Antebellum (42 page)

The crowd went into a frenzy. Big Mama would have called it catching the Holy Ghost.

“Moses?” Still bombarded with the memories of the people in front of me, I opened my eyes. Ella had worked her way to her feet. Even with her bruises and swelling, she was still beautiful. Whatever spirit had caught the rest of the slaves was trying to catch her, too, but she held out to talk to me. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“I know it's hard, but dese folk here believe. They gonna follow whateva you tell 'em.”

I looked down, and Roka was looking up at me, stern-faced, teaching me his last lesson. I nodded at him, and then looked back at Ella. She had taken a step back. I took a step forward. And another. And then I was standing beside Sarah, and the same spirit that had made everyone jump up and down, made them instantly quiet.

With their memories still fresh in my mind, I opened my mouth and gave them their rage back.

The sun was trying to poke its head over the horizon. It hadn't emerged yet, but the dark purple outline to the sky was beginning to announce its arrival. The cool air was a nice contrast to our warm bodies as we sat down, quiet, in the brush alongside of the road.

“Shhhhhh!”

I wasn't sure who'd said it, but it was overkill. Nobody was making a sound. Our nervousness hung around us in balls like Christmas ornaments, but we drew our strength from each other. When one of us saw uncertainty in another's eyes, we showed them our scars—our bare backs and missing limbs and gunshot wounds—and when the fire came back we nodded, clasped hands, and continued waiting.

None of us had slept, but it didn't matter. There was enough adrenaline in us to power our bodies for days. The time for sleep had ended five hours ago. When the slaves from the Smith plantation revealed that they knew the way to the town Armory, and how to get in. When Sarah revealed that there was only one path into and out of the Talbert plantation, and if the mob was coming to get me at daybreak, they would have to travel it. When the
field hands from the Waller plantation presented a large box of hatchets and daggers that they'd stumbled across while hunting rabbits in the woods, no doubt misplaced by the soldiers that came through the town. The time for sleep had ended at the church meeting, when the slaves asked me to make a decision. When they begged me to lead them to freedom. How could I promise that, if we escaped, we wouldn't all be caught and returned and doomed to punishments worse than death? How could I promise them freedom with a catch? With a life of constant fear and uncertainty written in the fine print? I couldn't do it. Maybe Da Nigga could, but not Moses Jenkins. Moses Jenkins knew there was only one way, one sure way, to freedom.

The slaves asked me to make a decision. I decided they wouldn't be slaves anymore. Ever.

Lying there, crouched in the brush, a sound began to creep up through the dawn. I felt the fear ripple through the men and women surrounding me, and I turned around with the hatchet in my hand, prepared to hack anyone who would give us away. I met my eyes with each and every person surrounding me, repeating Roka's words silently. Destiny. Destiny. They nodded at me one by one, and steadied themselves for battle.

As the mob came over the hillside and made its way to the path to reach the Talbert plantation, I took a chance and poked up over the brush. What was supposed to be a mob had turned out to be a parade. No one knew exactly what would happen when the ape-nigger got hung, and intrigue was enough to bring out every man, woman, and child who was brave enough to risk it. I ducked back down into the brush, trying to hide the fear in my eyes, and turned to my right where Ella sat crouched beside me.

“There's more of 'em than I thought,” I whispered to her.

She turned to me with a face as calm as still water. “So what?”

I stared at her, forgetting everything else. Then I leaned over and kissed her, and focused back on the road.

The mob was close now. We could smell the burning torches from where we were hidden. The crowd became more and more excited as they approached Talbert's property. Talbert, Bradley, Reverend Lewis, and the Governor led the crowd. They walked with purpose, feeling as if they were a part of something important.

Reverend Lewis was the first to see the object in the distance, sitting in the middle of the road.

My eyes watered as my mind went back to two hours ago.

“Mo...Mo...Moses...”

Roka had tugged at me, pulling the cuff of my pants to get my attention amongst all that was going on. I'd kneeled all the way down, putting my face almost to the dirt to hear him.

“No...no...long...now...”

I reached out to grab Roka's hand, and he yanked me over to him with a strength that wasn't his own.

“Last...last wish...”

“Anything, Roka. Whatever you want man.”

He shared his request with me, and I denied it. But he gripped my arm until the circulation stopped, and wouldn't let it go until I agreed.

Crouched in the brush, I began to say a prayer for Roka, but I stopped. He didn't need it.

“What is that?”

Reverend Lewis drew everyone's attention to the object in the road, and tension began to build. The pace of the mob slowed, but they continued to inch forward. Not knowing what to expect,
most of them had come prepared for anything, and the men, women and children pulled out rifles and muskets and took aim.

Bradley was the first to recognize the object in the road. “That... that's that nigger Roka!”

Roka sat in the middle of the road, propped up on a log that we had placed behind him. The rifle we had given him shook in his hand, but he kept his promise. He wouldn't let his spirit go until he'd fired his shot.

“Look here, nigger!” the Governor yelled out. They were close enough now for Roka to hear them clearly. “Drop that damn gun, or we'll...”

It seemed like the bullet hit the Governor before the sound came. His large body fell back against the man behind him.

“Kill that nigger!”

Countless guns began firing all at the same time, and Roka's body shook as the bullets filled in every space in his body. I turned my head away and bit my lip, desperately trying to stop my tears before any of the men and women around me saw them. But Roka's spirit scolded me, and I lifted my head and witnessed my mentor's death. When the bullets finally stopped, half of Roka's head was gone.

He sat there, in the middle of the road, with half a skull and a smile on his face.

“Goddamn nigg—!”

Bradley never had the chance to finish his statement. Sarah and I had split the slaves into two groups, and Sarah had taken hers and positioned them far enough down the road to ensure that they were behind the mob. Anticipating that everyone in the mob would be focusing on Roka being shot in front of them, Sarah had quietly snuck her group out of the brush and behind the group. No sooner had the last shot been fired into Roka, did
Sarah's group, armed with rifles and muskets from the Armory, begin firing into the crowd of white people.

We could hear the shouts of white men and the screams of white women and children clearly from where we were hidden. The plan was for us to wait until the first round of ammo was gone from the guns of the slaves, and then emerge from the brush, but the war had already started, and I couldn't wait anymore. I jumped out from the brush and sprinted across the road. Everyone at the front of the mob was now turned facing the back, trying to figure out who was firing at the back ranks of their group. The first person to turn around was a young white man, about my age. He had glanced behind him and did a double-take, not believing what he was seeing. I had my gun aimed at his head before he could raise his, and I blew his brains onto Talbert's shoulder.

The former slaves had taken my cue and run out of the brush on my heels. The men who took aim at me had been shot before they could pull their triggers. Ella had run out behind me as well, and had somehow gotten her hands on two different pistols. She'd killed six men and two women before they knew what had happened.

Everything was chaos now. The war cries of the slaves welcomed the sun into the sky. Gunshots echoed off the trees as slave and slavemaster alike fell dead on the road. The slaves that had run out of ammo had now adorned themselves with hatchets and knives, and were releasing their anger into the hearts and bellies of their enemies. The mob, having nowhere else to run, began frantically dispersing. Any unarmed person ran as fast as they could, praying to reach the woods before they were struck with a blade or a bullet. The slaves and the armed whites killed indiscriminately, screaming bloody murder at each other as they
fought to the death. Bodies began to pile up on the ground, and pools of blood began to make clay out of the sandy dirt beneath them.

“MOSES!”

I heard Ella scream my name amongst the pandemonium, and looked around desperately while praying she was still alive. When I found her, she was covered in blood that was not her own. She pointed to two men running toward the big house, and I knew they were Bradley and Talbert.

I'd heard someone once, when describing an encounter they'd had with the police, say that they ran like a runaway slave. As I sprinted after those two white men, I was assured that that wasn't true.

By the time we reached the front door to the big house, we were close enough for me to stop, take aim, and fire at Bradley. My bullet struck him in the leg, and he limped inside as Ella and I followed. Bradley ducked off to the left, into the living room, while Talbert went right and up the stairs. Ella stopped, spat on the floor, took out her hatchet, and began to follow Talbert up the stairs.

“Ella...”

She turned around and looked at me, and her eyes stopped me cold.

“Either you can get this hatchet,” the demon in her irises told me, “or he can.”

Afraid to speak, I nodded slightly, and she began once more to stalk her prey.

I turned around to find a trail of Bradley's blood leading behind the couch.

“Bradley!”

I called out for him to show himself, but he stayed hidden.

“Bradley!”

“Goddamn you, nigger! Look what you done!”

“Stand up!”

“I shoulda listened to Mista Talbert...goddamn I shoulda listened to Mista Talbert! I shoulda hung you when I had the chance!”

Talbert screamed off in the distance, and Bradley cringed at the sounds of agony.

“Aw God! Aw God! Aw God!”

“This the last time I'm gonna ask you,” I said. “Stand up!”

Bradley made his way to his feet, struggling, with the bullet in his leg, to stay standing. He looked at me as he limped, fear now overshadowing his contempt.

“You can't shoot me, nigger....if you shoots me, you goes to hell! You knows that, right? You can't shoot me, or God'll damn your soul to hell!”

I shot him in his mouth, hoping maybe he would shut the hell up, but he just kept moaning. So I shot him in the head twice. Then I thought about being locked up in that cage, and I shot him again.