The Rain in April

The cost of a life

Chapter 8

DAY 1

Father Donald looked at the man pointing the gun at him for a while unsure of what to do, he knew the penalty if the passengers he was carrying were discovered, indirectly he had led them to their death.

“We don’t have all day.” The man hardened his face.

Father Donald looked at the man, then the road ahead of him, he would not make it even if he decided to speed off, the men would catch up with him with the cars parked around the edge of the road. Slowly, Father Donald opened the door, his heart pounding against his chest and his hands trembling.

“Stop,” another man shouted coming from behind.

“Can’t you see that he is a priest and a white one for that matter?” The man continued pushing the other man aside; he apologized to Father Donald before closing the door to the bus. Father Donald was relieved, he nodded at the man and faked a smile, but before he could get his trembling hands to turn the ignition key, the unexpected happened. Amid the stillness inside the bus and the watchful eyes of the men outside, a baby let out a cry from inside the bus. Father Donald turned back to see a mother trying her best to cover the baby’s mouth, his heart melted away as he saw the men point their guns at the bus.

“Stop”

“Get down!”

“Don’t move!”

Father Donald could hear their voices from all direction, he tried, tried so hard to get the bus started but his trembling hands couldn’t allow the key to enter its hole. The door opened and a huge man pulled him out by the collar, he fell on the ground but tried to stand up immediately.

WHAM!!!

It came, hitting his face very hard, Father Donald fell backwards groaning in pain, he closed his eyes and slowly opened it, he felt himself slipping away, the gunshots were becoming distant even though he was there, lying on the ground. All he could hear clearly was his shallow breathing, his eyes were becoming heavy and he knew what was coming next, he looked up at the bright sky, it was cloudless, he opened his mouth but couldn’t make a sound and in a slow and painful manner, he closed his eyes.

**********

Slowly he opened his eyes, at first, it seemed to him his eyes had been covered with fog, he closed them gently before reopening them, it was all clear now, his eyes were still set on the cloudless sky which had already turned yellow. Flies buzzed around him as he tried to sit up, he could still feel the pain on his face where he had been hit with a rifle. He sat up and looked around. Bodies lay, all covered with blood, he exhaled loudly before looking at the church bus; it had been ruined with bullet holes making it unrecognizable. He tried to stand up but fell on top of a dead body, a woman he recognized, she was the woman who he had seen earlier that morning rushing into the church. He looked at her lifeless body and broke into loud sobs, tears flowing down his eyes; he looked around, bodies of dead women and children laid all around him. Few bodies of some men who had tried to run were at the far edge of the road; they had attempted to escape but had been gunned down before they could make it to the bush. The roadblock wasn’t there and so were the militants. He got up gently before staggering towards the bus. He leaned on it for support and looked up, the sun was at the horizon and was about to set, he looked around at the dead and sobbed even louder, he had led them to their death, he had brought them here to be killed and would never forgive himself for that, but he was lucky to be alive.

“Lucky,” he said aloud to himself and burst into a loud roaring laughter. Somehow he wished he had died there, if he had died, then he wouldn’t be passing through the pain he was now suffering, the pain of being the lone survivor.

Father Donald walked towards the bush, limping as he went, he could not leave them there, he pulled off his cassock which was dirty and soiled with blood and folded it. He then searched around the bush for a clearing, he was weak and exhausted.

I should have started the bus, I should have moved. He kept on muttering to himself stopping on few occasions to wipe his face with the back of his hand, his rosary dangling freely on his neck, beating his exposed chest as he roamed about. He found a shallow pit after a long walk into the bush and began dragging the bodies away from the road into the bush.

Life, has its cost