“So, what’s the plan?” Mecca Asiatic asked.
“We’re going to break into two women’s prisons,” Remi replied. “Pulaski, in Hawkensville and Arrondale, in Habersham County. We’re going to set all the women free and then burn the prisons to the ground. We’ll hit Pulaski first and then Arrondale three hours later.”
“And then?” Mecca said.
“Then we flood social media with videos and tweets admitting we did it and why,” Remi said. “We explain to the world that since the very nature of the prison system requires brutality and contempt for the people imprisoned, it cannot be reformed.”
“I feel you on that, sister,” Mecca replied.
“We call for the abolishment of all prisons,” Remi said. “And we give our word that we will police our communities and train others to do the same.”
“So, we’re about to be the world’s first superheroes is what you’re saying,” Changa chimed in.
“I…I guess so, yeah,” Remi replied.
“Then, we need a name,” Changa said. “Every superhero team has a name.”
“Like the Revengers, or the X-Klan, or somethin’?” Fang Sing asked.
“Nah, not that white-bread, bang pow, zoink ish,” Changa replied. “I’m thinking…’The Siafu’.”
“The Siafu?” Remi echoed. “Explain.”
“The Siafu are African ants,” Changa replied. “They have no eyes, no venom…only strong jaws. Individually, each Siafu is small, but as a team, they can strip a water buffalo down to the bone in less than an hour.”
“Damn,” Kundo said.
“We are much like the Siafu Ant,” Changa said. “Small in size; small in numbers, but powerful beyond measure.”
“Siafu, it is, then,” Remi said.
“So, when do we receive our superpowers?” Changa asked.
Remi nodded toward Changa’s empty plate. “You already have.”
ROUND SEVEN
Kundo and Changa inspected the crew, who stood in a single rank before a black Chevy Suburban SUV. All of them were dressed in black, cotton jumpsuits with a mock turtleneck underneath; black tactical boots and a black ski mask atop their heads.
“Tighten the straps on your vests,” Kundo said, tugging at the shoulder and side straps of his bulletproof vest in demonstration. The rest of them followed suit.
“Looking good, Siafu!” Remi said as she walked out of a room to their flank.
Kundo whistled. “Looking good yourself, baby!”
“You think so?” Remi said, whirling on her heels. She wore a quilted, oxblood leather jacket with matching trousers, boots and fingerless driving gloves.
“I know so,” Kundo replied.
“So how do y’all feel?” Remi asked the group.
“Well, today, for the first time in many years, I was able to carry Mecca across the threshold of our hotel room,” Changa snickered.
Mecca sucked her teeth. “Very funny.”
“Thanks for the luxurious digs, last night, too,” Changa said, nodding toward Dan.
“My pleasure,” Dan replied. “It may be a while before we get to enjoy such luxuries again anytime soon, so I figured ‘why not’?”
“And did Dee and your wife make it on the train with the children okay?” Remi asked.
“Yes,” Dan answered. “I purchased three bedroom suites, which is more than enough room for the sisters and the babies. They’ll meet us in Tallahassee.”
“My folks will take care of them down there,” Changa said. “If things go south, they’re already set to take the fam’ to Havana.”
“I guess we’re all set, then,” Remi said. “Let’s roll out!”
####
“Hello, everyone. I’m Danielle Pace – along with Quinton Williams, Barb Blake, Eric Rollins and Greg Adams. It’s 5 o’clock in Atlanta and this is ‘The Five at five’.”
Popular newscaster, Danielle Pace and her equally renowned co-hosts of the long-running, nightly news commentary sat at the mahogany roundtable dressed in their customary blue business suits.
“The Siafu has hit Arrendale State Women’s Prison, just three hours after striking at Pulaski Women’s Prison in Hawkensville, Georgia. They have left in their wake rivers of blood, charred flesh and smoldering embers.”
A video popped up behind Danielle. The violence was pixilated to spare squeamish viewers and to keep the censors at bay.
“The terror network has released another barbaric video that appears to show a guard at Arrendale literally being torn apart by what appears to be a woman who is dressed from head to toe in dark red leather clothing like some comic book super-villain. The tape comes shortly after one in which The Siafu beheaded the warden of Pulaski Prison and committed other atrocities. White House Chief Intelligence Correspondent, Kate Hearn has seen both videos and she joins us now. Kate, can you tell us about today’s events?”
A woman with fire red lipstick, in sharp contrast to her porcelain-colored skin, appeared on a screen over Danielle’s shoulder.
“Well, thank you, Danielle. This five minute-long video is particularly horrific because you see the guard sort of grab his skull in pain and the screams are sort of very…base; a primal scream of anger as he sort of collapses to his knees. So, this is meant to incite and to send a message to all watching that this Siafu group has declared war on the American citizens, Danielle.”
“We appreciate that you watched the videos and bear witness to them for those of us who didn’t watch them,” Danielle replied. “We do, indeed, appreciate that. Greg, you have a question?”
“Yeah,” Greg Adams said, shaking his head. “What does this say about the fruitlessness of negotiating, when they were…they were…I’m sorry; this is just too sickening…”
“Come on now,” Eric Rollins chimed in with a smirk. “I mean, people tearing human beings to shreds like tissue paper? Come on. This is obviously some kind of sham to jerk us around!”
“Look, The Siafu is playing chess, not checkers,” Kate replied. “They have carefully executed and managed this whole event.
Danielle turned her gaze toward a rotund Black man to her left. “Quinton?”
“So Kate,” Quinton Williams began. “You say The Siafu have obviously declared war on America. What do you anticipate the next step of the President will be? Do you believe that he will call in the Armed Forces on this?”
“Well, there are multiple media sources coming out that indicate The Siafu might even be a violent arm of Al-Qaeda,” Kate replied. “And may even be the ones who orchestrated the tragic fall of the Twin Towers way back in September 11, 2001. Remember that?”
“Kate, I’ve seen the prior video,” Eric Rollins said. “I happened not to see this one. I understand this one ends with The Siafu burying a victim inside another victim.”
“That’s correct,” Kate said.
“How are they pulling off these monstrous acts?” Eric said. “Is it CGI? Camera tricks?”
“It’s real,” Kate replied. “We figure they must all be hopped up on PCP…and probably some powerful kind of steroid.”
Barb Blake, the oldest of The Five at five, spoke. “So, where do you predict The Siafu will strike next, Kate?”
“Since they have hit two women’s prisons, it is likely they will hit the next closest one, Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women in Wetumpka, Alabama,” Kate answered.
“I know I have to let you go,” Danielle said. “But can I ask you one last question, Kate, because I’m going to take the opposite…wait…what was that?”
Kate’s eyes widened. Her jaw fell slack and her chin descended to her chest. “Oh, my God! It’s…it’s The Siafu! Lock those goddamned doors! Lock…”
Beeeeeeeeeeeep.
Remi appeared on television screens throughout Metropolitan Atlanta and its neighboring suburbs. The lower half of her face was concealed by a spiked, oxblood leather mask.
“Good evening, Atlanta, she began. Allow me first to apologize. I, like you, enjoy the science fi
ction and fantasy we call ‘the news’; the laughs evoked by the shucking and jiving in our favorite comedy; the tranquility of a mind-numbing rap video. But in the spirit of our magnificent African History and our history throughout the Diaspora, we – The Siafu – thought we could take this time to honor our revolutionary ancestors, who, sadly, are no longer remembered. So, sit down and let’s have a little chat before those who don’t want us to speak come busting in with guns blazing and attempt to shut us down.”
Remi shrugged her shoulders and extended her upturned palms.
“And shut us down, why? Because they know that while the flesh may die at the hands of the enforcers of this brutal, suffocating and oppressive system, revolution lives on forever. Revolution snatches the covers off of deception. It consumes lies in a raging flame, leaving only truth to rise from its ashes. And the truth is there’s something horribly wrong with the United Snakes of America.”
Remi shook her gloved fist at the camera.
“Savagery and corruption, racism and tyranny. COINTELPRO and MK-ULTRA were never abolished and we now accept every perversion and vice as part and parcel of the American Way. How did this happen? Who’s responsible? You don’t have to search too far. Just go in your bathroom and stare long and hard at your own reflection.”
Remi shook her head.
“I know; I know. You were scared. Who wouldn’t be? War; infectious, fatal disease; police shooting us down like dogs in the street. Fear got the best of you. Fear robbed you of your reason and your common sense. We were made to fear from the time we were babies. But why do we fear, now, since we are big men and women? We – and I am talking to you, Black man and woman, are, as a people, very afraid of this white man and his System. Why won’t we stand up as a people for what is right and just? It is because we suffer from the burden of Fear. As babies, we drank “the milk of fear” from our mothers’ breasts. “Fear” produces a hormonal or chemical reaction in the breast from the brain. When a woman is made afraid of what would happen to her or her child, or is subjected to a circumstance that produces “fear” and “insecurity,” this, then, is bred into us!”
Remi leapt from her seat and then paced back and forth. Dan Wallace, who operated the commandeered camera, followed her with it.
“But we, The Siafu are here today to offer you something besides fear to drink. We are here to offer you the fear drenching waters of revolution. We are going to show you that the only way to conquer your fear is to conquer that which you fear.”
Behind her, a video of Siafu ants, migrating across a tropical rainforest in Gabon, faded into view.
“So, join us, The Siafu…the tiny ants that, together, can bring down an elephant. We Africans are always in war, but never at war. But right here; right now and until we all get free…the war is on!”
Beeeeeeeeep.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Balogun is the author of the bestselling Afrikan Martial Arts: Discovering the Warrior Within and screenwriter / producer / director of the films, A Single Link, Rite of Passage: Initiation and Rite of Passage: The Dentist of Westminster.
He is one of the leading authorities on Steamfunk – a philosophy or style of writing that combines the African and / or African American culture and approach to life with that of the steampunk philosophy and / or steampunk fiction – and writes about it, the craft of writing, Sword & Soul and Steampunk in general, at http://chroniclesofharriet.com/.
He is author of seven novels – the Steamfunk bestseller, MOSES: The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman (Books 1 & 2); the Urban Science Fiction saga, Redeemer; the Sword & Soul epic, Once Upon A Time In Afrika, two Fight Fiction, New Pulp novellas – A Single Link and Fist of Afrika, the two-fisted Dieselfunk tale, The Scythe and the “Choose-Your-Own-Destiny”-style Young Adult novel, The Keys. Balogun is also contributing co-editor of two anthologies: Ki:Khanga: The Anthology and Steamfunk.
Finally, Balogun is the Director and Fight Choreographer of the Steamfunk feature film, Rite of Passage, which he wrote based on the short story, Rite of Passage, by author Milton Davis and co-author of the award winning screenplay, Ngolo.
You can reach him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/Afrikan.Martial.Arts; on Twitter @Baba_Balogun and on Tumblr at www.tumblr.com/blog/blackspeculativefiction.
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