Chapter 7: The Devil's Bargain
December 27, 2016 – Evening
The silence they left behind was a physical weight. The Oasis, a place that had begun to feel like a sanctuary, was now a gilded cage. The Akudama's ultimatum hung in the air, a noose waiting for us to place our heads inside.
Panic was a living thing, fluttering in the chest of every person gathered in the main bottling hall. Arguments erupted, sharp and desperate.
"We can't! Eighty percent? That's a death sentence! We'll be dead in a week!" a woman cried out.
"And what's the alternative, eh?" a man shot back, his voice cracking. "You saw them! You saw what they did to Tunde and Samuel! You want that for your children? A quick death is better than being torn apart by those… things out there!"
Uche stood on a crate, his face etched with a deep, weary resolve. Papa stood beside him, a silent pillar of support. The crowd's eyes were on them, begging for a miracle, for a plan.
"Quiet!" Uche's voice, though tired, carried the authority of a man who had held this fragile community together. "Fighting them head-on is suicide. We are not soldiers. We are fathers, mothers, mechanics, and clerks." His eyes swept over the terrified faces. "But neither are we cattle to be milked until we are dry."
He looked at Papa, a silent conversation passing between them. Papa gave a grim, almost imperceptible nod.
"We will give them their water," Uche announced. A wave of despair rippled through the crowd. He held up a hand. "We will give it to them for now. It buys us time. Time to think. Time to find a weakness. They are not gods. They are men. And all men have weaknesses."
It was the Devil's bargain. We would submit to survive, but the submission was a lie. It was a war fought with patience, not pangas.
The next day, at the designated time, they came. Not all of them. Just Courier and Brawler. Their arrival was a study in intimidation. Courier's motorcycle idled with a low, predatory growl, while Brawler stood immobile, his sheer size making our reinforced fence look like a child's toy.
We had stacked the crates of water bottles just inside the gate. Eighty percent of our clean supply. It was a heart-wrenching sight.
"Open it," Courier's voice was flat, filtered through his helmet.
We did. Brawler moved in, his movements economical and powerful. He began loading the crates onto a small, electric flatbed truck they had brought, stacking them with an almost casual ease. He didn't look at any of us. We were insects.
I was part of the work detail, forced to stand and watch our lifeblood be carted away. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. Ade stood beside me, his breath coming in short, angry puffs.
As Brawler worked, Courier's helmeted head slowly scanned our defenses—the container barricade, the men and women standing watch with their pathetic weapons, the children peeking from the main building's doorway. His gaze was analytical, dissecting. He was memorizing our layout, our numbers, our spirit.
His visor stopped on me. For a long second, he just looked. I felt laid bare, all my fear and hatred visible. I forced myself to meet the blank, dark lenses of his helmet. I didn't look away.
He revved his engine once, a short, dismissive sound, and then turned his attention back to Brawler. The message was clear: Your defiance is noted. And it is meaningless.
In ten minutes, it was over. The flatbed was full. Brawler climbed onto the back, and without another word, Courier turned his bike and led them away. The gate was closed and locked once more.
We were safe. For another two days. We had water to last us a week, if we were careful. The mood was not one of relief, but of a deep, simmering shame. We had bowed our heads. We had paid the tax.
That night, Papa, Uche, Ade, and I met in Uche's small office. A map of the industrial complex was spread on the desk.
"We cannot win a fight of strength," Papa stated the obvious. "So we must win a fight of the mind."
"Hacker," I said. They all looked at me. "He's their eyes. He controls the lights, the signals. He knew we were here. If we can blind them…"
"Or turn their eyes against them," Ade added, a spark in his eyes. "If we could trick him. Make him see something that isn't there."
Uche nodded slowly, a plan beginning to form. "The old sewage tunnels. They run beneath this whole complex. They don't know about them. We can move without being seen."
"And do what?" Papa asked.
"We find their weakness," I said, the memory of Courier's dismissive rev burning in my mind. "We watch the watchers. We learn their routines, where they sleep, where they store our water. We find a chink in their armor."
It was a dangerous, desperate plan. A suicide mission. But it was the only one we had. We were no longer just surviving. We were spies in our own home, preparing for a war we could not afford to fight openly. The tithe had been paid, but the real price was yet to be determined. We had accepted the Devil's bargain, and now we were learning to cheat the Devil.