Enslavement of my soul Part Two
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We woke just before sunrise the next morning and Zakat wanted to get moving right away, we chewed on travel food as we left.
About an hour later, Matatu had just finished telling us that we were within half a day of our destination, and we were passing through a meadow the trail had opened onto, headed for the other side.
I guess it was because of the breeze at our backs and helped along because I was walking beside Zakat and Matatu with the other five behind us, but I never smelled the attackers that were hiding down in the meadow's tall grass ahead of us.
They popped up when we were within thirty-five or forty yards. There were nineteen of them and the type of attack they pulled was unheard of on Margata, so far at least. Their leader threw his spear as soon as he showed himself and it took Zakat in the upper chest on his right side, going directly through his pectoral muscle and on in pretty deeply.
The others in our small group were stunned for a second and for some reason none of the attackers threw any more spears. I was shocked but not stunned, and I whipped the M1 off my shoulder and went to work.
Everyone in our group knew what the rifle was capable of, and in this case I wasn't shy about revealing it to our attackers. An M1 only holds eight shots before you have to reload with one of those little chickenshit clips. The action stays open after the last shot and you place the loader clip in the back of the magazine area and push the new rounds down into the magazine to reload.
I didn't even try to fuck with that now though. When I'd fired eight rounds I dropped the M1 and palmed my Glock. The loud reports from the rifle had confused our attackers, and no more spears had come our way. When I started in with the Glock, with its different but even louder thunder, confusion turned to panic.
I had downed one with each of the eight shots in the M1 and three with the Glock before they could even figure out what was doing it. Eleven of the original nineteen were on the ground crying and moaning, or not even able to make a sound. I wondered about Zakat but Matatu would have to take care of him.
The eight left standing dropped their spears when I stopped firing for a second and then they all went to the ground, in a sign of surrender. I knew they must be scared shitless but figured at least one would panic shortly and try to run off.
"Do not move until I tell you you can. I will kill any of you that stand up again," I said, yelling it.
I hadn't made five steps in their direction when one of them couldn't stand it any longer and stood up to run. It wasn't even a difficult shot and he went right back to the ground with most of what might charitably have been called brains pushed out through the big new hole in his face.
"Do not stand up if you want to live any longer," I said, yelling again, while I stood still and waited for a new target. After a few seconds I turned my head to see what was going on behind me.
Matatu and Jagbac were kneeling beside Shaton, tending to his wound I guess. I could see that the spear had been removed but I couldn't tell what kind of shape he was in or even if he was still alive.
It wasn't exactly my place to, but I called to the other men to come help me collect the spears and weapons from those lying in the grass now. They seemed to be glad to do it, no doubt wanting some direction now that our Zakat obviously wasn't up to it.
When we reached them, the ones that weren't wounded were all trembling in fear. In fact, the wounded that could pay attention were doing some trembling of their own, including the big blonde leader. He'd been my first target and in the excitement I'd pulled the shot, taking him about where his spear took our Zakat, in the upper right chest, instead of through his heart like I'd intended.
He would probably live, if I let him, but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to. The others with me spread out at a word and removed all weapons from every one of the captives, dead or alive. I then asked them to tie up any that weren't wounded too badly to move on their own. I stayed right beside the wounded leader.
Men's names meant something on Margata. The only acceptable way to learn someone's name was by them telling it to you. Normally, if names were to be exchanged they were divulged by mutual consent. You were allowed to ask another man for his name, but it wasn't uncommon for him to refuse to tell you. Even refusal wasn't a grave insult, but of course, if someone had made the effort and you refused, the two of you were probably never going to be close.
I wanted to know what to call this big blonde spear-chucker on the ground but I damned sure wasn't going to ask him. I walked to what appeared to be the smallest one of the bunch, he was only a little over six two and probably weighed no more than two-thirty.
"Get up," I said, kicking him in the side, but not viciously.
He did get to his feet but was still trembling. I shoved him back toward his fallen leader, and then pointed at the man on the ground.
"What is this one's name?" I asked, making sure he knew I was actually demanding he tell me.
This was a crude intentional insult to both of them. Even though blondie was wounded, he was still conscious and able to speak. The unwounded one I'd fetched seemed mortified that I would asks him. My asking was an insult to him and to the leader. He didn't answer, and I put my Glock to his stomach.
"I've never felt the sting of the Glock," I said, knowing that he wouldn't know what a Glock was but also knowing that he'd just seen what it did to the one that tried to run, and to many others.
"I've heard that it burns worse than the hottest coal, all the way through your body. It will rip your organs open and let your blood run out onto the ground, but if I shoot your stomach it will also let what's in your stomach run out into you to make you fester inside.
"It takes days of pain and suffering for you to die if the Glock stings your belly. Days of crying for water and then crying more loudly after you drink it. Tell me his name or I will have the Glock sting you," I said, and he pissed himself, but he still wouldn't tell me.
"May I borrow your axe?" I asked, calling to Jastal, one of the men that had come with me.
"Yes. You may borrow it anytime," he said.
"Bring it to me please, I am going to cut off this ones hands and feet before I let the Glock sting him to death. He will have to crawl and beg for food in the next world," I said, and it even shocked the men with me; they winced at the thought. It was more than the one I was asking could bear.
"Kaglao. His name is Kaglao, he is our Zakat," he said, and then collapsed to the ground, moaning, and begging for his life.
I rolled him over with my booted foot.
"Where is your Calak?" I demanded.
"We don't have a Calak. We are our own Calak, we have no women," he said from the ground, still moaning in disgrace.
"If you have no Calak, he is not Zakat, he is nothing but a man and a fool - and the rest of you are nothing but bigger fools for following him.
"He has wounded our Zakat though, a true Zakat, and he will pay for it. If our Zakat dies you will all pay.
"I will not let this fool Kaglao live much longer. Will you watch them please while I go for something from my pack?" I asked Dastar, who was nearby also.
Dastar agreed and I walked back to where Matatu and Jagbac were trying to help Shaton. Matatu did have some wisdom about such and he had already packed Shaton's wound with some of his herbs and put a bandage on it. I saw that they were doing all that could be done, so I walked to my pack and fished out my small Wyoming saw, assembled it, and took it and the pack back to the capture point.
Kaglao had scraped up some courage while I was gone and he was berating his followers, especially the one that had revealed his name. He'd been able to push himself up into a sitting position and with his new courage, he started in on me as I approached.
I didn't say anything, I just kicked him right in the teeth, breaking at least a few of them and canceling his sitting position in favor of one flat on his back again.
"Bring some of those that aren't wounded up here to hold this fool still," I said, toward the men that were watching.
Soon enough all the unwounded attackers, except the one that was still lying on the ground moaning in shame, were gathered around me. I had them take hold of Kaglao and warned them to keep him still. With a stout rawhide thong from my pack, I tied his leg off very tightly above the ankle and then lay it over my pack and had one of the captives sit on it, to hold it still.
Then I took my small bow type meat saw and sawed his foot off. I'll probably be able to remember his screams until I die. It was gruesome and nearly sickening for me, and I was the one doing it. I thought it was necessary though, and when that foot was severed, I tied off his other ankle and cut off that one.
His hands were a little more trouble, since he tried to fight even harder, but he'd lost some serious blood by now and he tired quickly. After he couldn't find any more strength to fight he started crying and begging. It was now pitiful along with being gruesome, and for what he'd done to us it was extreme punishment.
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