We hear the cracking of their guns long before anyone sees the dusty wake of their trucks.
I have just enough time to snatch my precious Mangeni from her wicker cot and crawl into the shelter beneath the church with the other villagers.
There is deadly silence, lest we be heard by the intruders.
We can hear Reverend Kaikara protesting above us as the rebels defile our place of worship. There is a gunshot, and we hear the Reverend’s voice no longer. Now the only sounds are of muted laughter and overturning pews.
They are searching for the hidden hatch to our refuge.
Mangeni begins to cry. Frantically, I rock her back and forth in my arms, but this only makes her crying worse. Yellow eyes—wide and terrified—plead with me in the darkness; the hot, sour breath of those nearest to me is redolent with fear and thick with panic. Sweat begins to trickle down my nose. Finally an old woman with yellow teeth hisses at me. I put my hand over Mangeni’s mouth and I softly whisper an old Ugandan lullaby into her warm ear.
This seems to work.
When the looters have gone, the villagers pour from the shelter with a collective sense of relief. I remain behind, clutching my baby’s lifeless body to my chest.
At last, I can scream.
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©2010 Eugene Gramelis
Eugene Gramelis is a widely-published, award-winning author of suspense and dark fiction. When not writing, he practises law as a barrister in Sydney, Australia, where he resides with his beautiful wife and three gorgeous children.
