Published on August 2nd, 2012 | by The Alchemist30
Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Alchemists corner.
The experiment continues…
EPISODE 11: Run, Rabbit. Run!
The pilot is looking at me expectantly with a look of fear and confusion on his face. If he could see past my makeshift mask, I am sure he would feel like he was looking into a mirror. But then again, maybe he does. The eyes are supposed to be the window to the soul and my soul is in upheaval.
“Tell them all is well and land the aircraft as normal” I manage to say.
“If you say anything you are not meant to, I will not be as merciful as this.” I add before turning to my hostage, placing the suppressor to his skull and firing. The bullet does not even leave an exit wound, just a gaping entry hole in my would-be assassin’s head. I would have loved to ask more questions but he is useless to me now and will only impede my escape from this aircraft once we land.
“What are you looking at?” I scream at the pilot who is now staring at the body on the floor. He turns back to his levers and dials and his co-pilot remains frozen, as though automated by shock. I sit on the floor of the plane thinking. I try to focus and centre my confused mind but it is useless. I cannot get around the thought of Baba facilitating my murder. It is unfathomable… and yet it seems that it has occurred.
The sudden drop in altitude of the plane brings me back to the realization that I am still essentially trapped on this aircraft. All it will take is someone to alert security once we land and I am done for. I need a plan, quickly. But I know I cannot think of a decent plan with my mind in turmoil. So I will not bother, I will break free like a wild beast unchained. If I am gunned down, so be it.
The Way of the Samurai is in desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man. Common sense will not accomplish great things in dire situations. Simply become insane and desperate.
I stand up, open the door to the pilot’s cabin and enter the aisle of the main aircraft, just as the aircraft hits the tarmac; the passengers are wearing varied expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces.
“Allahu Akbar! The poison peddlers are dead. We will land soon and you can all go home safely, just do exactly as I say. Remain in your seats even after the door is opened or I will send us all to Allah. Is that clear?”
There is a murmur in the aircraft. That’s good enough for me. Confusion means they will hesitate to do anything and signifies that they have made no plans while I was in the pilot’s cabin. If they had spoken with any measure of conviction, I would be worried.
We remain tense as the plane taxi’s and finally comes to a halt. The air hostess moves to open the door and I stand right behind her. Timing is everything now.
As soon as the door opens, I push her out of the way violently and sprint down the passenger boarding stairs, ignoring the stunned runway technicians. My feet carry me towards the arrivals terminal swiftly and I am almost there when I see four members of the Nigerian army seated in the back of a pick-up truck almost completely blocking the entrance, laughing. Surprise is my only advantage and so I keep on running right towards them.
Surprise, deception and feint are to be elevated over strength and quantity of strikes.
They do not see me until I am within a few feet of them. The look of surprise on their faces tells me all I need to know. A cursory look at their vehicle, tells me what I need to do.
As I reach the pick-up truck, I leap into the air, place my right foot atop the tyre and using it as a springboard, flip myself head-over-heels above the shocked soldiers. I do not even bother to turn back to look at them as I land on the other side of the truck and continue running through the dark and narrow arrivals passageway. I brush past and bump into a barrage of people waiting at the terminal for their luggage. I hastily navigate my way to the main entrance.
As I burst into the sunlight at the other end of the terminal, I am accosted by an army of taxi drivers. Even above their pleas for patronage I can now hear the soldiers screaming and coming after me. I have exhausted my asset of surprise. I fight through the throng of taxi drivers into the main car park where I see a lone taxi loading a passengers luggage into his Nissan Primera. Small, reliable, Japanese engineering, and most importantly – the keys are in his hand. I bolt towards him and snatch the keys before he even has a chance to protest. Diving into the driver’s seat, I start the car, praying it is as reliable as I assume it to be.
I slam the gears into first, smash my foot on the accelerator and zoom off. Tuning the steering wheel violently left and then right, I navigate my way onto the main exit highway. I can see the barrier ahead of me – as well as the army Pick-up truck blocking it. They must have radioed for back-up.
I pull out the Glock I took from my assailant on the plane and open the passenger side window. I will have a very narrow time frame to execute this risky manoeuvre. They do not seem to be worried about my reckless advance and open fire. I suppose they are just as insane as I am desperate.
It is a principle of the art of war that one should simply lay down his life and strike. If one’s opponent also does the same, it is an even match. Defeating one’s opponent is then a matter of faith and destiny.
The first of their bullets scatters the windscreen, whizzing past my head and the second smashes into my side mirror. Others follow in quick succession. I keep speeding toward them. If death is mine, it will come; I cannot be distracted by fear. When I am almost exactly at level with their vehicle, I swerve onto the grassy terrain beside the main road, put my foot of on the brake to slow down for a fraction of a second and fire two shots before smashing my foot back onto the accelerator, climbing back onto the road and accelerating all the way down the highway.
I do not need to look back to confirm that my first bullet hit the driver in his neck and the second took out the front left tyre.
I have been driving for almost twenty minutes when I finally see what I think I am looking for. A taxi park. I keep driving until I am past them and then swerve off the road and into the bush. I jump out of the vehicle, adjust my clothes and begin walking back to the taxi park. Even though there is no one following me, one can never be too careful.
Tether even a roasted chicken.
Debola answers the door after my second knock. She looks just as beautiful as I remember. A smile slowly cuts its way across her face and she hugs me. All thought of my precarious situation and of Baba’s betrayal are gone. I place my hand beneath her chin, lift her head and kiss her softly on the lips. She pulls me into her room and closes the door behind us. She says nothing but her body tells me she has missed me. This is part of her allure, few words are sufficient for communication. Our passionate kiss lasts for more than a minute. She pulls away from me just long enough to take off her shirt and bra. Her supple breasts mesmerize me as she walks slowly back to me and lifts up my shirt. The force of my erection strains my trousers and I begin to unbuckle my belt. She pulls my head down to her bosom and my mouth finds her nipple. She lets out a moan. When I am done with my trousers, I work hers until she is free as well, my lips and tongue still glued to her breasts.
I place my hands under her arms and lift her up; she responds by wrapping her legs around my waist. I pull her into me and she wraps her arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder. Holding onto her with my left hand, I use my right to guide myself into her wetness. I feel pure bliss. She lets out a loud moan and I begin to thrust with a steady cadence, guiding her waist with my hands. Her moans steadily increase in volume and frequency as does my pleasure. I keep thrusting. She squeezes my neck and her legs dig into my back, spurring me on. I continue until I feel a surge of sensation bubbling beneath my surface. I try to maintain my steady rhythm but I cannot and before long I am slamming myself into her erratically. She screams. I grunt. And then there is an explosion of sound, sensation and colour. We both fall gently into a heap on her carpet.
“Tell me about your dreams” Debola asks me with her head on my chest. Her head rises and falls with the beating of my heart.
“The same as always, of the past, my mother and the time before I went to Akaishi”
“Do you ever dream of the future?” She asks me softly.
“No. Always of the past”
“Do you ever dream of dying?”
Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one’s body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one’s master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead.
“No, But I meditate on it whenever I can. It is essential” I reply
“I see… Umm, T***, what are you going to do? About Baba?”
“I don’t know”
“You need to be sure before you do anything”
I know. I have to be sure. But the only way to be sure is to put myself in harm’s way. If Baba truly wants me dead, he can easily see it done. He probably did not want to be directly involved which is why he only acted in a facilitatory manner. If I appear before him and ask questions, he could easily speak a few words or blow a whiff of powder and that would be enough to see me to the afterlife. But I need to know for sure before I can do anything.
“Do nothing” Debola whispers without turning to face me.
“Run away with me. We can leave this country and go somewhere new. Start a new life. Just the two of us.”
“Don’t say anything now, just think about it. Before you sleep.”
She goes silent, leaving me to ruminate on what she has said. The thought would be tempting… if I could entertain it. But I cannot. I cannot run from this life any more than I can run from my shadow. I am bound by blood to this way of life and I must abide by it. I reflect on all that I learned in the mountains of Akaishi. The thoughts bring calmness to my mind and in this calmness I know what I must do and the way I must do it. The way is simple. It the way of blood.
Next Week on FIST:
EPISODE 12: The Turn of the Screw
You can read previous episodes of FIST here
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