Murderville 2: The Epidemic (2 page)

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Liberty walked into the hospital to see the surgeon that performed the heart transplant. She had been released from the hospital only a month prior and was instructed to return that day to get a checkup. Although she had a new heart, it was still broken. It would forever be empty, and A’shai was the only man who could fill the space. She felt the soreness of the stitches that rested on the left side of her chest, which would always be a constant reminder of the reason A’shai committed suicide.
If only he had waited . . . then we would be together right now,
she thought. She kept replaying the night that he drank the Black Tea that had eventually sealed his fate.

Her life had been a blur over the past couple of weeks. Burying A’shai, going back into the home that they once shared, and living alone. She felt like her life would never be normal again. A’shai had enough money stashed away so that wasn’t a problem. She had a nice home and every material thing that she could want, but all of that was meaningless without her knight in shining armor. Liberty went to get checked by the doctor and after getting her prescription she was on her way back out. She headed out the door, and it seemed like everything began to happen in slow motion. She saw a young man coming toward her in a black hoodie,
and then a tinted truck slowed down behind him. The only thing she saw was the back window roll down, and it felt like her heart dropped to her stomach. The sinister face of Samad appeared. A’shai’s bullets hadn’t been enough to take his life. He had been looking for Liberty for years, and today was the day that he had finally caught up with her. It was as if she had seen a ghost. A’shai’s bullets hadn’t been enough to take his life. Since that day, Samad sought out revenge and vowed to kill A’shai and Liberty. He sat in the back seat and looked at her with pure hatred and crazed intentions.

Liberty saw another masked man stick his body out of the window while holding an AK-47 assault rifle. She froze in fear, her mouth dropped and her legs began to shake. She could see the goon point the gun directly at her and she braced herself, preparing for her death. Her life flashed before her eyes and she dropped her purse and waited for the gunshot that would end it all . . .

ONE

RAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT

The sound of the assault rifle thundered through the village, and panic ripped through Liberty’s chest as she was startled from her sleep.

“Get up! Get up now, girls!” her mother whispered frantically as she shook Liberty and her cousin, Dalia, in urgency.

Liberty’s eyes darted around the thatched hut home as her father guarded the door. In his trembling hands he held a hunting rifle, the only weapon he owned. Seven bullets were all he had been able to afford when he had gone to market. A week’s worth of ammunition. One shot for every day to catch his family’s dinner. Instead, he was preparing to use seven bullets against seventy men. It was hardly enough. He was about to fight an unmatched bout . . . an unwinnable war. As much as he wanted to run he had to stand his ground. His impending death was near, but he
prayed that his actions would be enough to spare his family. He squared his shoulders in an attempt to appear strong, but he was afraid and his fear was like an infection that spread to his heart, sealing his family’s inevitable fate. He was sick with silent grief as he anticipated the torture to come.

“Mama, what is happening?” Liberty yelled in confusion, eyes wide, heart rattled, as gunshots rang out loudly. The sound of boisterous men grew increasingly louder as the caravan of violence grew near. Their whoops and hollers were barbaric as they screamed out their war cries, full of pure adrenaline as they announced their presence.

“It’s the rebels! They have come,” her father revealed.

“My mother!” Dalia screamed as she darted toward the door.

“No! No! You can’t go out there. They will kill you!” Liberty said as she grabbed her cousin’s hand.

“They will hurt her!” Dalia cried as the thought of her widowed mother facing the rebels alone caused her to tremble.

“Enough, girls. That’s enough! No one is going anywhere. We have to be quiet. We have to be still. You have to be brave.” Liberty’s father kissed his wife on the forehead as she gripped his forearms with shaky hands. Her terror crippled her as pools of tears formed and the dreams of tomorrow washed away in streams that flowed down her cheeks.

“But my mother?” Dalia insisted with big, pleading eyes.

“She is in God’s hands now. It is up to a higher power to keep her safe. It is my responsibility to keep you three safe.
There isn’t much time,” he said as his eyes darted toward the door. He gripped the gun so tightly that the palms of his dark hands lost all color and his fingertips throbbed. His breaths were short, shallow. He was suffocating in silent affliction as he stared at his doomed family. His gut told him that this would be the last time he would ever be in the presence of his wife and child. He fought the emotion that threatened to spill from his eyes, and his pride remained intact. He kept his tears at bay and prepared to put up the fight of his life to save his family.

“I love you,” her mother whispered. Liberty looked into her father’s eyes as he stared into her mother’s face. In him she saw undeniable grief. Even at the tender age of ten she recognized his sadness and her soul bled as her heart became heavy with uncertainty. The madness surrounding her filled her with trepidation, and she could hear her pulse racing as her heart galloped with intensity. She could see her father mourning her very own death before it even occurred.

“Father?” Liberty said as a lump filled her throat.

“Be brave,” he repeated as he kissed her, and then Dalia. His lips were ice cold, and although it was a gesture he did every day, this kiss felt final. Liberty knew that it might be the last show of affection she would ever receive from her father, and she cherished it. She closed her eyes and locked the brief, yet intimate moment into her memory. When she finally looked up, she saw her father’s back as he headed over to the door.

“Under the bed, now . . . hurry!” her mother insisted as she ushered the girls to their knees. “We have to hide.”

They waited . . . waited for death as they huddled together, hiding, while their eyes focused on the rickety door that separated safety from destruction.

The screams that began to fill the air caused the girls to sob uncontrollably.

Liberty gripped Dalia’s hand so tightly that her fingers were numb, and she closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly, while wishing that it were a horrible dream. They all knew the threat that the rebels posed. Everyone knew. When the rebels came they destroyed everything in their paths, leaving nothing but mutilated bodies and fatherless children in their wake. A rebel invasion symbolized the end . . . extinction . . . and it was right outside Liberty’s door.

The rebels invaded her home mercilessly, chopping down the door with bullets, turning it into Swiss cheese. The sparks from their weapons were like flashes of lightning that illuminated the darkened hut.

Rat tat tat tat! Rat tat tat tat!

The cadence of the guns matched the pace of Liberty’s heart as horror caused her breath to catch in her throat. She wanted to close her eyes, but she was too afraid to blink. Her young eyes witnessed mayhem, and for the first time in her young life she realized that the devil was real. The evil she saw in the sweaty, blood-covered rebels as they raided her home was all the proof she needed. They weren’t men of God. These men marched with Lucifer’s army.

Liberty’s father aimed his old, rusted gun and fired, hitting the first man that came through his door. “Aghh!” her father roared as he stood his ground, killing three members
of the regime without hesitation. He pushed the men all the way out of his home, not wanting them to discover his family inside. There was no time to think. He acted out of instinct and fought with all of his strength until he no longer could. His efforts soon proved futile. He was outnumbered. The few rebels that he managed to kill were easily replaced. They came like roaches, one after the other, relentless in their pursuit of murder and power. The rebel regime was too strong and large. There were too many rebels to count . . . too many to fight . . . too many to remain fearless, and as he looked into the eyes of one of the men, the ruthlessness that he saw caused his fingertips to grow ice cold. He was staring into an empty shell, a dark soul whose only intention was bloodshed.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Liberty watched her father aim his gun and wrap his finger around the trigger, but before he could let off another shot he was fired upon, the bullets lifting him clean off the ground as his body jerked . . . left, then right . . . right, then left. He landed with a thud, murdered in cold blood right in front of his home for the entire village to see. His dead eyes fell upon Liberty as a blood river flowed beneath him. The intensity of emotion that she felt overwhelmed her. Her chest was so heavy with sorrow that it caved in. No child should have to bear witness to such atrocity. In that moment she was scarred forever. Liberty had never been so full of fear in all of her life, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips.

Her mother quickly put her hand over Liberty’s mouth,
but it was too late. Liberty’s cry was like a speck of blood in a pool full of sharks. Her cry had been heard. The rebels ransacked the hut, destroying everything. It wasn’t long before they flipped over the bed, discovering their hiding spot.

“No!” her mother roared as she instinctively jumped up to protect Liberty and Dalia.

“What do we have here?” one of the rebels taunted, speaking slowly as he circled her like a predator stalking his prey.

“Please. Don’t hurt us,” her mother spoke, her voice so fragile that it broke with every word.

The man smiled in amusement as he stepped behind her and gripped her neck, applying pressure as he bent her over.

“No!” her mother screamed as she tried to fight. “No, please!”

The rebel ripped the thin fabric of her skirt and forced her against the wall as he roughly spread her legs. The retched scent of his breath filled her nostrils as she screamed in protest. His hands were not her husband’s hands, and they violated her in the worst way. The sweat that dripped from his brow felt like acid on her back as he entered her, defiling her womanhood, filling every hole of her body with shame as he thrust wildly.

“No!!!”

Dalia cowered near Liberty as they watched the rape. Their small bodies were paralyzed in agony as they witnessed the unspeakable act of sin. Their screams mixed with
the pleading that erupted from Liberty’s mother. The young girls hugged each other, and Dalia whispered, “Cover your eyes, Liberty.”

The girls closed their eyes and held hands until the screams became whimpers and the whimpers became moans of a woman hanging onto her last breaths. When the moans stopped Liberty knew that so had life. Life as she knew it had ceased to exist and tears flowed nonstop down her face. The rebels hovered like rabid dogs as they salivated over the young girls. The fronts of their army fatigues rose in sexual heat as they marked their next victims.

The men wanted them, and as they approached, the girls wished for death.

“Enough!” a voice bellowed from behind the mob of men. Trembling, the girls clung to each other, arms intertwined desperately as if they had the strength to stay connected that way forever.

They watched in trepidation as the men parted and one of the senior rebels stepped forward. The thud of his heavy combat boots beat the dirt floor, resounding like an African drum, providing the soundtrack to the massacre he had brought upon the village. “Go rally the others. Make sure every hut has been searched. Take anything of value,” the man ordered without ever taking his eyes off of the girls.

Dalia and Liberty resisted as he snatched them to their feet. Their tiny fists did little to stop him from imposing his will. He eyed the young girls. They were equally beautiful, but could not have been more opposite than day and night. Dalia’s skin was dark, rich like velvet, sweet like chocolate,
and smooth like the earth’s finest silk, while Liberty’s skin was bright like the faintest color in an artist’s palette. She was exquisitely unique. She was a trophy. He grinned as he thought of the position of power he held. He was second in command in the rebel regime and always got first pick of the spoils of war. He stepped toward the girls, causing them to huddle together fearfully. He roughly gripped Liberty’s arm, and Dahlia erupted in rage. She had always been the stronger of the two, and she kicked the rebel directly between his legs, causing him to buckle.

“Run, Liberty!” Dalia yelled.

Liberty took off with Dalia on her heels. The bush was only a hundred yards away. If they could make it into the jungle Liberty knew that they could escape. It was their backyard, the place that they played in every day. She could easily hide there and survive for days if she had to. All they had to do was make it into the bush.

Liberty’s lungs burned as she yelled, “Run, Dahlia!” Her bare feet hit the dirt so hard that they bled, but she kept running. She didn’t look back until she heard her cousin scream.

“Li-be-rty!!!” Dahlia’s shrill voice cut through the air like lightning cut through the sky, causing Liberty to halt instantly. She turned back with tears streaming down her face, and her heart fell into her stomach.

Dahlia had been caught.

Indecision pulsed through Liberty as her eyes quickly scanned her village. Bodies lay everywhere . . . women, men, children . . . It was a complete massacre. So much
blood stained the dirt it appeared as if it had rained down upon the earth. She ran toward Dahlia, but before she could get to her, Dahlia was forced into the back of a Jeep.

“Liberty!” Dahlia screamed.

“Dahlia!” Liberty yelled back, sobbing as she watched the vehicle begin to drive away. “Dahlia, don’t leave me!” Liberty stopped running as she reached her home. Her father’s corpse still lay in the middle of the village, and his eyes were opened wide as if his soul could still see the tyranny around him.