon him. The teacher makes no move to protest. I look around and find Mr. Akpan’s daughter. I point to her too. “Come with me. Your daddy is waiting.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that Aunty Blessing.”
My glare is scathing as it falls on Uzor’s teacher. “I don’t care. Akpan, on your feet!”
Uzor runs into my arms for a hug. I hold him firmly to my chest and stroke his head.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing the sling.
“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” I nod to Mr. Akpan’s daughter and she follows me out. The thunder is getting more frequent now and I double my pace. I ignore every human that attempts to stop me in the corridors. On the landing Proprietress blocks my path. Aunty Bisi flanks her to one side, eyes down.
“Blessing, what do you think you’re doing?” Proprietress asks in her annoying accent.
“Leaving.”
“We haven’t gotten the gates open yet.”
I take one look at the gate effort. The music and math teachers? Only? Out of the corner of my eye I see Mr. Akpan heaving a ladder towards the fence. The background hum of the school’s diesel generator sputters into silence.
“Well, good luck with that, madam.” I nod to Aunty Bisi. “Thanks for everything, but you’d better get the hell out of here.”
“Blessing!”
I sprint towards Mr. Akpan by the fence. Looks like my plan worked. Mr. Akpan jumped in after me, then used our makeshift rope (which I now see was tied securely) to climb down the side of the school building and towards the generator house. Now with the electric fence gone, we can ladder our way out.
“I’ll go over first and drive closer.”
“Okay.”
He’s halfway up the ladder when another tremor hits. The rift thrums above, streaming brightly. I dash to the ladder, gripping tightly as the earth ripples under our feet. I look up to Mr. Akpan, urgent now.
“Faster!”
He leaps over the fence. Then begins the longest minute of my life. I consider climbing the ladder to check the other side of the fence when Mr. Akpan’s horn honks out.
Yes! I usher Akpan and Uzor up the ladder and watch Akpan jump. My heart lurches at the sight and I struggle to climb faster. Uzor suddenly falters above me. He looks down into my eyes, scared. I smile in reassurance and hope to God it doesn’t betray the fear in my heart.
“It’s okay, baby. Mr. Akpan will catch you.”
Uzor nods, and I see him steel his resolve on the edge. I almost get a heart attack as he jumps, but a one-handed woman can only climb so fast. On the edge of the fence, I see Mr. Akpan standing in the trunk of his Toyota Tundra, the kids beside him. Safe. He gestures for me to jump, but I’m too sore. My landing is clumsy, but I make it into the trunk.
I grab Uzor into a hug. “Thanks.”
Mr. Akpan nods, holding his daughter. Many of the parents have turned their attention to us. Others are coming our way already. “No wahala, Miss Blessing. I’ll stick around for a bit. Try to help others get their kids.”
I jump out of the trunk. “Do that fast, sir. You don’t want to be here when the dragons show up.”
He nods gravely. Akpan asks, “What dragons?”
I order Uzor to strap in as I struggle with the car’s ignition. I’m still battling with it when he suddenly says, “Mummy, isn’t that Daddy?”
Ice creeps down my spine. True enough, silhouetted against the rift’s glow is Papa Uzor with his chest bared. A manic laughter brays from his lips.
“You can never hide from me, Blessing!”
I freeze.
My hands squeeze the steering until my knuckles hurt. Where did things go wrong? Papa Uzor used to be the sweetest man… until his net fraud was flagged and he lost it all. The rift thunders again, and flashes of that night come spiraling back. Raindrops splattering against the windowsill. His fists on my body. Uzor slumped on the edge of the couch after trying to quell his father’s rage.
“Close your eyes, Uzor.”
“Ma?”
“Do it now!” I scream and hit the gas. Papa Uzor’s eyes widen in the split-second realization of his fate.
But no.
Not with my son in the car.
Not when I can be better.
I swerve at the last minute and the side mirror crashes into him instead. I don’t look back and keep going, moving forward as the rift burns brighter. I don’t know how we’ll get to the East, but I have Uzor. If dragons decide to become the new normal, then goddammit we’ll normalize to that too.
I pat him on the head. “Open your eyes, Uzor. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Where are we going?” He doesn’t ask about his father. In a way I don’t expect, it breaks my heart.
“Road trip, baby. Road trip.”
Through the windshield, the rift trails down into the horizon, branching infinitely. The possibilities are endless. I kiss Uzor on the forehead. We’ll survive this somehow.
Together.
But first, we’ll need some supplies.
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Uchechukwu Nwaka is a medical doctor from Nigeria. His works have appeared in venues such as Clarkesworld, Escape Pod, Fusion Fragment, FIYAH, Omenana, and others, and collected in Year Best Anthologies—We’re Here, and Best Weird Fiction. His works have been nominated for the Utopia and BSFA Awards. He is the winner of the Locus Award for Best Novelette in 2024. When he’s not writing short fiction, he can be found reading manga, streaming TV shows, playing amateur volleyball, or saving lives with a pair of scrubs—and not necessarily in that order. Find him online at linktr.ee/unwaka. |