Dawn of Deliverance

Jamie eased himself into the wicker chair on the front porch. He reached for the tall glass of beer at his side. His hand shook. A knot of bile rose in his throat as he thought of the day. He took a long swig. He hoped the cold liquid would wash the acrid taste away. How was he going to tell Emily? A soft breeze ruffled his dark brown hair. He tried to brush the images from his mind. He looked out over the small village of Melsetter to the mountains in the distance. The Chimanimani Mountains—majestic bastions of jagged rock and towering cliffs. They formed a formidable barrier between Rhodesia and Mozambique. How he loved this country. It had been his grandfather’s country. Jamie knew no other land. It was his home. No one was going to take it from him. The screen door of the porch opened and swung shut with a soft thud. He could smell her sweet perfume as she sank down on the chair next to him. Her bright floral dress complemented the colors of the evening sky—pink, blue and purple. A strand of thick auburn hair fell across her forehead and she swept it back, pinning it behind her ear. She was so beautiful. Her gentle countenance and ready smile belied the strength and determination that lay beneath. * * * Josiah took a swig from his water bottle. He held the tepid liquid in his mouth, hoping it would refresh him. High on the hill the ten men crouched, hidden by the thick pine forest. Josiah’s body ached from the strenuous day. He was tired and hungry, but he dare not light a fire. Cold maize meal cakes and water would have to suffice for the evening meal. It had been a long day, clambering up the steep incline of sharp rocks and stumbling down the treacherous slopes. The passage they had traveled over the Chimanimani Mountains from Mozambique was not well known, but it was safer. Not many people would venture such a difficult route. Josiah’s hands were raw from clutching at the sharp rocks. His legs were scraped and bruised, but it had been worth it. Their target was in sight. Josiah turned to his men and spoke softly. “We have made good time. Soon we will strike another victory for freedom.” “Ah-ha.” The men were tired and their responses slow. “Last night our comrade, Morgan, and his men successfully attacked a coffee plantation. “The white pig, his whore, and their filthy offspring will no longer oppose our cause.” Josiah’s voice was hoarse with passion. He raised his clenched fist. “Now it is our turn. This will be our most important accomplishment yet. The white government thinks Chinyerere is an important man, but he is nothing—just a cowardly dog. He tries to block our progress in the area and has set the spirit mediums against us. We will make an example of him. We will claim a great victory for our freedom fighters. Our esteemed leader, Robert Mugabe, will be pleased.” Josiah could sense the excitement rising amongst his men as they murmured back and forth. “Yes, we will show the white pigs,” Enoch, the second in command, sniggered. “And when we have killed him we will deal with his wife as we want. His children will become our playthings.” The fervor grew amongst the men as they spewed out words of hatred. “We will drive out these white pigs from our land and take what is rightly ours. Our fallen brothers will be avenged.” “Zimbabwe, Zimbabwe,” the men chanted. * * * Emily sighed in contentment as she settled into the chair. This was always the best time of the day. The evening light was magical, the sky a canvas of bright, changing colors. She loved how the sun reflected off the mountains, vibrant and yet peaceful. Jamie looked at her, noted her sparkling green eyes and his heart sank. How was he going to tell her? “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Philemon has just put the steak on.” She reached for his hand. A little smile touched her lips as she heard the children squealing and giggling in the bathroom. She laughed softly as she heard Sarah, their nanny’s voice, raised in mock anger. “Look what you skellums have done. You have made Sarah’s dress all wet. Now you hurry up and get out of the bathtub or your Daddy will have eaten all the dinner and there won’t be any of that good chocolate pudding left that your mamma made.” Emily chuckled as she heard little Deanne’s high, childish voice. “Dry me off first, Sarah. Dry me off first.” “What a gem Sarah is. I don’t know what we’d do without her.” She turned to Jamie and her eyes clouded over as she saw the lines of tension in his face. He wasn’t smiling. His face looked grey under the tan and his blue eyes were somber. “Honey, what’s the matter? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Jamie nodded, not able to look at her. “Tell me. Has there been another attack? Is it anyone we know?” Jamie looked at his dusty boots. His voice cracked. “Emily, it’s the Viljoens.” Emily caught her breath. Her hand flew up to her throat as if to support her body. “Oh no. It can’t be. Jamie, tell me they’re okay. Tell me nothing bad has happened to them.” “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out the images. His voice was soft but firm as he continued. “Their house was attacked last night. The whole family was killed.” Emily looked at him, her eyes wide with horror. A sob escaped her throat and her body shook. “What happened, Jamie? I need to know.” Jamie reached for her hand again but she snatched it away. She sat up straight and her eyes held his in a determined stare. “Tell me, Jamie.” “The terrorists attacked at about eight o’clock, just as they sat down for dinner.” Images of their dear friends crowded Emily’s mind. The last time they had been together they had played bowls on the lawn. They often visited the beautiful little farmhouse Ken had built—with its mud stucco walls and thatched roof. He had built it to resemble an English cottage. Roses, larkspur and lilies had grown in abundance around the walls and a pebble pathway had led to the rough oak door. It nestled amid the steep hills and was surrounded by coffee bushes that Ken had planted on the slopes. One day it would be a thriving coffee plantation. “I’m sorry, Emily. There were no survivors.” “Oh Jamie. Even the children? Those precious little girls?” “I’m afraid so. It was a brutal attack. I can’t describe what happened to the girls.” Jamie was quiet for a moment. “Emily, promise me one thing. If we are ever in a situation like that don’t let the children fall into the hands of the terrorists. Always keep four bullets.” Emily gasped. She looked at Jamie’s anguished face and she knew exactly what he meant. She looked at the newly installed grenade screens on the windows and a cold chill gripped her heart. * * * Out in the shadows Josiah and his men lay waiting. A smile spread across Josiah’s lips as he saw the couple embrace and disappear into the house. He motioned to his comrades. It was nearly time. * * * Dinner was a somber affair for Jamie. He had no appetite and he noticed that Emily barely touched her food. The children sensed that something was not right and did not even bicker over who had the largest helping of pudding. Jamie tried to ask them about their day but only little Deanne said more than just “It was good.” He went with Emily to listen to their prayers and tuck them into bed. Rachelle and Deanne did not even demand their usual bedtime story. As he went into Barrie’s room and bent down to kiss him goodnight, he felt his son’s young arms tremble and tighten around his neck. He realized that Barrie was old enough to know there was something wrong and was filled with an unknown anxiety. He daren’t tell him the truth. Even though he was all grown up at eleven years old, and knew of the atrocities the terrorist had committed in the area—the Viljoens were too close, too personal.