SON OF HEKIMA

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Karura jungle

Deep in the heart of the jungle lay Buntu on his back on top a straw carpet, licking his wounds as puss and blood came out. He had survived the initiation that left him traumatized and hurt beyond repair. As the rest of his comrades were asleep, he was awake as day.

His whole body was in excruciating in pain. Bruises filled his body like tattoos. Great pangs of pain pierced his stomach so much he became quite delirious. The night was dark and filled with a gray mist. Some of the child soldiers would say that the spirit of Ozeba lingered in the air as they made a camp near a graveyard site.

Buntu was shook and afraid he could not help but reminisce about his home and his family. His mother making fresh jollof rice with jerk chicken, a tantalizing memory. But that was the past, he was brooding in soliloquy when one of the child soldiers passed him non chalantly coming from the Night Watch without noticing Buntu.

Simba the Lieutenant was the only man with a tent among them. He would always play loud reggaeton music from his tent with an old beaten down radio courtesy of Buntu and his great inventions. He would also listen to football commentaries from all over the world. He could be heard from a far cheering from a distance the winning team as he puffed on his Cuban cigars.

“Buntu!” said the corporal in a loud commanding voice.

Buntu rushed to his steed.

“I want you to scout the area for any insurgents,” said Simba.

Buntu gave him a sharp salute and armed with a rifle he sped off into the thick bush into a clearing. Buntu had become second in command ordering his subordinates with mundane army tasks. He was obedient and fierce he became what he could not recognize, he became what he feared most, a murderer.

The village was empty from what Buntu could decipher. Families left in a rush; the abandoned homes felt like a ghost town. Clothes were thrown haphazardly; windows were broken and there was no sign of life. The expensive electronics were looted and valuable items too; it was a ghastly sight. In one of the homes there was a small fire in the kitchen and footsteps engraved within the small mud house. Aimed with his rifle he scouted the small home.

To his amazement he saw a mother and child around her teens hiding inside a dusty closet, he pointed the rifle and sprayed them with bullets that rent the air. Blood oozing from the bodies of his victims. Buntu without remorse shot them again as the bodies danced from the bullets impact. This is who I have become, this is me? He said to himself.

He went back into the jungle to give back the report.

Simba sat on his chair like a King on his throne puffing his cigar.

“The coast is clear, no civilians or insurgents” said Buntu with great conviction and precision.

Buntu was becoming more of an esteemed soldier in Simba’s eyes. He held Buntu with great reverence and honor despite his horrendous act of killing his family. But this was all part of Buntu’s plan to gain great favor from the monster and with the slightest chance while weak he would strike.

They marched on.

The rain showered them with great downpour while lightning stricked the villages causing small wild fires. Buntu was not scared. How could he? After all he had been through, he was tough as steel never showing weakness or cowardice.

They formed a base in one of the abandoned homes with great speed. Wires tangled all over the sitting room as a small satellite was erected within minutes on top of the roof. There Simba would sit and listen for any enemy attack being radioed towards them in great concentration and focus.

As the night fell the squadron slept after spending hours scavenging for precious loot. Tired, they all feel into a deep dreamless sleep. But not Buntu, he would not sleep he had much work to do on this cursed night. He had picked some herbs from the forest that once burnt, his victims would fall into a great paralytic slumber.

He smoked the herbs into a small fire. One by one the child soldiers would fall into deep sleep even the commander himself was not immune to this concoction. Buntu covered his mouth and nose with a cloth he had torn from his shirt as he went dousing the smoke through the camp. Finally, when all the members were asleep, he went to the master bedroom where Simba and only Simba retired.

He crept slowly and surely like a thief in the night. This is my only chance he said under his breathe.

Armed with a dagger he stood over Simba’s body lying comfortably on the bed. Does he dream about his victims? The countless lives he had taken? Even his mothers’? All these questions rang in his head like a tolling church bell. He shall pay for all he has done…he said under his breathe. But how will I be different from him and his cult following of children soldiers.

He unsheathed his fathers’ dagger and knelt down to get closer to his body. Then taking his jagged dagger pierced his neck with a great thrust. Simba shrieked in pain and anguish as blood oozed out of his thick neck. Attempting to stop the bleeding with his hand. Buntu slashed his left wrist such that his wrist was left dangling like a piece of meat, dismaimed.

“How could you?!” said Simba in a soft voice blood oozing out of his mouth.

“I just did” said Buntu with great disdain and disgust in each and every word slow and painful like the wound on Simba’s neck.

Finally, revenge was a dish best served cold.