Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) by Mandy Hager

the confines of these fences Maryam was glad—but she could not. She'd rather risk failing in her mission than die, like Aanjay's mother, trapped forever in this waypoint on the edge of Hell.
    After wandering aimlessly down the emptying walkways, Maryam found herself by the main gates, peering through the wire at the armed guards beyond. Their guns glinted in the stark light that flooded access to the camp. The tales of these weapons that could kill at great distance and penetrate the body more lethally than any spear terrified her. What kind of people had the old ones been before the Tribulation, who used their superior knowledge to make instruments of death such as these?
    She shuddered, thinking of the piled bones back at Marawa Island, and for the first time truly thought through the risk of drawing the Territorials’ gaze to Onewēre's shores. Was it really safe? When Lazarus had first raised his doubts, she'd thought he did it merely to protect his father and the Apostles, but now, thanks to Ruth's disquiet, Maryam wondered if it was a valid point. If the Territorials thought Onewēre posed any kind of threat, they'd have no qualms about asserting control, deadly or otherwise. No, she couldn't in good conscience risk this—but it threw up as many problems as it solved.
    She'd have to convince Sergeant Littlejohn they'd lied…that they were, in fact, the last survivors from Marawa Island and that it was to Marawa Island she now wished to be returned. But, even if he believed her and sent her back, how on earth was she to reach Onewēre from there? She had no idea.
    Beyond the gates, the guards were changing shifts. As their ugly accents cut through the night, Maryam forced her tired brain to concentrate a little harder. All right, so it had taken Joseph's father several years to build the boat they used to escape Onewēre, and he'd had drawings from a book to guide his way. There was no way she could attempt to construct such a complicated craft, even if she had the plans. But—perhaps—there was some other means of sailing? Some craft she could fashion and operate all on her own? After all, every person in the camp must have fled across the sea to escape their homeland one way or another…perhaps someone here would have a solution she did not?
    She returned to her hut, resolving to tackle the two issues head on. Tomorrow she would seek out Aanjay's help to find a way to cross the sea between the two islands, and then she'd go to Sergeant Littlejohn and ask to be returned to Marawa Island, claiming it as her rightful home.

    “Jal Sutti built a raft,” Aanjay assured her late the next morning as she and Maryam made their way along the maze of walkways to Filza's hut. “It carried him safely on the ocean for three weeks before the Territorials’ navy picked him up.”
    “Three weeks? That's perfect. Do you think he'd tell me how?”
    “Of course. But I must warn you, he is in a very fragile state of mind. His wife and only child died one week into the voyage, and he's never quite regained his mental strength.”
    Maryam's heart faltered. Joseph's death was hard enough. To lose a wife and child…
    But they had arrived at Filza's hut. The old woman was sitting in the doorway, her elbows on her wide-spread knees, and she smoked a pipe crafted from whittled wood. The smell reminded Maryam of Judgement time, when all the village chiefs would band together and smoke aro ni mi teuana leaves to put them in a trance before the dance that preceded the final sacrifice of the seven sacred goats.
    “Ah, mahkota bunga obat girl,” Filza greeted her. She winked at Aanjay. “You bring gift?”
    Maryam blushed, but was surprised to hear Aanjay laugh. “You old rogue, Filza Zimbanto! Stop your teasing.”
    Filza shrugged, blowing a long thin line of smoke from her pleated lips. “No try, no get!” She hauled herself to her feet, breaking wind loudly as she bent back down to knock the smouldering remnants from her pipe