by Damien Dsoul
“No! Let go of my Dad!” Catherine cried and tried to go after them, but her Mom held her back. In any case two of the militants blocked her path and pushed them down to seat amongst the others.
One of the men held Tim’s arms behind his back while his other colleague delivered punches to his gut. Tim cried out from the blows and fell to his knees. The men grabbed his arms and went and dumped him amongst the couples. Catherine and Pamela both came to his aid, crying as the wiped a trickle of blood off his mouth. The newlywed couple came over to help him up. They too were stunned by what was going on; the wife was closer to being hysterical.
Several of the militant men went into each tent and came out with items belonging to everyone that was there. They threw everything in a pile and when it was done someone emptied a gallon of kerosene over everything and set it ablaze. Catherine and everybody else watched as their clothes, cell phones, cameras, and just about everything they’d brought with them got turned into a bonfire. One of the men came and stood before them. He was tall and lean with sinewy-type of muscles. Sweat dotted his arms and made it seem he’d rubbed a film of oil over his skin. He wore a face-cap and sunglasses over his face; his hand held a machete with which he waved at the tourists. He too wore a sleeveless shirt and black khaki pants and boots.
“You’re all to come with us,” he addressed them. “My instruction to you is be quiet and obey whatever you’re told to do. Any problems and neither of you will ever see daylight again. Is that clear?”
He didn’t yell the question at them, but he didn’t have to - they heard him clearly.
There came a twin rumbling sound. Catherine and everybody else turned their heads at the sight of the two Land Rover trucks that drove into the camp. They were battered-looking and beat-up vehicles covered in coat of dust. The trucks drew to a halt a few feet from them. The leader of the militant group addressed the foreigners once again.
“You will diving yourselves and get into the back of the truck. Once again, be quiet and no harm will come to you. Now get up.”
Catherine and her Mom helped her Dad up his feet. He groaned as he stood up, told them he was alright as he clutched his hurting stomach region. They led him to one of the trucks and climbed onto the open back, them and the older couple’s son, Stephen. Four of the militants joined them; the others went into the second truck. The militants in the trucks took out cut pieces of clothing from their pockets and bound Catherine and her parents’ eyes as well as their hands behind their backs. Pamela couldn’t stop crying and one of the militants kept snapping at her to shut it. Catherine rested her head against her Dad’s shoulder; he murmured to her not to worry that everything would be alright.
The leader got into the passenger seat of the first and then they drove out of the camp retreat. A minute later the camp had returned to its former quiet state. Except for the pile of burnt items it was as if no one had arrived there at all.
***
“Mary had a little lamp ... and on that lamp there was a farm ...”
Catherine murmured the words to herself as she sat on her haunch with her arms around her legs, feeling the heat of the sun on the back of her head and all over her body as the truck bumped along the rugged road towards wherever they were heading. Neither of the militants made conversation, not even with themselves She could sense them ... even smell them; that they were there gave her no comfort from stopping her body from shaking. The children’s rhyme song helped to calm her nerves. She had never outgrown being fond of it and used it often whenever she was feeling emotional or having a heck of a bad day like this was turning out to be. She stretched the lyrics, re-made it however she wanted till she soon got tired and decided to remain quiet except for her thoughts. She couldn’t make out anything through her blindfold but reckoned she didn’t need to. If they would keep being like this for the next two hours, depending on wherever it was they were heading, she wouldn’t mind having her eyes shut. Flies perched on her arms and hair but she was impervious to their presence. Her heart danced with fear at what was coming to them.
She thought of the newlywed couple and the older couple, the Merricks in the other truck. She wondered what they and their daughters Elaine and Kriss might be feeling right now. What do the terrorists have in mind to do to them, she wondered. She had heard stories of foreigners travelling down to and getting kidnapped. Who would have thought it would happen to her and her family? They would rape her. Her mind seemed to dwell on this as absolute. Yes, they would rape her. Not just her, but her Mom included, then they’d rape Kriss and Elaine, the newlywed wife, Shania, Amber Merrick ... and who knows, they just might rape Stephen too. They’re animals, aren’t they? Who knows what sort of evil they would do to her and everybody else once they were done using them. The horror of whatever was bound to come preyed on Catherine’s mind the more she tried to sweep it out of her head the more it nagged in her brain. She remained as she was huddled and reclining against her Dad’s arm, wanting to feel his presence now even more, wanting to get as much strength as she could from him, but the horror of what they might do to him should they want to rape her and he tried to fight for her was just too numbing for her to wonder.
She thought of her life up until now: the mistakes she’d made, the triumphs she had accomplished, her friends back home: Meg, Pricilla ... Michael. Oh God, Michael, will I ever get to see you again? She thought of things she promised to get done if God got her out of this ... that she would never talk bad to her parents even when she felt like it, would never offend her Mom and would take back whatever she’d said about her in the past. Everything streamed through her mind with lightening speed and she probably would have let it drag her into a numbing mindset were it not for the truck that kept bumping over hard earth as they journeyed along.
She did doze off, though there was no way of telling how long. What brought her awake was when the truck came to an abrupt stop and she felt herself fall on her right shoulder and hit against someone’s leg. The person pulled back his leg and pushed her to sit upright. There was a flurry of activity now as if all of a sudden their captors have found their tongues and decided now to start speaking. They spoke in a rapid guttural language that was alien to her. She turned towards her Dad and felt his arm wrap around her and tighten in their hold as they heard the militants jumping down from the truck. The lowered the backside of the truck and came and brought Catherine and her parents down from it. She landed on her feet and one of the men held her steady from falling and led her along a path. Her blindfold was still blanketing her eyes. Aside from that she was powerless to do anything with her hands still tied behind her back.
She felt wild grass brush against her leg as she walked, and the ground felt soft yet uneven under her footsteps. Her captor pulled her along roughly caring less if she hurt or not. She could hear footsteps behind her and knew her parents were being dragged along as well. She made dark and light shadows behind her blindfold but nothing concrete. Twice they went down what felt like a dip in the road, like a sub-valley and then made their way up some rugged terrain as she slipped a couple of times but her captor was strong to pull her along. The fury of the sun seemed to set her ablaze underneath her clothes, but still she kept walking.
The march seemed to go on for how long she couldn’t tell. When time came that they made a stop, she breathed with relief as her captor made her sit with her back against a tree. The man uncapped something and brought it to her lips. It was a bottle and she leaned her head backward as he poured water into her mouth. She didn’t believe how thirsty she was until that moment; some of it poured out the side of her mouth and wet her torso. She felt hot all over.
The captor took the bottle from her and pulled her back to her feet and onward the march continued.
They were passing through a forest area. Catherine knew this as she felt tree branches and brambles tearing at her clothes. The sound of insects grew distinct to her ears. She o
verheard someone behind cursing out loud, followed by what sounded like a smack. Catherine cringed from the sound. She wondered who it could be. There was no way of telling, and someone now was ordering the voice to shut it. Nothing to do except keep walking.
The sun was by now an enemy and somewhat a friend to her. Her body seemed to relish it just as she despised the sweat she felt pouring down her face, torso and backside. She grew hungry by the minute - her body seemed to scream at her for food. Her legs were getting weak from the long walk and she was stumbling too often now.
The forest became alive suddenly. Birds squawked and scattered wildly as gunshots rang out making Catherine jump with fright. She probably would have ran if not for her captor still gripping her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. The gunshots went on without end and it was followed by the sound of vehicles approaching them and people calling out and yelling at their captors in jubilation. She felt her captor’s hand behind her head as he undid her blindfold and she blinked her eyes from the brightness that was before her. She was dumbfounded, shocked and overwhelmed with fear at the mass of militant men that now surrounded them, all of them armed and fearsome to behold. They shook hands with her captors and then led the way forward. She turned her eyes everywhere, saw that they were surrounded by thick bushes and trees that seemed to form a sort of canopy over them. It was the sort of place one could get lost and never be found for months.
Her captor cut the rope that bound her hands but just when she thought she was free, another militant came forward carrying a thick bundle of rope on his shoulder. He dropped it on the ground and without a word proceeded to tie one end of the rope around her left ankle into a knot. Done with that, he went over to her parents and did the same to one of their foot and like that he went to the newlyweds, Shania and James. Stephen was next. The Merricks tried to put up a fight but it was futile as they all had their legs bound with the rope. Now they looked like a slave train with Catherine in the lead. The leader indicated for them to march on, which they did.
They didn’t have to walk much further before they came to a clearing and approached a high wooden gate with militant bandits acting as security. The gates opened and the leader pushed Catherine forward. With trepidation she took her first step into the militant stronghold. She could feel her heart beating against her throat and reckoned that her chances of ever seeing civilisation grew dim by the second.
***
Elaine was the last of them to walk past the gate and she felt the air leave her lungs when she turned her head and watched the gates to the militant stronghold close behind her. It was like saying goodbye to the world and welcome to Hell. All around her the jubilant militants were locked in celebration, grinning at them at some firing their weapons into the sky. Each gun report made her jump like they being aimed at her; the sound was deafening to her ears.
***
The road they were on diverged into other roads and it one they were on widened further. They were in some sort of village with hut structures and makeshift houses standing against barricaded structures as if their foundation were weak and would collapse any minute. As Catherine observed, a lot of the houses were made of hard mud plastered with cement and corrugated zinc roofing. But as they walked further into the village it turned out there were other bigger-looking houses some mansion-like. Black women passed them on the way, most sneering at them. Some hurled abuses towards them, holding their children away from the shuffling prisoners. Catherine and the rest of her train gazed at everything around them as if they were strangers in a lost world. How they were every going to get themselves out of this hole they were in was a thought neither could think coherently on.
The leader of the militants led them to the back of one of such palatial homes where there stood a metallic structure shaped like that of a makeshift prison cell with a zinc roofing; the floor was covered with straws. The rope around their ankle was loosened off and then individually they were pushed inside the prison and told to remain there. A lock was placed on the gate and without a word their captors turned and walked away from them. The couples all attended to each other: Elaine and her sister Kriss cried in their parents’ arms, James shouldered his wife’s crying face, murmured to her that everything would be alright. Catherine did the same with her parents. They shared in each other’s pain; the numbness of the morning’s event to present more vivid than ever. The thought of what would happen to them weighted on their minds. They threw the question back at each other, but no answer was forth coming.
Minutes later three militant men approached their makeshift prison. Everyone stood back and held their breaths as the unlocked the gate and led them out of the prison. One of the militants walked in front and led them into the mansion through a back door.
It was with relief that they were now out of the sun’s mercy. Still they had no idea where or what was expected of them. Stephen tried talking to one of the militant men but the man shoved him forward with his gun. They passed a narrow corridor and went up a staircase; the floor was linoleum and everything about the house was spotless. A far cry from what was outside. The men led them to the top landing into a corridor where there were doors on either side. They indicated each door for them to enter. Catherine was separated from her parents and pushed into one of such rooms. The lock turned behind her, sealing her in the room.
It was a large bedroom, very neat with not a sight of dirt or anything amiss in it. Were it not for everything else it made her thing she was back at the resort; Catherine wondered if maybe there was a search party out now looking for them. Whatever had happened to their driver/escort Raheem anyway?
She stood close to the door afraid that someone would appear out of nowhere and once again tie a rope around her ankle. But nothing happened, besides, the door behind her was locked. She walked into the room with caution. The bed was covered in creamy silk, and there was a pair of clothes arranged on top of it - silk pyjamas, fluffy pair of slippers and underwear. She picked up the clothes and inhaled their smell. They reminded her of back home. There was a door to her left which she deduced was the bathroom/toilet. That was good because she could use a bath.
Catherine went and looked inside and saw resting on the sink a pair of toothbrush and paste and a bar of soap; on a rack hung a set of towels. She finished brushing her teeth and as she rinsed her mouth she groaned as a grumbling noise exploded in her stomach reminding her she was near famished and weak. She took the bar of soap and washed the morning’s cross-country long walk off her skin. While in the shower, she heard her door open. She remained where she was and seconds later heard the door lock back again. She quickly finished with her bath, wore one of the towel robe and went back into the bedroom. There was a tray stand next to her bed and on it were two covered dishes, a plastic bottle containing water and a plastic cup. The utensils too were plastic, same with the plates - like they were afraid of her breaking something and injuring herself. How stupid; she could always jump out the window and pray for whatever to happen.
She opened the plate and the sweet inviting smell of the food ignited her nostrils, sending another grumble to roar in her tummy. She sat down on the bed and consumed everything, not caring if it was stuff she had eaten before or not. Her body shook as she took in her first taste of food since morning. She didn’t bother using the plastic cup. She picked up the pitcher and poured the water down her throat like she hadn’t tasted anything that felt so fresh and clean to her in a long while. She was gasping for air when finally she put the jar down. She figured her parents and the other couples and family too were getting the same treatment as she was right now.
The question remained: what happens next?
AUCTION
The hours went on.
There wasn’t a clock in the room or any means of her to tell the time except look out the window and notice the direction of the sun. Long finished with her food, Catherine rolled back and forth on the bed looking
like one having a hard time falling asleep. She was plagued with worries. There was no way she could communicate with her Mom or Dad to know how well they were faring. She knocked on the wall behind her bed but it sounded hollow and thick she doubt anyone at the other side could hear her even if she screamed. What would be the use of screaming anyway? There wasn’t anyone coming to get her out of here. They were prisoners awaiting sentencing.
Frustrated, tired, getting paranoid out of her mind, she paced about the room, sang children’s rhyme one after the other till she fumbled the words up. She thought about her life, much of what she’d done and how it had led her to this. She was having a headache thinking, speculating, wondering what was happening to her parents. Evening appeared and she was still fighting with her thoughts when there came a fumble with her door lock. She sat up quickly, her heart skipping beats, and watched as the door came open and a white man dressed in servant clothes entered her room pushing forth another tray cart laden with her evening meal. A militant soldier manned the doorway cradling his automatic. The white man about her Dad’s age. Who was he and what was he doing here? She wanted to ask him but the detached look in his eyes prevented her from attempting such. He stopped the cart by the foot of the bed and rolled the other away with him. The militant closed the door when he stepped out her room and Catherine heard the key turn in the lock followed by their footsteps marching away. She wasn’t that hungry but who knows when next she was going to get something like this to eat again. She opened the plates and ate what was inside.
As the evening approached, so too the night.
***
Morning arrived. A rough pair of hands shook her awake. Another dream? Maybe it was all a dream after all.
“Wake up, slave!” a pair of hands slapped her back.
Catherine cried out from the hurt, her eyes shot awake as she turned over on her back. Two black women stood by the foot of the bed staring down at her. Slender, both wearing a native cloth that covered their torso, their complexion black and luminous; their hair was braided into a crown shape above their head. Both women regarded her like one would a cockroach.