Murderville 2: The Epidemic Read online

  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.

  “What did they do?” she sobbed. Her father’s hands had been chopped from his body. His lips kissed by the blade of a machete. The men had completely mutilated him. Liberty’s knees gave out, and she leaned over onto her father’s chest. She sobbed so loudly that it caused all eyes to focus on her. Racked with emptiness, she held on to his bloody remains. In the blink of an eye she had been transported to hell.

  “Wake up, Daddy! Please! Help me!” she cried. Her eyes told her that he was gone, but her heart wouldn’t allow her to let go. A mob of men surrounded her, and she stood to her feet in terror. They grabbed at her body. Groped her and snatched at the thin fabric of her clothes. She tried to fight through the maze of taunting men, but they overpowered her.

  Liberty was tossed back and forth, from man to man, as they violently played with her.

  They pushed her
so hard that she fell to the ground as she wept, her face falling hopelessly in her hands.

  Out of nowhere a young voice yelled in protest. “No, leave her alone. Let me have her!”

  “No . . . no!! No!! . . .”

  * * *

  “No . . . no . . .”

  Po walked over to Liberty and gently awakened her out of her troubled sleep.

  “Yo . . . yo, ma, wake up. It’s just a dream,” he said as he brushed the hair out of her face and sat beside her on the bed.

  Liberty looked around the ratty motel and shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. She wasn’t in Sierra Leone. She was in Detroit, Michigan, hiding out with a man that she didn’t know. A man who had saved her from Samad’s bullets. After the hospital shooting he had ushered her into his car and raced away from Samad’s shooters.

  I must have fallen asleep, she thought as she put her hands over her face and groaned in frustration. Liberty’s heart raced, and the horror she felt was as fresh as it had been so many years ago. She sat up and breathed deeply as she closed her eyes. Her hands went to her clammy face as she shook her head. “It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory,” she replied in a solemn whisper as she wiped the tear that slid down her face.

  “What?” Po replied with a lost expression on his face.

  Liberty shook her head in dismissal and waved her hand. “Nothing. You wouldn’t understand,” she replied. She remembered the pain as if it had happened yesterday. It had been a long time since she had dreamt of Sierra Leone, but A’shai’s death had thrust her right back into mourning, jogging memories of yesterday’s past.

  “I’ll tell you what I don’t understand,” Po stated as he peered out of the motel window, cautiously surveying his surroundings. “Why does someone like you have bullets flying at you in broad daylight? Fuck is that, nigga?”

  Liberty looked up at Po. How could she explain her life to a complete stranger? Samad had purchased her. Technically, she was his property, but she wouldn’t dare speak the truth. There was no simplifying where she had come from, and Liberty didn’t feel like she owed him any explanations.

  “What type of shit you into?” Po questioned, while staring at her intensely.

  “What type of shit are you into?” Liberty shot back defensively, feigning ignorance. “How do you know those bullets weren’t meant for you?”

  Po thought about his current predicament. He had just lost the love of his life behind his own street dealings so he knew very well that the gunfire at the hospital could have been aimed at him. As he looked at the delicate woman before him he surmised that she was too innocent to be the target of such wrath. Her eyes pierced his as they stared at each other in uncertainty. A tense silence infected the air as her chest heaved up and down in fear. Po could sense her trepidation. Despite the fact that Liberty tried to appear strong, he knew that she was afraid. Her trembling fingertips gave her away, and Po was immediately filled with remorse. I almost got her killed too, he thought.

  “So you didn’t recognize any of the mu’fuckas? You have no idea who those men were today?” he grilled for good measure.

  Liberty paused as she thought about telling the truth, but she didn’t trust the man in front of her. He was a stranger who couldn’t possibly understand her struggle. “No,” she answered flatly, but inside she was horrified that Samad was lurking somewhere, preying upon her and threatening her very existence. Liberty wasn’t strong enough to face Samad. I’d be dead right now if he hadn’t pushed me out of the way of those bullets, she thought as she eyed Po. Liberty had narrowly escaped Samad’s clutches. She refused to give him another chance to end her life. She would run for the rest of her days if she had to.

  Po walked toward her and sat on the double bed directly across from her. He rested his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers, resting his head against his forefingers while in deep thought.

  “Look, we just got to lay low for the night. I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to let this shit die down. In the morning we can go our separate ways,” he instructed.

  “In the morning? I need to leave now,” Liberty said urgently, anxious to put as much distance as possible between her and Samad. There was no way that she could let Samad find her. She would live her days in paranoia, watching over her shoulder, because if Samad ever caught her, he would kill her. She stood and headed for the door, but before she could open it all the way, Po’s firm hand closed it.

  “That wasn’t a suggestion, sweetheart,” he said sternly. “Get comfortable.” The steely look in his eyes let Liberty know that the terms he had laid out before her were nonnegotiable. She folded her arms with a sigh of frustration and rolled her eyes as she marched over to the bed. She sat back against the grungy headboard and grabbed the remote control to turn on the TV.

  Po paced the room on guard as his mind raced. For years he had moved so carefully. Every move had been meticulously calculated. He had prized himself on being strategic in the streets and suddenly felt as if everything was falling apart. With the death of Scarlett, his entire world had changed. The money that he hustled for years to save seemed worthless now that she was gone. Detroit no longer felt like home. Everything around Po reminded him of Scarlett, and now that niggas were gunning for his head he knew that it was time to go. He could no longer decipher his friends from his foes. With bullets flying in broad daylight, things in Detroit were about to get reckless, and after avenging Scarlett’s murder he planned to blow like the wind.

  He peered out of the curtains one more time before grabbing the remote out of Liberty’s hands and changing the channel.

  “Hey, I was watching that,” she protested.

  “Now we’re watching this,” Po replied as he settled on the news station. Liberty’s eyes widened when she saw images of the hospital pop up on the screen. “I need to know what they know.”

  Liberty’s heart thundered inside of her chest as she listened to the details of the news report. She hoped that her identity didn’t come into question, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the segment finally passed. No details about herself or Samad were released, and the police had no suspects.

  Po clenched his jaws in frustration and looked back at Liberty. “Just hang tight until morning. Once I’m sure we weren’t followed you can go home.”

  “Where’s that?” she whispered back, barely audible. The only home that Liberty had ever known was with A’shai. Wherever he was, that was where she wanted to be. Living without him would prove impossible. He was her reason for breathing, and now that he no longer could, she felt lost.

  Po could see the sorrow hanging from Liberty’s shoulders. Sadness clung to her like a coat to a rack as she stared blankly at the space in front of her. She was caught up in the memory of what was and what could never be. Stuck in love with a ghost so she couldn’t move forward. She didn’t even know what her next move should be. Now that Samad had found her, Detroit was no longer an option. She had more than enough money to start her life over somewhere else. A’shai had ensured that they were set up. He had taken care of her most of their lives, and even in death he still watched over her. The first chance Liberty got she was going to empty A’shai’s safe and piece her life together as best as she could.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  Liberty looked up at him, and he could see her heartbreak. Po didn’t know what could have possibly happened to a girl so beautiful, but he knew from jump that her story was deep. Her sorrowful eyes told a tale that her lips would never confess, and the things that she had screamed out in her sleep held too much emotion to be conjured up by the sandman. Her skin was like porcelain, delicate and pale, while her hair was thick and fell in layers around her face. For the first time since their chaotic, fateful meeting, he realized how uniquely gorgeous she was.

  “Liberty,” she replied.

  “Look, Liberty, I don’t mean to come off so harsh. I’m just cautious, and I would rather move smart than fast. I don’t know wh
at happened outside of the hospital today, but I do know that I would rather be safe than sorry. I tend to be bad luck for beautiful women,” he said with a charismatic smirk. “I just lost someone who was very dear to me. I don’t need any more bodies on my heart. We don’t know each other, but please, just do me a favor and sit tight. A’ight, ma?”

  Liberty nodded her head in agreement. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “I’m Po.”

  She extended her hand and almost lost her breath when her heart skipped a beat as he shook it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?” he answered.

  “For caring about what happens to me. A lot of niggas would have just sent me on my way. Although I don’t appreciate being stuck here until morning, I can appreciate a genuine person when I meet one. I haven’t run into a lot of them in my lifetime. So thanks.”

  Po put two fingers to his forehead and nodded his head in salute before he turned his focus back to the television. No other words were spoken that night. They both were dealing with their own issues, nursing wounds that were so similar that it was irony at its finest. They were mourning the loss of love, but neither of them spoke about it. Instead, they suffered silently while keeping up a composed exterior to fool the world.

  Liberty turned her back to Po and mumbled, “First thing in the morning I’m kissing Detroit good-bye.”

  Her words caught Po’s attention, and he asked, “What you running from?”

  “The past,” she answered simply. Exhausted and still adjusting to the new heart in her chest, Liberty quickly dozed off.

  When Po was sure that she was asleep he finally allowed himself to relax. He pulled his gun off his hip, clicked off his safety, and chambered a round into the head before placing it on the nightstand next to him. If anything did pop off in the middle of the night he wouldn’t be caught off guard. Po would wake up blasting, no questions asked; the same way that he slept every night. He was never at peace, and it was the one thing he hated most about his chosen hood profession.