How to Raise an Assassin

CHAPTER 34: SAVED FROM THE FIRE

Once the field workers realized I was one of them, they all welcomed me to their tables to get to know me. I gave them my nickname, Zay. They found it unique. They apologized for their behavior and asked me to understand why they were afraid of me. They had been fearful of the Firemen, who had been going around snatching their kind up and burning them to a crisp.

I looked to Momma Emma, who accompanied me on the lap around the tables getting to know all 57 of the workers who worked there. Two kids my age argued how come I got the real mark on my chest and all they got was the baby one. The mothers tried to explain that I might be a special case.

I could barely remember the names of the people I met. But I did remember one thing that linked all of them together—Momma Emma.

Momma Emma saved one guy from being transported south to Kentucky by holding up the wagon and setting him and his family free.

Momma Emma saved another girl from a frisky white man who wanted to have his way with her.

Momma Emma offered a job to a young man who couldn't find one in the city as a free man.

Momma Emma offered a place to stay to a young Native American woman whose reservation had recently been attacked by the Firemen and she was the sole survivor.

I was overwhelmed by stories of Momma Emma that either was a propaganda campaign or genuine. How could one woman be so...heroic, so helpful, and call herself a Reaper?

I went into the kitchen to get some respite from the crowd. Momma Emma stood behind to talk some business with Kendrick. When I went inside, I saw Nala there cleaning some of the pots used to make the large supper.

"Glad to see you on your feet little one," Nala said, scrubbing soot from a pot with vigor.

My eyes went to her burn marks that ran along the length of her arm as she pulled back her sleeves to clean the dishes. At first, I accused Momma Emma of causing her pain. But she denied it saying she was one of the good ones.

"Momma Emma," I muttered aloud. "She...she stopped the fire from reaching your face."

Nala kept on scrubbing, with more intensity. "Those Firemen took me and tied me to a stake and set the grass around me on fire. They say we ain't supposed to be free. They say we ain't human."

I wasn't sure exactly what time period I was in—but I was sure this was a potential memory. The last one I saw involved Noa unlocking Operation Sweeper that my father apparently organized. But even then, I couldn't interact with the past like when I failed to stop my father from hitting Noa again. Why was I being allowed to do so now?

"Miss Emma swooped in like a hawk. She kicked all those Firemen to the can and reached into the fire to untie me and set me free before the flames could get to my neck."

That explained the burn marks on Momma's Emma's right arm.

"Miss Emma didn't need to go out there and risk her life for a poor old negro like me..."

I heard the door open behind me and Momma Emma stepped in. "Nala, you know I don't like that word."

"Sorry Miss Emma," Nala looked down at the pot and scrubbed extra harder.

"Why don't you let me finish up the cleaning here Nala," Miss Emma said. "You go on back there and enjoy yourself."

Nala smiled. "Yes Miss Emma."

Nala left Momma Emma and I alone in the kitchen filled with stoves, counters, and kitchenware hanging from hooks on the walls. Momma Emma went around to the water basin where she took a pad and started scrubbing the pots. "You look surprised, Zaslay."