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PROLOGUE 

What do I remember of that night? The night I escaped from North Korea? There are so many things that I don’t remember, that I’ve put out of my mind forever . . . But I’ll tell you what I do recall. It’s drizzling. But soon the drizzle turns to torrential rain. Sheets of rain so heavy, I’m soaked to the skin. I collapse under the shelter of a bush, utterly incapable of measuring the passage of time. I am weary to the core. My legs have sunk into the mud, but somehow I crawl out from under the bush. 

Between the branches, I can see the Yalu River in front of me. But it’s changed—now totally unrecognizable. This morning, kids were wading in what was little more than a stream. But the cascading downpour has turned it into an impassable torrent. Across the river, about thirty yards away, I can make out China, shrouded in mist. Thirty yards—the distance between life and death. I shiver. I know that countless North Koreans have stood here before me, gazing across at China under the cover of darkness, memories of the people they’ve just left behind swirling through their minds. Those people, like the ones I’ve left, were starving. What else could they do? I stare into the torrent and wonder how many of them succeeded. 

Then again, what difference does it make? If I remain in North Korea, I’ll die of starvation. It’s as simple as that. At least this way there’s a chance—a chance I’ll make it, that I will be able to rescue my family or at least help them somehow. My children have always been my reason for living. I’m no use to them if I’m dead. But I still can’t believe what I’m about to do. How many days have passed since my decision to escape across the border and return to the country of my birth? I think it through. Four days . . . 

It seems like a lifetime. Four days ago, I left my house. I looked into my wife’s face, my children’s faces, for what I knew could be the last time. I couldn’t let myself indulge in that kind of thinking, though. If I was going to have any chance of helping them, I had to leave while I still had the strength to escape. Or die trying. And what have I eaten since? 

A few husks of sweet corn, kernels not included. An odd apple core. Some scraps I’ve scrounged from others’ trash. I look for the guards I know are lurking every fifty yards or so on the riverbank. I’m prepared to die of utter exhaustion or to drown in my attempt to cross the river. But I won’t allow the guards to catch me. Anything but that. I plunge into the river. The last words I spoke to my family still ring in my ears. If I succeed in escaping, somehow or other, no matter what it takes, I’ll get you there too.