Liberation: A Post-apocalyptic Novel

by Peter Okafor

  He felt so cold despite the warmth in the jungle. All he could think was what the clay-skins wanted with him. Do they kill for fun? Or perhaps it gave them joy to watch headless men hanging from poles.

  One of the men stopped before the corpses. He unzipped his pants and laughed as he pissed at the foot of a pole.

  “I fucking hate slavers. You gotta admit they look kind of cool without their heads.” The man laughed briefly. “They think they are at the top of the food chain, but they made a mistake coming this way. Out here, we are the top dogs. Our leader, Makukku, made sure of that.”

  “What are you going to do with me?” Runner bellowed.

  They set him down at the village square. All around him, he saw houses built like tents and more clay-skins camped around fires, skinning their hunts. Smoke rose from a great fire built quickly beside him. For a moment, he thought he was about to be roasted for food, and then he heard a loud thud as something hit the ground.

  He saw the large brown bear he had killed lying lifeless beside him. Three men came with knives, and he was so glad it wasn’t meant for him.

  Two hands grabbed his shoulder suddenly, dragging him forward. His boots left a long trail of mark on the soil. A double door opened, and they pushed him in. Runner rolled on the floor and then found his footing. He stood up slowly, scanning the room with his eyes. There were stuffed animals’ heads displayed on the walls, and at corners, it looked like a horrible attempt at taxidermy. A large fat man sat on a chair at one end. He wore a wolf pelt with the head of the animal serving as cowl, and a necklace of skulls hung around his neck.

  “So, you’re the one who killed the bear we’ve been tracking for days?” His voice sounded like a rumble of thunder.

  Runner shuddered.

  “Makkuku?” he said weakly.

  “Yes, I’m Makkuku, the king here in this jungle where we are free from the laws of your governments and the ridiculousness of your domed cities.”

  “Have you been to the wastelands?” Runner asked.

  Makkuku chortled. “I have travelled everywhere. I have seen it all, even your desolate land where the sky is forever grim and allows not a single light from the sun. But you are not asking the right question. So, tell me. What do they call you, little man or bear killer?”

  “Runner,” he answered, “They call me, Runner. Why is it none knows that there is a lake, a jungle, and even sunlight here? Why is this place not on any map I know?”

  Makkuku stood up from his seat and came down a short step. “I’m guessing you saw the headless slavers on the poles. Our home is our treasure. The jungle, the lake, the sunlight, they all belong to us. We cannot allow any outsider to bear such glorious news away from our borders.”

  “So, you kill them all. You kill all who have seen the sun or lake.” Runner began to step backwards.

  “I’m sorry, little man, really. I was so impressed when I heard a boy killed a bear that weighed five times his size, but I can’t risk your government storming into our lands and claim our treasure. Take him away.” Makkuku ordered.

  The men grabbed Runner’s hands.

  “I’m doing you a favour, Runner. An army of wastelanders are storming towards MegaCityOne. The bigot, Pope LongJaw, made me an offer too, tempting me to join him. I want to protect my treasure and my people just like any man would. I hope you can understand, little man. You will be safe here, and one day, you will thank me for saving your life.”

  “No, please!” Runner screamed, “I can make you a counter offer, please!”

  They led Runner outside and threw him into a dark cage. It stank of dried urine, and straws of hay prickled his bare skin, making him uncomfortable. He touched his torso with his hands and felt the scar left by the bear’s claws. Turning on his side, he tried to position his legs for comfort, but instead, he poked on something soft.

  “Mind your feet, friend,” a voice rose eerily in the darkness.

  Runner knew that voice. It was something he could never forget. “Dope?” he whispered.

  “Runner.” The voice returned. “Holy fuck! I was already planning how I would bash your skull with a stone for abandoning me to the slavers.”

  “Runner, is that really you?” Another voice sounded.

  “Who is here with you, Dope?” Runner asked.

  “Fat Eddy Chen and…Ishmael,” Dope answered.

  “Crazy Ishmael? You are here with a goddamn cannibal.” Runner charged forward in the darkness, but Dope held him back.

  “Listen, Runner, we have a plan to get out of here. We need Ishmael,” Big Eddy said.

  Runner paused for a moment. “You do remember he was the one that sold you to the slavers, right?”

  “And then these clay-motherfuckers rescued us,” Dope snarled. “Only to be thrown back in a cage. I will kill them all when I get out of this shit-hole. I will kill them all, I swear it.”

  “Easy, Dope,” Big Eddy whispered.

  “So, what’s this plan of yours?” Runner asked. “Pope LongJaw is heading towards MegaCityOne with an army of rapist, murderers, and hungry men, just as I predicted. We have to do something.”

  “No, not an army. Legions of them,” Ishmael said. “LongJaw came to my sanctuary and enticed my gang of man hunters with promises of riches. Those traitors beat me to an inch of my life and then sold me to slavers.”

  “What did they—”

  “Quiet,” Ishmael whispered. “She is coming again.”

  Runner looked outside. A young girl was coming with a bright lamp on her right hand. On her left, she carried a tray of food. As she came closer, the illumination grew brighter, and Runner saw the faces of his companions.

  “Open the cage.” The girl ordered a guard at his post.

  He opened the cage.

  “You can leave now,” she said, and the guard left reluctantly.

  She bent down and leaned towards Runner. “You must be hungry. Have some food.”

  Runner raised his gaze at her. She was clothed in a garment of wool tied around her breast and waist, and her black hair fell like a waterfall.

  “Thank you,” Runner whispered.

  “Can I check your wound?” She put her hand on Runner’s torso. “I’m sorry that you have to endure this. My Da is good man. He just doesn’t want anyone to take away everything he loves.”

  “I understand.” Runner nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of meat. He shook his head, “Who would have thought bear meat tastes this good? But…”

  All of a sudden, Ishmael put a string around the girl’s neck and tightened it hard. She choked violently and struggled to get free. Runner reached forward to knock Ishmael away, but a hard blow came upon his head and he dropped to the ground. He saw Dope looming over him through blurry sight.

  Runner heard the girl convulsing as Ishmael strangled harder. Her feet shook persistently, and then it calmed. Her body dropped to the floor, vibrating in spasms, and then Runner saw the light go off her wide-open eyes.

  “The things we do to survive.” Ishmael breathed heavily.

  Dope knelt beside Runner. “I hope you can understand, Runner. We did what we had to do. It was either them or us.”

  Runner’s hands tightened to a fist in fury. They just murdered Makkuku’s daughter—an innocent girl—but it was too late to throw blame around. He had to escape, or it wouldn’t matter who did the deed when the clay-skins find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Enemies at the Gates

  There was a time he could tell that someone was going to die. This time, it was different. He felt it as a wave of cold going down his body. It was natural to predict a death in Rat Town because it had achieved a rising infamy. It was bound to happen as a mauling in the wasteland, poisoning by radiation, execution by a ranger, starvation, dehydration, or infection.

  Troy leaned upon a handrail. His decision to stand guard at a watchtower that bordered the large gate of MegaCityOne gave him an aerial view of the wasteland. Every moment, he hoped he would see Runne
r returning with the Remnants of Men, but every passing minute pointed to a fact that his friend might be dead or captured by slavers.

  A young boy no older than him manned the tower’s great watch light, turning it around to keep watch. Meanwhile, an older ranger sat at a corner, puffing white smoke from his mouth, and a half-burnt cigarette rested between his fingers.

  “I would kill for a drop of water on my tongue,” the old ranger said grimly.

  “Tell me about it,” Troy replied.

  The younger ranger turned the watch light heedlessly. “This job sucks,” he hissed.

  Troy rubbed his hands together and exhaled an icy breath. It was a cold night. He was thirsty, and so were half the slum dwellers since it was proclaimed that a gallon of water should be consumed per family in a day.

  All he wanted was to be on his warm bed, but since news of LongJaw’s coming went viral, no one had been the same. A faint light grew in the distance. Like an oasis surrounded by a desert, it was overshadowed by darkness, but Troy knew someone was coming.

  “Hey, Bravo.” He tapped the young ranger’s shoulder. “Turn the light over there.” He pointed westward.

  The young boy did as he was told, and Troy looked downwards. Someone was trying hard to send a message across to the tower. He could only see a vague figure, and the words echoed in the dark.

  Troy turned to his company. “Everyone, quiet.”

  He listened again.

  “Open the gates…open the gates!” He heard the voice clearly.

  “Marq?” Troy muttered.

  He turned to the older ranger. “Tell them to open the gates. The Remnants of Men are back.” He leaned on the handrail. “Open the gates!”

  Troy used a long ladder at the back of the outpost and slid down the watchtower. His feet landed gently on the hard ground, and he ran towards the gate.

  The rangers had opened the gates, and a group of worn out boys and girls walked in lazily.

  “Marq of fucking Mole Town,” Troy bellowed, “I never thought I would see any of you again.”

  Troy locked him in an embrace. His eyes scanned the group, searching excitedly for Runner, but he did not see his friend.

  “Where is he? Where is Runner?” Troy asked.

  The roar of engines sounded behind him. He turned around and saw two military Humvees marked with the insignia of Section 5. The vehicles halted, and the doors opened. Rangers cleared slum dwellers from the path to allow a man to walk through. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and wore a military vest over it, and a face cap rested on his head.

  Most folks knew him as Dope’s dad, as the boy never failed to remind those that crossed him. He was Bob Davis, the chief enforcer of Section 5.

  The man strode with commanding footsteps and halted before the group.

  “Identity?”

  “Ariel Waters, 7th of the Remnants of Men.” A girl stepped forward. “Call sign: Legion.”

  The chief’s gaze lingered on her. “Welcome back home, Legion,” his deep voice sounded.

  He circled his gaze around them. “You beat the odds in a place of death and decay. I hope to report the success of your mission to the supreme councillor.”

  “That would be a wrong deduction, Sir,” she spoke loudly.

  “You did not find the lake?” the chief asked sternly.

  She paused, looking at all the hopeless gazes of hundreds cast upon her.

  “There is no fresh water lake. There never was. We spent the lives of so many, searching for a figment of imagination. Jonny Johnson, Wynn Rivers, Toad Cooper, Big Eddy Chen, Dope Davis—” Legion paused and wiped the tears that filled her eyes “—Runner of Rat Town. They all died for nothing.”

  Troy felt a sharp pain through his heart as he heard Runner’s name. There it was—the news he feared to receive. He always told his friend that their body was just a sack of blood, meat, and bones. There was only so much it could take. But Runner never listened. He always had to be the brave one and never thought of the consequence.

  Gone are the days they looted copper wires in the wastelands. Why must life always get so complicated? Why couldn’t its simplicity endure forever? It was better when all they had to worry about was their next meal, when they dreamed of gaining passes into MegaCityOne or played the bravest adventurer with Rhiannon.

  The chief enforcer cleared his throat. “Come with us; your fates will be decided by the council.”

  “Hold on,” Legion said. “You have bigger problems.” She sighed deeply.

  “What?” The man turned around.

  “An army of marauders are just an hour from reaching our gates.”

  “You mean LongJaw’s band of rapists and murderers?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Legion nodded.

  “Sound the alarm! Sound the alarm! Enemies at the gate! Sound the alarm!” a young ranger shouted from the top of the watchtower.

  Slum dwellers went into a wild panic. Troy watched as the rangers mobilized themselves. The chief enforcer barked his orders, and the rangers carried them out. They opened up the door of an armoury located at the foot of the outpost.

  Rangers flocked behind the gates with their weapons held in their ready grips. Others attempted to calm the mass of fleeing slum dwellers, leading them to Gate-Two that served as an entrance into the metropolitan area of MegaCityOne.

  “You.” The chief pointed at Troy. “Gather every male, young and old, that can wield a weapon. Get them here now!”

  “I’m not a ranger, sir.” Troy countered.

  The chief tore out a badge that bore the insignia S5 on the shoulder of his military uniform and threw it at Troy. “You are a ranger of Section 5 now.”

  Troy pinned the badge to the shoulder of his jacket. He began his descent into the bowels of the slums, running past shops that had been left unoccupied by their scared owners. He saw a group of scrawny looking men looting valuables jewels and canned foods.

  “Hey, hey! The fight hasn’t even started!” he yelled.

  The men fled as they saw the badge on his shoulder.

  “That’s right. Run, you goofballs!” he shouted.

  Troy continued onwards, and then he halted suddenly. A large crowd had gathered at Gate-Two that led to the safety of the big city. They were screaming, pounding, cursing, and begging to be let in. The guards at the watchtowers that stood at each end of the gate turned deaf ears.

  War or not, they would never let anyone in without a pass card. The supreme councillor would never risk a surge in the population of his big city. Troy knew this for certain. He watched a man step forward and raised his hand to calm the crowd.

  “The rangers are not enough to protect us. We need the spectres. Let the councillors send the spectres to crush the madmen at our gates. We pay our taxes, don’t we?”

  “Yes!” the crowd bellowed, raising their hands in the air.

  “Are our lives worth less than those in the big city?”

  “No!” the crowd bellowed.

  “Are our children inferior to those in the big city?”

  “No!” the crowd bellowed.

  “Let us through or send the spectres to protect our children, our farms, our factories,” the man cried out.

  “Let us in!”

  “Let us in!”

  “Let us in!” the crowd chanted.

  They hauled big stones and threw them at the guards at the gate towers.

  “This situation is hopeless,” Troy muttered.

  Sooner or later, the guards would shoot them all at the gate, and no questions would be asked. It was just the way things were. The supreme councillor’s word was law, nothing anyone could do to change that. He thought of getting a message to Olivia Patterson, but even the poor girl couldn’t save her twin from her father’s wrath.

  A group of rangers ran past him on a path that led to smaller gates which he had used to sneak into the wasteland with Runner.

  “Bravo,” he called to the young ranger. “What’s the news at the gates?�
�

  “Traitors have left the small gates open for LongJaw’s armies. We are heading there now,” the young ranger replied.

  “I’m surprised it took so long for someone to cut a deal with the enemy and save his own skin. I might have thought people aren’t getting shittier in Rat town.” Troy laughed.

  “We…we…we’re so fucked!” another ranger stammered.

  Troy ran to catch up with them. He followed the rangers through a large metal door that led into the guardhouse of a small gate. The lead ranger leaned to reach a surveillance computer and checked on the gate.

  “They are swarming in. We need to hold them off and give the chief time to set up guns at the main gate,” the ranger said.

  “But we are going to get support from the spectres, right?” Bravo asked.

  The lead ranger hung his head down in despair.

  Troy gazed at the young boy. “There is no support coming. The rangers are the only line of defence allocated to the slums. Once they’re breached, I’m afraid not a single spectre will leave the big city to help us.”

  “But my Pa and Ma are here in the slums. They can’t just die like that!” Bravo yelled.

  “Seize your balls, Bravo,” the lead ranger snarled.

  Troy put his right arm over the boy’s shoulder. “You see, all the helicopters and big guns are in the big city. They left us to fight with bows and arrows, but we will survive this. We have survived worst things than this because we always work together, right?”

  “Not really,” Bravo retorted. “It has always been every man for himself in the slums. No one gives a shit about his neighbour.”

  “Smart boy.” Troy sighed. “Well, let’s do away with that mentality today because if we don’t, we’re all gonna die horrible deaths.”

  “Brothers!” the lead ranger bellowed. “This is it. We fight and die together.”

  “God! This not going to end well,” Bravo muttered.

  Troy studied Bravo carefully. He was only fifteen, and his hands were trembling terribly. He was sweating in the cold, and his body was vibrating.