Chapter One
Shattering explosions cracked the fragile night.
It was some minutes past midnight and the only light that shone was the moon, shelved in still calm that rhymed with the whistle of gentle waves, fluttering flowers and swirling sand. The resonating calm was periodically interrupted by the croaking of frogs and the hiss of flies.
The ambience of the moon reflected in the stream of blood that flowed across large expanse of land, burying piles of human carcases in graves of stench. It revealed a mix of brightly coloured scraps, remains of destroyed cars and homes, remains of felled trees, burnt from the strikes of missiles and mystical assault.
A cloud of thick smoke rose to the heavens, a stringent reminder of the devastation that materialized, a quest to annihilate this last Christian placeof the North East and make sovereign the faith of the black flag and the sword.
That was the peace that now is. Again the shattering rocked the earth.
Missile explosions coloured thick darkness, a portrait of another invasion of Kaura, the sixth in less than five days.
Accompanying the serial devastation were hundreds of men clothed in military gear, bearing arms that bore the label of the Nigerian military. They came in trucks and poured over every inch of land. They skilfully manoeuvred and rounded up what was left of the living, eliminating men, women and children.
Mohammed ducked, narrowly escaping bullets. He was crawling to the rooms of his daughter and wife, Aisha and Zahra. Yesterday, an onslaught killed over six hundred men, including his nephew. As pastor, his was the office of burying the dead.
Mohammed was a Christian convert, a native of Kaura and president of the Northern Christian Alliance.
In the wake of this he emailed Christian leaders of the south, pressuring for help. He had buried his sister, mother and cousin in mass graves. His son died some months before, crushed by a rocket propelled grenade. His remains still suggests the wrenching of his body by forces unseen. "This isn't RPG," he'd interrupt his groaning anytime he remembered.
Cropped in front of Aisha's room, he gently raised his right hand, slowly lifting from the ground as he let his left hand help maintain balance on the earth. He held the door knob, twisted it, pushed open the door wide and settled back to his stomach.
The pain of having stressed his albs screamed.
He looked down, shivering. He cringed. He waited for the pain to subside.It didn't. It seemed it couldn't. But he had to press on.
Crawling forward, he pushed the door further and tried to use his right leg to shut it.
"Zahra," he whispered, calling his daughter.
No response answered.
His gaze glanced across the room, scanning very inch of space that materialized before him, trying and hoping he'll figure her in the vast darkness. He saw nothing.
"I'm here papa," she returned from underneath the bed. He gestured with his right hand, beckoning her to come. She did, crawling also.
Now Aisha.
He hurriedly crawled to her room, pushing the door open. Zahra followed behind.
He whispered her name, panting, pacing, but nothing returned. The gunshots had increased dramatically. The sounds of sporadically spraying bullets were deafening with explosions shattering the walls just ahead of him. He felt the heat of mutter burn downwards and soon saw his roof tear and concrete reinforcement crumble.
His heart pounded.
He searched on, shouting, attempting to drown the bangs of explosions with fainting yell. But she didn't respond. She was not in the room, neither on the bed nor underneath it.
He froze. He missed a heartbeat.
Just beside the pillow he saw a trail of blood lead through the window. The glass had been smashed and around what was left of sharp edges was dripping blood.
Mohammed for the first time screamed with both hands grabbing both ears. The grief was hunting, just as the thought of his dead wife. He cried and saw nothing to console him.
He sat back and held Zahra. He watched her mourn but couldn't console her. He cried.
But how? He thought, was she thrown to her death through closed window? He probed further.
A loud explosion smashed the door post just above where he was. He ducked. Zahra juddered and for a moment Mohammed felt she was drifting towards shock. He shielded her, and slowly moved her through ruins, down the stairs to the bunker.
Entering the bunker, he adjusted, letting Zahra go first. As he pushed in and closed the steel door, he heard a sorely painful groan. That was Aisha. It was as though she was struggling with her abductors. Zahra attempted to rush towards the sound. But he held her still, crying.
Another loud gunshot banged. Aisha's voice simmered slowly till it ceased.
The ground shook. On the wall of the bunker was a portrait of Aisha. It fell, though undisturbed. The glass frame broke and from within it rose a tiny faint and almost invisible smog, ascending towards the heavens. It vanished almost immediately. This was symbolic. At this he knew she had passed on.
"Bring the others," a command echoed from outside.
"Mohammed must be inside," the voice continued, "bring him to me." The voice roared, "bring me those Infidels. They must surely die tonight."
Having defied the blistering bullets that riddled through, he raced to the bunker and turned on the computer systems.
He dashed to the main desk, hitting the number nine key on the keypad of a secured desk line, effecting an autodial connection to the national president of the Christian Association of Nigeria. He also started multiple voice and video calls to international Christian agencies, whistle blowers, monitor groups and volunteer organizations. This particular attack hadn't been anticipated, most likely because of the timing.
But timing shouldn't be a factor, he thought, earnestly craving that someone pick the call.
It was 2:00 AM at the time in Kaura. However, been from a disaster zone, he expected that the CAN prioritized anything from the region.
He left all calls on automatic redial and opened all hotlines on different access point.
He restlessly paced, glancing repeatedly at the reinforced steel door, the only means of entry to the bunker. He was shivering.
No one answered.
A loud bang interrupted his panting. The reinforced door juddered. He heard shattering bullet sounds and exploding RPGs. He felt some sections of his first floor cave in. It was as though the building was sandwiched with explosives long before this raid.
The bunker grounds beneath him was made of reinforced concrete. It repeatedly shook. It vibrated as though afflicted by tremor. Boiling chemicals soon soaked concrete, slowly springing from beneath the earth, eating concrete and softening reinforced steel.
The door jerked in repulsion against an explosion that rocked its hinge.
Mohammed started at all the secured machines dialling for help. None had connected. His video call still hadn't been answered.
He hurriedly composed an email, smashed the enter key with his index finger, watched the screen freeze as his SOS message to over three thousand recipients around the world returned undelivered.
The steel door juddered.
This is the end, he thought.
Another explosion rocked the door, shattering all that was left of it.
Swiftly spinning in direction of the door, he saw thick smoke occupy where the door was.
"Zahra," his voice started, throwing him forward, to now stand some inches from where the door used to be.
She was lying on her side, bleeding on her right arm and back. He lowered to her. There was absolutely nowhere to run. The enemy was in.
"Zahra," he started at her, speaking softly, hiding the pain under the silkiness of his voice.
She couldn't respond. Her eyes were frozen and fixed on him as she unconsciously let out a torrent of painful groan. He raised her arm, noticing that some bullets tore through her back exiting from her chest. She was heavily dehydrated, now resting on his shoulders, it seemed her body was convulsing from the extreme heat and chemical attacks that grounded the bunker.
She fell forward, trying to speak, but was inaudible. He in return kept his ears forward and concentrated on her, listening intently to make out meanings to the words she uttered.
Her hands fell, so did her head. She stood between life and death. He was blank, confused and held her to himself, unsure of what to do.
"Stand to your feet," an order came. The voice was husky and influenced by traditional Hausa accent. The voice was naturally loud.
"Leave her alone," he continued.
His fingers clicked, and in response, guards picked her from the ground. Others restrained him.
"Hello Reverend Mohammed Ibrahim," a call finally connected the president of the Christian Association of Nigeria.
"I have been in a meeting with the presidents of all Christian Associations in the south west. I'm sorry I missed your calls," he continued. "I just got your email and have tried to alert the federal armed forces. Reverend what is the state of things?" He asked, waiting for a reply.
There was brief silence in the room. Mohammed's mouth had been sealed by armed men.
"Hello," he called again, waiting on an answer.
"Hello Pastor Paul Adefarasin, president of the Christian Association of Nigeria," the husky accent returned.
"Who are you?" Pastor Paul asked.
"I am the enemy of the church. I have a rendition for you. Listen attentively."
He turned to now face the men that lifted Zahra. Signalling to them with tapped fingers, they hung her body against the wall with hands and legs tied wide apart.
Mohammed was confused, struggling to forcefully free from the hold of the enemy.
Zahra looked on at her father and finally let her weight fall downwards.
Sheik Kabir with a wide grin cocked the rifle, pointed its barrel at her and after some words of Arabic, shot severally at her.
Mohammed released and ran towards Zahra, crying as he shook her remains. She had passed on without saying good bye.
Sheik Kabir pointed a pistol at Mohammed, released two shots that drove through his stomach. Mohammed fell to the ground, slowly becoming unconscious.
The church left us to die, his mind groaned as he felt his breath slip away.
The church of the south must pay the price, they must come down as we have. They must surely die.
Another bullet forcefully plunged into him. His mind froze. It was as though time stopped.
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