Chapter 15: If They Follow, Let Them Watch Smoke
Naledi packed the bundles herself.
Twelve charcoal bags. Clean, sealed, marked with the Embers & Ash symbol.
This was her first solo trip to Durban.
"I'll use the same route you did," she said, tightening the straps of her backpack. "Thembeka will know me. She said I can use the back gate."
I nodded. "Keep your scarf loose. Walk with rhythm. Don't pause too long."
"I remember everything you taught me."
I placed R200 in her pocket. "In case you need to disappear."
She smiled faintly. "I won't."
Naledi left before sunrise.
Lutho and I stood by the edge of the trees, watching her figure shrink into the mist.
"She's brave," he said.
"She's mine," I whispered. "And I will burn this world to protect her."
While she was gone, we worked.
I didn't let my hands stop moving. Fear could only live in stillness.
We began building the underground room.
Just behind the storage shed, where the ground was soft from rain, we dug carefully, slowly, deep.
Lutho didn't ask questions.
By midday, the hole was waist-high.
By evening, we'd placed the first of the wooden walls down.
"This won't be a grave," I told him. "It'll be a safehouse. If anyone comes, we vanish here until they pass."
He nodded. "You think they'll come?"
"I know they will."
Naledi arrived in Durban by early afternoon.
She kept her head down, her heart calm. She delivered the charcoal to Thembeka's café, said little, took payment, and left.
R480 earned.
On her way out, she noticed it:
A man, across the street, watching her.
Dark coat. Limp in one leg.
He didn't speak. Just stared.
She didn't panic.
She turned into the alley behind the café, walked quickly, and disappeared into a taxi rank.
She returned home after sunset.
I rushed out to meet her, heart thudding.
"Are you hurt?"
"No," she said. "But he was there."
My face hardened. "The one with the limp?"
"Yes."
"Did he follow?"
"No. But he saw me."
We sat by the fire that night, silent.
Then Naledi whispered, "Zukhanyi… what if we stop? Just walk away. Start over somewhere far."
I turned to her. "And give up what we've built?"
"I'd give it up for you."
I touched her cheek. "And I'd give the world to keep you safe — but I'd rather teach it to fear us."
By the end of that week, the underground room was nearly complete.
We lined it with canvas. Hid the entrance with planks and soil. Placed three water bottles, two torches, and dried food inside.
Then we trained.
Three signals:
One bird call = danger nearby
Two knocks = hide
One whistle = it's safe
No more fear.
Only plans.
We made R1,600 that week — between Durban deliveries and local sales.
Our total savings crossed R12,500.
Naledi bought fabric to sew new canvas bags.
Lutho purchased gloves and goggles.
And me? I sharpened my silence like a blade.
That Sunday, I sat with Naledi beneath the acacia tree.
"Do you still dream about a family?" she asked suddenly.
I looked at her. "Every night."
"Even with this life?"
"Especially with this life. We didn't survive just to breathe — we survived to build."
She leaned into me.
"What should we name our daughter one day?"
I smiled. "Let's survive the next storm first. Then we'll name the sun."