Joint Task Force #1: Liberia

by David E. Meadows

  “We’ll do fine,” Victoria said. “We haven’t seen a soul on this road. Most likely, those rebels don’t even know we’re here.”

  “What you smoking, woman? And they ain’t rebels. They’re fucking terrorists. And of course we ain’t seen anything on this road. That’s because you can’t see anything on this road. What are those things sticking through the windows? They’re bushes. Hello!” George slapped his palm against his forehead. “That’s why we haven’t seen anything, woman.”

  “You know, Mr. George, if you really try hard, you may turn out to be quite the conversationalist.”

  “I ain’t no conservationist. I already told ya that.”

  “Take it easy, George,” Richard said. “She said conversationalist,” he drawled out.

  The young man in the center turned in his seat. “I’ve seen you fight, Mr. George. It was in the—”

  “Yeah, we’ve seen him fight,” Richard interrupted. “But I don’t think we’ve seen him do it sober.”

  “Man, I’m gonna rip your lips right off—”

  “You two leave Mr. George alone,” Victoria said. “He’s as concerned for his safety as we are for ours.”

  George stared at Victoria for a few seconds, his face twisted in anger, before turning away to stare into the wall of vegetation that blocked his vision. Jamal shivered involuntarily. The man was scary. Jamal looked forward. Uncle Nathan slid into the backseat behind the driver of the lead SUV. The high screams of monkeys skittering overhead among the limbs and vines of the rain forest drowned out the idling engine sounds.

  Jamal lifted his buttocks one at a time, freeing his sweat-soaked pants from the seat. He glanced behind, hoping to see Selma in the Land Rover. Mom told him he was responsible for his sister, and he wasn’t going to lose her. He reminded himself to keep Selma near until they found Mom and Dad. He faced forward. The woman named Victoria was staring at him. Jamal forced himself to smile. There was tiredness around her eyes that failed to match her smile.

  She reached forward and awkwardly shook Jamal’s hand. “I’m Victoria Pearl. I work for the World Wildlife Fund,” she said. Jamal realized she was speaking to everyone in the vehicle, not just him. “I’ve been here about two weeks, visiting friends in Monrovia. And what’s your name?”

  “Jamal,” he replied softly as she released his hand. His voice sounded raspy, dry. He cleared it several times. The older man riding shotgun and who had yet to say a word reached over the back of the front seat and handed him a bottle of water.

  “Here, boy.”

  Jamal drank deeply. The soothing feel of the warm water flowed down his throat. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. With the water came the tinge of hunger. His last meal had been lunch yesterday.

  “Friends ahead?” George asked, talking to himself. “I just hope he’s right.”

  Jamal fell back against the seat as the SUV jerked forward. Without turning his head, he glanced at the woman called Victoria. She had turned her attention to George. Jamal looked out the window. Tumbled thoughts of Mom and Dad, mixed with what Uncle Nathan had said, sailed around his mind like a disjointed Ferris wheel.

  “Mr. George, we’ll make it,” Victoria said softly, her voice shaking slightly. “Unfortunately, you’re probably right about what happened to our friends in Monrovia and why we were able to escape. Those are things we know are true, but hate to—”

  “Woman, of course I know I’m right. They are dead, dead, dead.”

  “Mr. George. Can we do each other a favor, okay?”

  “A favor?”

  “Yes, a favor. If you will call me Victoria instead of ‘woman,’ I will call you George instead of ‘asshole,’ ” she said, her voice level with the same tone.

  Jamal grinned for the first time since the attack on his house last night. The look on the man’s face was spectacular. His eyebrows rose almost to the top of his head, causing his eyes to appear as large, round white eggs. Jamal bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.

  “Well, I guess—” he mumbled.

  “Good,” she said with a sharp nod of the head. “George and Victoria it is. Now, wasn’t that a nice way of resolving our differences? George and Victoria—sounds much better than ‘asshole’ and ‘woman,’ don’t you think?”

  “Sorry. It’s just that we are . . .” stammered George, his eyebrows coming down.

  She patted the big man’s arm. “I know.” This time he didn’t act offended from her touch.

  What did she know? Jamal asked himself. He wanted to know what she knew, then thought better of asking. Sometimes not knowing the answer was better.

  Jamal had his window half down, suffering dust rather than the rising humidity and heat. Broad leaves slapped against the SUV as the vehicle bounced over the uneven narrow trail overhung by the bushes of the rain forest.

  He caught a glimpse of something sleek and furry as it ran across a small opening to the left. It was gone before he could tell or ask anyone about it. Leaves closed on the travelers again. Somewhere ahead was the great man Daniel Thomaston. His father had told him how the Army general had led a bunch of families to Liberia. How the man had carved from the rain forest jungles of central Liberia an American town. A town where African-Americans could have their DNA profiled and matched against African tribes. Jamal wondered briefly from which tribe his family had originated. His mother told him his tribe was American. His mother never wondered like his father about the tribe or the place in Africa where their lineage originated. For his mother, it was enough to say he was an American. That settled it. No other reason to argue.

  Were they even from this side of Africa? Like his father, Jamal wanted to know. He shut his eyes and soon drifted into a light sleep. Later, the sun dropped behind the SUV, casting a shade over him as the convoy continued its monotonous trek through the jungle and rain forest of central Liberia.

  Victoria reached over and rolled the window farther down, increasing the airflow across the oven of the SUV. A few minutes later, she shut her eyes and slipped into a half sleep, no longer billowing her blouse to cool herself. George looked over at his two riding companions, grunted a couple of times, and then continued his wary search of the surrounding land as they passed.

  THE SHOTS BROUGHT JAMAL UPRIGHT, WIDE AWAKE AND alert. All along a ridge paralleling the road, gunfire erupted. Heads popped up and down as the attackers fired on the SUVs. He pulled his rifle from between his legs, the barrel hitting the roof, causing him to drop it. It fell against the front seat. The engine of the SUV revved up as the convoy attempted to speed away.

  The sounds of a crash broke over the noise of small-arms fire. Ahead, Uncle Nathan’s vehicle swerved to avoid several trees across the path. The SUV turned over, wheels still spinning as it came to rest on its right side. The doors popped open as Uncle Nathan and the others inside clambered out.

  Jamal’s SUV swerved left. The hard turn slammed Jamal into the side of the door, his head banging off the window as the front end tore into the bushes. The engine sputtered to a stop, its rear sticking halfway out of the bushes.

  “Damn, this door!” George shouted, putting all of his weight against it and forcing it open enough against the bushes so he could get out. “Hurry up, y’all. Get out while I hold the door.”

  “Beaucoup Charlie! Come in! We’ve been ambushed about three miles east of the Centos River!” It was someone shouting into the radio in Uncle Nathan’s SUV. Jamal heard Uncle Nathan shout something, and then others began firing at the attackers.

  Jamal stopped at more shouts by his uncle. His head twisted from side to side as he tried to see Uncle Nathan through the smoke and dust obscuring the scene. The other voice kept repeating the call over and over to this Beaucoup Charlie. Then Victoria’s hand touched his shoulder, beckoning him to come with her.

  With the voice ringing in his ears, Jamal followed. She knelt on all fours and crawled under the bush where the car was wedged. Behind them, the three men in the front seat forced their way out of
the vehicle and fought their way through the bushes toward the sound of battle. George bent over and, hugging the side of the vehicle, crawled in a half crouch to the rear bumper. The huge man looked down at Victoria and Thomas.

  “You two, don’t stay there,” George growled. “That ain’t no hiding place. Even I see ya and I ain’t even looking. Get yoreselves into the jungle. Get far enough so you can get away if you have to. Boy, you got the gun. Don’t use it unless you have to. It’s better they pass you by than know you’re there.” Then the big man disappeared around the SUV to join the gun battle.

  “Come on,” Victoria said, taking him by the arm.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, jerking away. “My sister. My sister Selma. Got to get her first. She’s in the next car.”

  He pushed out of the bushes before the woman could grab him, falling against George for a moment as he ran around the edge of the car. He felt the brush of the big man’s hand. He instinctively dropped his shoulder, causing the loose grip to fall away.

  “Wait a minute!” Victoria shouted. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Boy! You stupid or something! Oh, wait a minute! Don’t you be stupid too.”

  Jamal glanced over his shoulder. George had Victoria, his free hand wrapped around her thin waist, fighting her struggles. The M-16 in his other hand vibrated as George raked the top of the rise across the road, forcing the attackers to drop behind the hill.

  “I’ll be back,” Jamal shouted.

  “What in the hell are you two trying to do?” George shouted, shoving Victoria backward.

  An explosion knocked Jamal off his feet. Screams rose from the last vehicle in the convoy. Flames roiled above it, darting through dark clouds. A smell like burning bacon assaulted his nostrils. He touched the side of the Land Rover and knelt. The British vehicle was nose-first in the bushes like theirs.

  Jamal looked around. Several men were on the other side shooting, but he didn’t see Selma. He shoved himself up, holding the rifle tight in his left hand. As he rose, he caught a glimpse of color beneath the back wheels of the vehicle. It was Selma. She was on the ground, her head pressed into the grasses with her hands moving back and forth over her head.

  He crawled toward her, shouting her name and receiving no response. When he reached beneath the Land Rover and touched her, she jumped and screamed, her eyes clamped shut.

  “Selma, shut up. It’s me.”

  “Jamal, Jamal,” she cried, her eyes opening. She crawled frantically from beneath the Land Rover, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him so tight she choked him.

  Jamal dropped the rifle and pulled her arms from around his neck. She grabbed his free hand and gripped it tightly to her chest.

  “Come on, Selma. We gotta get out of here,” he said, squeezing her hand a couple of times. He stood, grabbed his rifle, and with him holding her hand tightly, they ran around the front of the Land Rover, dashed to the right, and worked their way around the bush toward where he last saw Victoria and George. What if they weren’t there?

  Another whooshing sound drowned out the gunfire, and the SUV Uncle Nathan was using for cover exploded into metal and glass. The concussion threw Jamal and Selma into the air. They landed in the bush, branches scratching and whipping them as they tumbled onto Victoria, knocking the breath out of her. Jamal moaned and sat up. His head moved back and forth a couple of times until he saw what he was looking for. He reached out and pulled the rifle to him. A couple of feet away inside the natural clearing within the huge bush, Victoria had pulled the unconscious Selma into her lap, whispering to the young girl as the woman ran her hands over Selma’s arms and legs. “You okay, honey. I don’t feel anything broken.”

  Selma’s eyes opened. “I’m hurt!” And then she began to wail.

  “Hush, Selma. You want them to hear us?” Jamal pleaded. His head hurt something fierce.

  Victoria put her finger to Selma’s mouth. “Shssss,” she said.

  “Selma, do what Miss Victoria tells you. You don’t want those bad men out there to find us.”

  “Jamal,” Victoria said quietly. “You two come on. George said move away from here. We need to move farther into the jungle. Far enough away that they won’t find us.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t leave Uncle Nathan.”

  “And you can’t help him by getting yourself shot or killed. We’ll come back when it’s over,” Victoria said. Taking Selma by the hand, the lady crawled to the far edge of the bush, and pushed herself through its branches.

  Jamal watched for a few seconds. He wanted to go with them, but his uncle needed him. He pulled his rifle across his chest and looked toward the sound of gunfire. When he glanced back, Victoria and his sister were gone. The bush rattled where they had entered, the branches parted, and Miss Victoria looked at him.

  “Come on, Jamal. We need you to protect us,” Victoria said, motioning to him.

  He looked one more time toward the fighting, and then crawled across the space toward her.

  Behind them, shouts of “Allah Alakbar!” followed another explosion. The explosion blew open the part of the bush where Jamal only a moment ago had been sitting. He glanced back, and what looked like hundreds of rebels flowed over the ridge. His knees felt watery. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry, but he also wanted to run. Never in his life had he wanted to run and run and run like he did now. How do you run when the bones in your legs have evaporated? From somewhere, a scream followed by crying drew him away from his own fears. Selma, no longer able to contain her own fear, was fighting Victoria’s grip. The young girl practically dragged the older woman with her as she fought to get away from the fighting, trying to escape into the rain forest jungles of Liberia.

  Finally, Victoria scooped up the small girl and took off running. Jamal followed. They ran for a long time, crashing through thick bushes, long grasses. Briars the size of shark teeth scratched their bodies and ripped clothing. It was only when the woman tripped and fell, dropping Selma, that they stopped. He turned and looked back the way they’d come. Their path was easily visible through the tall jungle grass. The jungle was quiet around them. He realized there were no sounds of gunfire. He turned back and helped Victoria and Selma up, wondering how far they had run.

  Victoria brushed herself off, squatted, and brushed the debris away from Selma’s face. “You okay, honey?”

  Selma nodded. His sister’s eyes seemed focused past Victoria on something only she could see. They seemed to be looking off into the distance somewhere else. Jamal knew his sister. At home, she would be crying and complaining. Instead, she stood silently without wiggling as Victoria brushed her face.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said to Jamal, reaching up and running her hand down the side of his cheek. A streak of dark red blood smeared the light skin of her palm.

  “We’ve got to stop that,” she said, looking around as if expecting to find something out here in the middle of the Liberian jungle.

  Jamal ran his hand across his left cheek. Blood. He looked down and saw blood dripping from his chin onto his shirt. A dollar-sized stain grew as he watched. His mother would kill him if he ruined his shirt. Good clothes were hard to come by in Liberia. Looking down, he saw a tear on the knee of his blue jeans. His pants were now covered with dirt and grime.

  Victoria took his hand and put it against the open wound on his cheek. “Hold your hand here. Press hard and that may stop the bleeding.”

  Selma never moved. She just stood there, her arms lifeless by her sides. Almost as if she felt Jamal’s eyes on her, she turned slightly toward him, staring past him at something visible only to her. He glanced over his shoulder to see if he could see what she was staring at, but only saw the other side of the bush.

  Victoria ripped a long strip of cloth from her dress. She withdrew her arms through the sleeves of the blouse, and with a few deft movements removed her bra, allowing it to drop to the ground.

  “Now, we’re going to bandage that,” she said while putti
ng her arms back through the sleeves of her blouse.

  She picked up the bra and tore off the two shoulder straps. She pressed the cloth patch against his cheek and then tied the ends of the bra straps together. She wrapped the makeshift binding around his head and across his chin, tying the ends, to hold the bandage in place. He was glad he couldn’t see what he looked like.

  “There,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t look so good, but should do it for a while.”

  “Should we go back?” Jamal asked. He wiggled his chin, casting his eyes down to see if he could see the black strap. He couldn’t.

  She shook her head. “Let’s wait until dark.” She reached over and took Selma’s hand.

  Selma looked up and nodded. Whatever she was looking at must have gone away, thought Jamal.

  “Come on, honey. Let’s find a place. We need a short rest and best we hide while we do it.”

  Ten minutes later, the woman led them under another bush. “We’ll stay here for a bit.”

  “I’m scared,” Selma whimpered.

  “We’re all scared, honey.”

  Jamal faced the way they had come, aiming his rifle and praying no one followed. He wondered if they were going to go back to the convoy. The shooting must have stopped by now.

  The woman squeezed Selma’s hand. “You stay with your aunt Victoria. You’re going to be all right. You hear me?”

  Jamal thought he heard a slight tremble in her voice.

  Selma had opened her mouth to answer when crashing sounds of someone running through the jungle turned her response to a whimper. Jamal’s eyes widened. Selma was biting her lower lip. Her eyes squeezed shut so tight that it caused her face to scrunch into a mask of dirt and wrinkles. Jamal raised his gun. It felt so heavy. The bush blocked his vision. All he could do was listen to the noise of someone approaching.

  The three of them pulled as quietly as possible toward the center of the bush. The noise increased as the runner approached, and then stopped for a moment. George broke through the underbrush headfirst, knocking the barrel of Jamal’s rifle up.

  “George!” Victoria shouted, leaning forward.