In the Shadow of the Sun

by Anne Sibley O'Brien

  She pressed the power button. Hurry, hurry. She scrolled to the Angry Birds game. There was the first photograph. The blindfolded man tied to the post.

  All she had to do was find a way to delete them. All their problems would disappear.

  She paused. If she got rid of the photographs, the people in them would disappear too. No one would ever know about their suffering. No one would ever know that baby had lived, even for a few short months.

  She’d seen them. She couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist.

  She startled as something moved outside, along the wall of the shed. Her arm jerked. The phone flew out of her hand and landed with a crack on the concrete floor. As she scrambled to grab it, Simon slipped through the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, I just wanted to see the pictures again….” She looked down at the floor to hide the heat in her face.

  “Mia, don’t be stupid! They might be able to trace the signal.” He grabbed the phone from her hand. “Damn, why didn’t I think of that before? I should have taken the battery out.” He bent over the phone, popping off the back to remove the battery, then putting it in his pack.

  “The highway runs alongside the tracks as far as I can see,” he said as he worked. “I could make out some buildings way up the road to the north, but no sign of people. You can go down the side of the track to pee — there’s a couple of bushes in the field.”

  Mia stepped out the door into the filmy light. Dun-colored fields stretched to distant low hills in every direction. Deserted. Desolate. A cold bit of sun broke through the cottony cloud cover overhead. She shivered and hugged her arms.

  Squatting in the field behind a bush, she realized there was one advantage to not having anything to eat. In a day or two, there’d be nothing left inside.

  Back in the shed, she knelt to search her backpack for the hand sanitizer. Above her, Simon was corkscrewing his body to stretch out, swinging his arms to one side, then the other.

  Out of habit, she started her inventory. Guidebook. Journal. Colored pens. Two plastic-wrapped packages of tissues. Her phone. The Korean-English/English-Korean dictionary. Her water bottle — half full. She took one big gulp, wanting more but stopping herself. Her hairbrush. When she ran it through her hair, bits of straw and dust floated to the ground. Her wallet, with old photos from before she had a phone: a Christmas portrait of their family, including Nona and Poppy, and school pics of Alicia and Jess.

  She stacked everything in front of her on the straw mat. Each object looked both dear and strange. Proof of an ordinary life, the life she’d had until yesterday afternoon. She could hardly imagine it now.

  At the bottom, her snacks. The bag of apricots, about eight pieces left. Two airline bags of peanuts. A package of Starbursts. The other Snickers bar, the one she’d saved for Simon. Two packs of Chinese gum and one of sesame candy.

  After what she’d seen in the photographs, it seemed as if she shouldn’t feel hungry. As if she didn’t have the right. But her body wasn’t listening.

  She reached for the apricots, one bag of peanuts, and two clean tissues, laid out two apricots each, and carefully poured out two small piles of peanuts.

  “Breakfast.”

  “I think we should save it.” Simon was leaning into a lunge, stretching out his back leg.

  “I’ve still got some apricots and another bag of peanuts and some candy. We need to eat a little. So we can walk farther today.”

  Simon shrugged, reached down, and scooped his portion into his mouth. He continued stretching while chewing, then took a swig from his water bottle.

  Mia chewed one peanut at a time. Slowly. Alternating with bites of the apricot. When she was done, it felt like she’d actually eaten something. She took a small sip of water, then tucked the bottle back into her pack.

  As she repacked, her hand touched something else. Something she’d rolled up and stuffed down there, two days before in Beijing, and then forgotten: a clean pair of socks and underwear, the clothes wrapped around a tiny hotel bottle of shampoo and a small rectangle of soap. She’d put it there in case the North Korean airline lost their luggage and it didn’t turn up for a day or two.

  She felt her spirits lifting a bit, despite everything. If they ever found water, they could wash. She could change into fresh underwear and socks.

  So when they got caught and thrown into prison, or starved to death, at least she’d be clean.

  She’d done every task she could think of doing. Mia turned to her brother. “Now what?”

  “I’m trying to figure out if we should risk traveling in the daylight or not. There don’t seem to be any people around, and I think we’ll go crazy if we have to spend the entire day in here. And there’s no guarantee someone won’t come along and find us.”

  It seemed like he was using her as a sounding board. She nodded. She wouldn’t be able to stand it, spending the day locked in this tiny tin shed. Walking would give them something to do. Something else to think about. The sense of going somewhere.

  Somewhere there might be food.

  “I think we should try to make a little progress, maybe find a better place to hide.”

  She nodded again.

  As they stood by the door, ready to start out, Simon glanced back at the shed floor.

  “Squeak!”

  Mia jumped. “What?!”

  He pointed to the little foil bag that had held the peanuts. “That’s how they’ll be able to trace us!” He was shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe her stupidity.

  She bent and picked up the bag, then stuffed it deep into her jeans pocket, her lower lip jutting out.

  Outside, Simon carefully inserted the rusted bolts back into the hinges to look as if the door was still locked.

  “Walk along the edge of the field,” he ordered, leading the way down the slope. “We’ll duck out of sight if a car comes.” He set off along a path that ran below the tracks and the highway to their right, level with the rice fields on their left.

  When Mia didn’t respond, he glanced back. She avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes on the fields. Every time Simon opened up a little and acted like they were in this together — like the moment when he’d actually seemed to be asking her opinion — she thought things might be changing. This was a really big, really hard thing they were doing together. She wanted — she needed — to do it as a team. Like real partners.

  Yelling at her about the trash was a little thing. But that wasn’t how you treated someone who was your partner. And each time she got her hopes up and he pushed her away, the rejection felt sharper.

  Even worse than when he just shut her out all the time.

  When they were younger, Simon seemed to like hanging out with her. They’d played endless backyard games of Knights and Castles, built forts and tree houses, lain side by side on the floor in Simon’s room reading his comic books, spent countless hours playing Parcheesi and Chutes and Ladders with their grandparents. Of course, that was when Nona and Poppy still lived with them, when they’d been a real family.

  Then, the summer before Mia started seventh grade, everyone went off and left her alone. Nona and Poppy moved to Arizona. Dad got a promotion and his trips got longer. Simon wanted to spend all his time with pretty Randi, his new girlfriend. Mom was technically home, but distracted, responsible for everything by herself. Before, it was like they’d all been traveling together inside a cozy, shared bubble, like a space shuttle. Now they were each solo astronauts, tethered to the shuttle but floating out in space on their own.

  In August, Simon had disappeared for three days. Mom had made frantic calls to all Simon’s friends. Dad had come home early from his trip. There were police officers at the kitchen table.

  Afterward, when it turned out he had just gone to New York to see a concert with some friends, Simon blamed Mia for ratting him out to Mom. The memory was fresh, him banging open the door and storming into her room.

  “Why did you tell on me?” His eye
s had glittered like blue ice.

  She’d looked up from her video game, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Her failure to respond was evidence enough to convict. He’d whirled and stalked out the door.

  She jumped to her feet then, chasing him down the hall. “All I said was that you weren’t at Nathan’s! How was I supposed to know you didn’t want them to find out? You didn’t tell me anything!” Too late.

  She didn’t get why he was so angry with everyone anyway. He had a pretty great life. At school, he shone like a sun, with groups — his sports and debate teammates, his friends, random girls — orbiting around him like planets, just to be in his light. She’d seen the girls at the mall looking sideways at him, heard her classmates’ squeals, “Omigod, Simon Andrews is your brother?!” There’d even been a couple of older girls who’d tried being nice to her, just to get near Simon. As if she had some special access. Since August, all she shared with him was a last name and a street address.

  Maybe he was still upset about Randi breaking up with him. They’d gotten together his sophomore year, when Mia was in sixth grade. It was really fun at first; Randi was friendly and laughed a lot and she and Simon even took Mia for ice cream or to a movie once in a while. But at some point Mia crossed some line — or they did — and they were no longer interested in her. Then last year Randi dyed her light brown hair black and got her freckled nose pierced. Next she stopped smiling, got really skinny, and started dressing in all-black clothes. Finally, just before summer vacation this year, she said she didn’t want to be with Simon anymore.

  Mia remembered he was still wearing the black cord bracelet Randi made for him. The whole thing might be a bigger deal for him than she had realized.

  The rubbing of the sore spot on her right heel brought her back to this drab day, this endless walking. Her legs felt heavy, her back stiff from sleeping all cramped up. She should have done stretches like Simon.

  Another uncomfortable thing was being able to see what a distance they had to go. In the night, walking had felt kind of timeless, just moving along under the stars. Now, she could see the countryside stretching in all directions, and how slowly they covered it. She could feel the weight of — what was it — at least a hundred and ten miles to go? Forever.

  To keep herself going, she kept telling herself they were getting out of North Korea so they could save Dad.

  After a while, her mind went into a kind of trance and she just trudged along behind Simon. Only a few vehicles passed. She ducked into the ditch when her brother ducked. Got up and started walking again when he did. Just another game of “Simon Says” she would play until she dropped.

  The railway tracks had just brought them back to the highway when a truck came around the bend before they had time to hide. Simon dropped to his knees in the ditch, Mia right behind him. A rattling rumble as it passed. Then a putt, putt, putt and the sound of squealing brakes.

  There were no running footsteps. No accusing voices pointing out their hiding place. And no sound of the truck starting up again.

  Simon lifted his head. “I’m going to crawl up there, see if I can see anything.”

  Before Mia could protest, he was scaling the slope like Spider-Man. Her heart lurched. He paused at the top to peer over the tracks, up the highway.

  A moment later, he was back beside her.

  “It’s two guys. Doesn’t look like they saw us. They’ve stopped for a picnic.”

  A picnic? They had picnics in North Korea? A picnic meant food.

  “There’s a pond on the other side of the expressway. They’re sitting there, facing away from us. There’s a bunch of stuff in the back of the truck. I think we can sneak on and hitch a ride.”

  Now her stomach lurched. “Won’t they see us?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all a crapshoot, whether we’re walking along the tracks or in the back of a truck.”

  “I thought you said we were going to walk all the way.”

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case we couldn’t find a ride. But there’s no way we can make it walking all the way; it would take more than a week and we haven’t got any food.”

  Her shoulders came up. Simon was still keeping secrets.

  “Look, Squeak, we can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, someone’s bound to see us. I just figure, the farther we are from Pyongyang, the better. If we’re going to risk exposure either way, it seems better to do it riding than walking.”

  She was dead tired. Riding sounded wonderful. And if Simon was right, if they were in equal danger either way … He wasn’t really asking, but she nodded.

  Bent low, they ran along the ditch beside the field until Simon raised a hand. He crawled up the embankment again, then beckoned for her.

  An old rusty pickup truck that had once been turquoise was parked in a small section of pavement on the far side of the train tracks. Mia peered through the gap between the truck wheels. Across the empty expressway, two men squatted on the bank of the pond, facing away from the truck. One wore a dark sweater, the other a tan jacket. They were eating with chopsticks. Mia’s mouth watered.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Simon stood, darted across the tracks on silent feet, and was up and into the back of the truck. His hand flashed over the side, waving her on.

  She ran then, as silently as she could. The truck sides were horizontal boards with narrow slits between them. Crouched on the truck bed, Simon watched the men.

  “Now!”

  Mia slipped around the truck, grabbed the rope tied across the back, and pulled herself up into the truck bed. Simon halted her with a hand signal. She froze for a long moment, certain she’d blown their cover. But then he waved her to keep moving.

  Old tires filled the front of the truck bed near the cab, stacked in piles, each tied with rope. Mia peered though the slats on the sides. The men were sharing a cigarette.

  “I think they’re almost done.” Simon pointed her toward the front stacks of tires. More slats of wood blocked the view through the back window of the cab, as long as no one looked through the cracks. Mia slipped down onto the floor in one corner, between two stacks. She caught her breath at the sound of the men’s voices approaching. The doors opened, then slammed shut, and the truck started up. Simon twisted his head around to catch her eye.

  “Here we go,” he mouthed.

  It was not a comfortable ride. The metal floor was hard. If they made any noise, they could be caught. But it felt fantastic to be moving so fast, the pavement smooth under the wheels of the old truck. If the men were going far enough in the right direction, they could be at the border in a few hours.

  At this rate, Mia thought, they might even survive long enough to get out of this country. That would be something people would notice: two American kids who escaped from North Korea. Maybe they’d be in the news, on talk shows, be celebrities.

  Everyone Mia knew had something that made them stand out — in a good way. Alicia loved to act and sing. She studied for fun and was always at the top of their class. Jess was all about horses; she rode on an equestrian team and even won ribbons at riding shows.

  Mia was … their friend.

  In the library last month, she’d overheard two kids from her class, Jared and T.J., talking on the other side of the shelves near the table where she was studying.

  “Do you see Mia Andrews?” Jared had said. “Miss Gerald said she had the book.”

  “Who?” T.J. had asked.

  “You know — Mia? That Asian girl who hangs out with Alicia and Jess?”

  If she and Simon got out of North Korea on their own, Mia wouldn’t be just “that Asian girl” anymore.

  But even better, they might be able to save Dad. That was the only thing that really mattered. If they could help get Dad home.

  Through the cracks between the slats, Mia glimpsed flat brown fields stretching out across a plain. In the distance, a lone farmer followed a plow pulled by an ox. A line of men dug with shovels in the brown dirt. Sch
oolchildren carrying backpacks walked along a path between fields full of yellow stubble, as if the crops had gotten a crew cut. Mia held her breath as the truck passed through a town, praying they wouldn’t stop.

  The land began to rise in dusty hills. She pulled out the bar of sesame candy, broke it, and tapped Simon on the shoulder to hand him a piece. She tried to pretend it was dessert, after a filling lunch, but her stomach wasn’t fooled.

  When the truck turned, it was 3:11. Mia felt the wheels bump across the tracks and then slope down onto an unpaved road, leaving the highway.

  “Simon?” she whispered.

  “I know. We’ll have to figure out a way to get out as soon as we can.”

  There were more turns, onto rougher and rougher roads, climbing steeper hills. It was exceedingly uncomfortable, hanging on and trying to stay upright and hidden. Left, right, left again. Mia’s heart sped faster. She tried to memorize each turn so they could find their way back to the train tracks. They needed to get off this truck.

  The slopes rising on either side of the road were covered in dark green pines, dotted with trees flaming like bright torches, gold and yellow and red. The truck sped on, stirring up a swirling cloud of dust. Every bump jarred Mia’s sitting bones on the metal floor as she clung to the edges of the tire stacks.

  Finally, the truck slowed down and squealed to a stop. Mia froze. A door creaked open, then another. The men’s voices, conversational. In front of her, Simon twisted to peer between the truck slats.

  “They’re peeing. C’mon.” Simon uncoiled himself and moved stealthily to the back of the truck bed. Mia squeezed her way between the stacks to crouch beside him.

  “Wait until we hear the door close, then jump. We’ll only have a second. Watch the rope.”

  She poised on the edge, straining to listen.

  “They’re taking a long time,” Mia whispered.

  “Probably sharing another cigarette.”

  “What if they see us?”