LOST - Episode 7

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - machete, hand, water, blood, boat, river, in fear and crawled, several times, on the land, death, bush, Jesus will make it right, the sin of the whole world, village, voices.

Having been knocked down in the melee on the boat, I was scared, expecting Ode to attack me with the machete he had grabbed. Thankfully, Maya wasn’t done yet with him. She dived on his hand with which he held the machete and quickly buried her teeth on it. She twisted her bite and pulled the chunk of his meat in her mouth. She was fighting with the last ounce of strength in her. I scurried to my feet and sent a vicious kick on Ode’s groin. His cry would have drawn sympathy even from the devil. I raised my leg and put it on his genital organ and crushed it as hard as I could. He cried out again raising two hands in the air. Maya was busing delivering bites to any part of his body she could grab with her teeth.

The man I attacked was bleeding profusely. I pulled out the machete in his shoulder, squeezed my eyes shut and delivered several more cuts to his chest, head and the neck. In a bid to avoid more machete blows from me, he threw himself into the river. I knew he was history. He won’t make it. “Maya, get up!” I shouted. She sprang to her feet. “Take the other machete,” I ordered her. I held my machete over Ode and asked him to get up. As soon as Maya picked up the other machete, she buried it into Ode’s thigh. He went down in a heap screaming in excruciating pain. With his right thigh damaged, there was no running from us. In the river the man I had cut several times was fighting not to drown. The water around him was red. He was bleeding to death fast.

The man I kicked into the water was swimming toward land. “Get up and turn the boat toward your colleague!” I shouted at Ode, keeping the machete close to his neck. He nodded in fear and crawled toward the outboard engine, leaving a pool of blood behind. “Run the boat over him!” Maya yelled at Ode, raising her machete. Ode revved up the boat and crashed into his colleague in the river. “Turn and hit him again!” I barked. Ode turned the boat again and went after his colleague. The second attack smashed into his skull. When Ode turned the boat to face his colleague, the guy was in spasm. “Move closer to him!” I ordered. When the boat reached him, I attacked him several times with the machete. I made sure he would never live to tell what met him on the river. “Now take us to land,” I demanded. Shaking and in serious pain, he obeyed. Maya walked over to where I stood, hugged me and began to cry.

I held her firmly. “I told you we won’t die out here. No matter what lies ahead, we will make it back to the city. Believe me, God is on our side,” I said to her. Yet again she nodded, showing she believed my words. I liked it very much when she did that. In spite of what we had been through, each time I told her we would survive the ordeal, she believed me. To me, that was inspiring. It gave me strength to fight for our survival. By the time we broke our embrace, the boat had reach land. I and Maya jumped on the land still holding our machetes. Ode could not leave the boat. He had lost much blood. Maya’s attack had sliced through a major artery on his thigh. On the floor of the boat he lay, his eyes turning. He was bleeding to death. We needed him alive. I jumped back into the boat, tore his t-shirt and bandaged his wound. I reached into the river and scoped water which I sprinkled over his face. Maya waded into the river and began to scoop water hurriedly over his face. I could not but notice how diligent she was.

After a few minutes we managed to revive Ode, but his chance of survival was slim, very slim. We had to leave him in the boat to recover while we sat on the bank of the river and helped ourselves to some of the canned food and water in our pack. It had been nearly a day since the last time any of us had anything to eat. When we were done, we checked Ode to see how he was doing. Sadly, for us, he tethered on the fringe of death. “Where are we now?” I asked him. “You are in Gatha,” he said, sounding frail and wincing badly. The floor of the boat was drenched with his blood and water. “He is not going to make it, Frank,” said Maya. “We are not going to leave him behind. I will back him as far as I can. We need him to direct us into Gatha.” “Okay. When you get tired, I will help back him a bit,” Maya said. Her words left me stunned and thrilled. Certainly in the midst of my trials, I had found a rare gem. “No baby, I will back him till we get to where we are going or till he dies on the way,” I said. I really did not mean to use the word ‘baby’, but my usage of it said all there needed to be said about how I felt toward her.

She looked me straight in the eye as though she was searching my heart and said, “Okay, I just wanted to help.” Her eyes were filled with tenderness and pure beauty. “Don’t worry, I will back him, okay?” I said handing her my machete. I stepped into the boat and lifted Ode. He was quite some weight. I staggered out of the boat and we moved into the nearby bush. “Baby, stay behind me. Do not hesitate to use the machetes if we get threatened,” I said to her. “Okay, I will.” The bush was still foggy since it was early morning. “Which way should we go Ode?” I asked. “That way,” he said, pointing at a small track in the bush which lay toward our left hand. Hastily we began to match through the bush. Our walk had probably lasted twenty minutes when, Ode groaned painfully. “Frank, set him down. He is bleeding again,” Maya said. I found a tree and set Ode down at the foot of it. The bandage on his leg had become drenched with blood and so were my clothes. With much effort he breathed. Though we had wanted him dead for what he and his people did to us, however, watching him take his last breath was not pleasant. “Ask him if he believes in Jesus. He should not go to that place I saw. Please help him if you can,” Maya pleaded with tears in her eyes.

Even with a gun held to my head, I would not have denied her that request. I shook Ode violently to keep him conscious and asked, “Ode have you heard about Jesus? He loves you and paid the price for your sins. If you confess him as Lord, you won’t have to face eternal judgement for your sins and the wickedness you have committed.” His lips moved irregularly and he pointed at something we could not see. “Ode! Please speak!!” Maya yelled in tears. His eyes suddenly flick open and he mumbled audibly, “My hands are stained with blood. Please help me. I can see the men, women and children I killed.” The sound of his voice scared us. It was as though someone else was speaking through him. His voice was filled with horror. “If you believe, Jesus will make it right,” I said to him. “Jesus,” he said with a whisper as if he was testing the feel of the name on his tongue. “Yes, he will make it right. He died for your sin. He is the lamb that takes away the sin of the whole world,” I said persuading him. I could not have forgotten the scripture I quoted. I learnt it in the days when I still had the fear of God and attended church solely to worship God. That was way before my ways became dark and I abandoned God. “Jesus, I am sorry,” said Ode. His words tore through my heart and left me in tears. Maya squatted and lowered her head in a subdued sob. I heard her say repeatedly, “Jesus, I am sorry. Jesus, I am sorry. I believe you are Lord.”

In that moment, I was overcome with the burden to confess my sins. When I was done praying. Ode was already lying cold like a log of wood. Maya was broken. I knew she was feeling bad for having killed a man. “You are not to blame yourself, we were defending ourselves. If we had not killed him, he would have killed him,” I said to encourage her. “Let’s go!” I demanded, surprising both her and myself with the sound of my voice. It was as if someone took hold of my voice and said those words. I felt fear seize my heart. For reasons beyond what eyes could see or what mind could conceive. We began to run from Ode’s corpse. Some distance away from his body, I changed direction and we went off the track we were on. I could not explain what we were running from or where we were running to. Feeling for Maya, I stopped and we squatted on the ground. Just then we heard voices. Male, husky voices. “They were two!” “No, three! One was carrying a man on his back!” “So where are they now?” “Hey! Hey! Come this way! There is a dead man here! Come! Come!” A voice echoed from afar.

I raised Maya and we began to run. We did not stop this time. We ran until we came to a village. The sign of block building in the village gave us hope. I wondered if we should drop the machetes in our hands. However, the voices we heard in the bush had left us with the impression that the men on this side of the river were as much hostile as the men across it. We were sweating profusely and I was stained with blood. I suggested to Maya for us to drop the machetes. “A dead body has been found in the bush. To be seen with blood stained machetes and blood stains on me makes us suspects. Let us ditch the machetes, please.” She nodded. We walked closer to the bush and dropped the machetes. We held hands and walked like a couple. Under my breath I prayed we would find a village market where I could buy clothes. I was scared the blood stains on me would give us away. Sadly, for us, much of the village was still asleep. “Let us run away from here, please!’ Maya pleaded. “This is a village, we should run only when we have left it,” I said. “I feel like someone is watching us,” Maya had hardly said that when we heard a voice thunder, “Hey! You two! Stop there! Stop!!” We turned and saw a huge man, possible in his late fifties. He was coming toward us with half a run. Maya turned and bolted off. I followed her.


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Uzoma Ujor

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Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog: LOST - Episode 7
LOST - Episode 7
Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - machete, hand, water, blood, boat, river, in fear and crawled, several times, on the land, death, bush, Jesus will make it right, the sin of the whole world, village, voices.
Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog
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