CHAPTER
1
University Of Calabar
14th July 2000
Earlier that day, a friend of his had borrowed his fully-loaded Luger and gave him his near empty Beretta. It was understandable as his friend was about to embark on a very dangerous mission. Moreover, he did not anticipate making use of the gun, as he had no intention of going out. He also agreed to what has now turned out to be a very bad arrangement, because of the .38 Colt he had recently acquired from an ex-ECOMOG soldier, who had returned from Liberia.
But the ordeal he was now going through rocked his whole being. Just then, he heard a noise in the front and jumped nervously, but quickly relaxed on realizing it was only a grasscutter making its way across the path. Foolish reflexes! He cursed.
The commercial bike he had boarded from town broke down a couple of meters away from the bush-path, abruptly terminating the ride. The bike man had been so stunned at Akpan’s harsh reaction over the breakdown. The Akawoke man was gripped with fear. The student he had been carrying was huge, and there was this dangerous look about him, that made him suspect he must be one of the Badboys terrorizing the school. As the student started walking away without paying him, he kept his cool, and made no attempt to stop him, even though he was sure he had taken him close to his destination.
Although he had recoiled due to fear, when the Badboy scolded him but as soon as he turned his back on him, he cursed him inwardly.
Getting off the bike, the commercial motorcyclist squatted to fix his bike. To his astonishment and anger, he realized the problem was just the plug. He furiously wiped off sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and set to clean the plug. Looking up, he saw the Badboy still walking and almost close to the footpath.
The day had been a bad one. Since morning, he had only managed to make less than three hundred naira instead of his target of 1500 naira for the day, but the damned plug had shattered his plan. In frustration, he threw the plug hard on the ground, cursing his despicable fate and the wicked, callous, God-forsaken and good-for-nothing student who had been partly responsible for his woes.
“Let God judge and reward you!” he muttered, as he fought back tears.
Despite his constant struggles, he was incapable of supporting his family of seven.
Slowly, he retrieved the plug, and cleaned it of dirt and sand. He saw the student again, this time moving into the footpath. He’d had several similar bitter experiences with students, that he should have learned his lesson. There was one incident when he was hijacked and detained in a hostel toilet for two days. His offence was that he protested when a male student, whom he had taken round the school for twenty minutes, refused to pay his fare.The student had pretended he was going to pay only to lure him to a spot where the boy and his friends had hidden. He foolishly followed them to the hostel where they confiscated his bike.
Since that ugly incident, he had sworn never to transport a male student to the hostel on his bike. But that day, out of desperation, he went against his decision. He was highly infuriated. The anger that boiled within him was indescribable and could be compared with that of the biblical Sampson in his clean-shaven state. He looked up to the sky to ask his Maker why he was suffering and suddenly he noticed a movement.
It was fast! He turned quickly, out of curiosity, to see who it was.
Then he saw him!
No he saw them! One was climbing down a small tree close to the footpath while the other hastily disappeared into the footpath. The men moved like ghosts, with utmost care not to alarm their target. There was that grim expression on their faces, which frightened the commercial cyclist. He was certain they had seen him, but probably their concern was somewhere else.
The men were dressed in black; one in a black T-shirt and jeans and the other in a black shirt and chinos, with black berets pulled over their left ears. In their possession were dangerous-looking guns. The men were deadly, and the Akawoke man knew it.
He had no doubt, who the two men were after. Quickly, he fixed the plug. He stood, the good part of him told him to warn the stupid boy. He could have conveniently done that and gotten away but when he remembered what the boy had just done to him, his anger intensified.
“Let him go rot in hell where he belonged!” he mumbled as he climbed on his bike. Quickly he started the bike and rode off
The men were convinced that the Akawoke man would not alert their target about the impending danger, considering what had transpired between them. They saw what happened and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Going after this PC man, was not in their plan as he had not been their primary target. They had been detailed to hit a different PC man.
All the same, they decided to deal with him since he was also on the “slaughter-list.” The two men were from the Blood Brothers Confraternity, which was recently introduced into the University of Calabar. They had been lying low, but they now want to make an impact in the school. At least people would know they had arrived.
The Pirates gave them the opportunity a few days back in a beer joint and as luck would have it, they had played into their hands and would feel the heat first. The whole school will definitely hear about it and that would make their presence felt in the campus.
Luck was on their side otherwise, how else would they describe the opportunity presented to them to knock out two top-ranking PC men within thirty minutes? They were sure they would be through with this new target within a couple of minutes, and would then wait for their main target.
Fear is the greatest enemy of man. It destroys a man gradually as Akpan Nsikak, a.k.a Gomorrah would attest to. He was seized with fear. His courage was failing him, and he quickened his step. The urge to run was so much on him but he managed, just managed, to restrain himself as he would have easily given himself out. His heart was beating harder. He was now sweating profusely, even though the weather was not that hot. Dipping his hand into his pant pocket, he fished out a white handkerchief to wipe his face.
Then he heard a noise that made his heart leap. It had come from the back! He looked back quickly and side-ways, he could see nothing.
“Oh dear me!” he cursed his imagination. “Damn you, Great Gomorrah! You are becoming a coward,” he cautioned himself.
He was now at the middle of the footpath. The strange feeling returned. Lifting his shirt, he pulled out the Beretta from his waistband. He stared at the gun as if he was weighing it. The look on his face was a mixed expression of fear and reassurance. At least he has some groundnuts in the gun. If the worst comes, he could shoot his way through. He had done it before.
The sound of the motorbike moving away momentary disturbed his thought. He smiled inwardly. Not paying Akawoke men was one of his habits, that is, whenever circumstances warranted. To him, it was one of the fringe benefits, and immunity that System Men enjoyed. If a . . .
Another sound jolted him. This time, he knew he was not mistaken. His sixth sense was sending series of danger signals. He released the pistol’s safety catch, ready to pull the trigger. Then, he slowly turned. Nothing was behind him. He was now very tense, convinced that somebody was lurking around and whoever it was, wasn’t a friend. He cursed again, the meandering nature of the path. If he could only have a glimpse of his tormentor!
He hurried to the next bend and dashed into the bush, squatting. If only he had his Luger, he thought furiously.
He had been in danger many times in the past and had managed to escape alive. Thanks to his Luger, which had taken out five men and critically injured more than ten. He had been a member of the Pirates Confraternity right from his first year. Two days earlier, there had been a clash between his friends and two other men, who they later found out were members of the Blood Brothers Confraternity, popularly called Black Beret or 2–2 men. He had been in the joint drinking when the 2–2 men arrogantly came in. There was this thing about them, which pissed him off. But he managed to control himself. The two men had ordered beer and started drinking. A few minutes later, he saw his men and invited them to his table. He had some cash to burn. It was while the PC men were coming toward Gomorrah that they mistakenly overturned the table on which the drinks of the 2–2 men were placed. The shirt of one of the PC men had hooked on the edge of the table, and in the process of unhooking it, the table had overturned. The drinks went tumbling down.
The BB men were infuriated.
“O’boy! Wetin dey do you sef?” one of them growled in pidgin English.
“See what you have just done to the drinks.”
“Sorry, guy. But you know it was an accident,” one of the PC men had said.
“What do you mean by that? You are only sorry? Go and replace the drinks before I blow your heads up.”
“Blow whose heads?” one of the PC men inquired in anger. There was obvious show of surprise on his face. He had actually wanted to replace the drink but the guy’s arrogance annoyed him. The way he said it was insulting. After all they are PC men, and they hated insults and challenges. Considering the source – nincompoops who probably were recently blended into one of the ‘left–over’ fraternities parading the campus — it was hurting to the ego of the PC man.
“My friend, you better watch your tongue,” he warned, having decided not to replace the drinks, damning the consequences. By this time, other patrons of the joint had turned their attention on them. The PC men walked towards Akpan and were blocked halfway by the other guys.
“Hey! You got just three seconds to replace the drinks, or . . . ”
The PC men, catching the hanging threat, paused.
“Or what?” one of them snarled back.
A beer bottle crashed on the PC man’s head, stopping him in his tracks. The speed at which the bottle crashed surprised even Gomorrah, as he had been observing the melodrama. He was becoming uncomfortable with the development. Already there was blood on one of his men’s head.
Within minutes, the bar was chaotic. More bottles were now flying in the air. The broken bottles flew in the air like bomb shrapnels. Other students in the bar started finding their way out of the joint. The PC men, including Gomorrah fought back. Minutes later, the clash stopped, leaving injuries and bruised ego. The two families knew that the battle line had just been drawn.
That was why, when his pal demanded his gun that morning, he didn’t need to ask him where he was heading. He had a fair idea. There was a score to settle somewhere. And his friends don’t even need the approval of the family to tidy some personal jobs. He could have wagered with his life that a hit was imminent. But what he did not realize was that the BBs would be after them sooner. He was not to know that after he left his friends’ room,
four 2–2 men had gotten in, snuffing their lives out. What would have shocked him more would have been the knowledge that his beloved Luger was posing the greatest threat to his life.
The BB men had taken the gun after killing the PC men. In possession of the gun now, was one of the BB hit men, following silently behind him.
The 2–2 men trailing him had not reckoned that he would be this sensitive. But unknown to them, those things were a natural part of Gomorrah. His senses were so sharp. The 2–2 guys had alarmed him when they stamped on dried twigs and leaves. Any other person would have missed it but not Gomorrah. With his ears to the ground, he could pick out such tell-tale sounds. They had seen him hesitate when the first sound was made, and had quickly ducked in the bush. At the second noise, they had performed the same ritual, this time a bit faster. But one thing was certain to them, they had not fooled the man this time. The way he held the gun told them a lot. Seeing him negotiate the bend briskly told them he was laying a trap for them. They stepped out of the bush cautiously and continued on his trail. After a few steps, they stopped to ensure that he was completely unaware that he was being followed. If they delayed a little they might even break his patience and then he will give away his position.
The few minutes that passed were the longest Gomorrah had ever experienced. To him it seemed as if he spent more than two hours where he squatted. He looked at his watch and it was twenty-five minutes after five. Since he had been there, he had heard and seen nothing. But deep inside him, there was that feeling that danger was lurking around. He decided to wait for another thirty seconds before moving back to the footpath.
The nerve-shattering wait was not only assailing Gomorrah but also the two BB men. To them, seconds no longer existed. No one could have been able to convince them at that moment that thousands of minutes had not passed since they started waiting. Their main problem was that the man they were now after was not the one they had been detailed to kill. From their reckoning their main target would be appearing any moment. The mere thought of failing in a major assignment was horrifying.
They decided to abandon the hide-and-seek game they were into with this bastard even though they realized the risks in it. Signaling to each other, they rose from their hide-out and the man with the Mauser went first. They made their approach like ghosts. Then all of a sudden, the man with the Mauser abruptly stopped. Seconds later, his gun roared. He had noticed a movement and fired. Looking at where he had just fired, he became confused, as nothing was there. He had been certain he noticed a movement. But he was now not so sure. The bush was so thick that visibility was impaired greatly.
Though the man was edging closer, Akpan knew that he had not seen him, as the man was looking elsewhere. Probably the shot had been a guess. No wonder he was still breathing. The distance separating them was not much, and Akpan knew that the bullet could not have missed him in that short distance.
Slowly he raised his gun and aimed. He was about to squeeze the trigger when a sudden wave of pain rushed through his body, blurring his vision and triggering a brief dizzy spell. But that brief pause was his greatest undoing as his assailants had spotted him.
One of the assailants fired in his direction and missed Gomorrah’s head by the whiskers, burning a few strands of his hair.
But this second shot brought Akpan to consciousness. He could clearly see the man now. He pulled the trigger of the Beretta, which he had aimed at the man’s chest. The Beretta rang out, exploding on the man’s chest. As the 2–2 man began to go down, his fingers squeezed the trigger of the Mauser. But, the bullet missed its target.
Akpan fired again into the lifeless body. His problem was now over, he thought. It was now time to find his way out of the bush and get his wound attended to. He ran out of the bush with renewed zeal, and continued on the path, unknowingly exposing himself to one of the assailants still alive.
Ironically, he thought he had come out of another hot jam – victorious.
The Luger man, who had managed to keep himself out of the gun battle, resurfaced after seeing his friend go down, and went after Akpan who was running awkwardly. Akpan was just about ten meters away from the Luger man, who allowed him to run few more yards before raining bullets on him.
Gomorrah felt the bullets tear the back of his neck and waist. There was something familiar about the sound of the last two shots, but he could not place it. His mind was elsewhere as he started drifting into unconsciousness. Then he remembered. The gun sounded like his Luger. But it couldn’t be. The Luger was with his men, who he was sure will definitely avenge his death.
How ironic it would be if it was his own gun, which had caused much havoc and discomfort to others, that was killing him. The spasm came again, this time with intensity. It was as if he was watching a movie in a cinema hall, the reels slowly showing him images of all the people he had killed and wounded.
It started with the Vikings man he had killed at the University of Portharcourt. There was still that blood all over the man.
Then there was the girl he had killed alongside her boyfriend. The hit was not an officially-commissioned one. The girl had jilted him for the frail Buccaneer – a very big slap on his face. Afterwards, the girl knelt pleading before him, which was exactly how they were before he shot them, years ago.
Next in the sequence was the Black Axe man he’d killed in UNIBEN, with his skull blown into pieces. Another man, this time from Klansmen Konfraternity—KK—followed. Chuks was the guy’s name. He had given him a tough time before he killed him.
The movie continued for another second, before changing into another scene. This time, all the people now came to him in black robes except the girl, who was in red. They were closing in on him, and what frightened him more was that they all had what seemed like long scimitars, with grim expressions adorning their faces. He realized his hell had already started. He did not realize when he began to shout. Though his lips were moving, no sound came. He had never felt this helpless.
As they were almost on him with weapons, the movie abruptly stopped.
He felt something touch his wrist, checking for a pulse. He suspected his assailant was confirming that he was dead. The next thing he knew was that the gun was taken away from him. It was hard for him to open his eyelids.
Then he saw a glimpse of the man that had shot him. The stupid bastard!
He had foolishly killed him, not knowing that he had started a game he would not live to finish. Gomorrah knew also that his family would come after these bastards with vengeance. He knew the system well. And the war would continue like a cycle, as the guy’s family would also retaliate. That was the foolish game they played in the name of fraternity – the blood spilling game. He had once thought he was indestructible, but now he knew better. From his present vantage point, he had learned something that none of his brothers knew. Contrary to popular belief in the frat world, cultism was no way to stay alive. It was as dangerous as a ricocheting bullet that kills with the viciousness and fury of a hungry Hippopotamus.
BUT WHO WILL TELL THE SYSTEM MEN?
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But the ordeal he was now going through rocked his whole being. Just then, he heard a noise in the front and jumped nervously, but quickly relaxed on realizing it was only a grasscutter making its way across the path. Foolish reflexes! He cursed.
The commercial bike he had boarded from town broke down a couple of meters away from the bush-path, abruptly terminating the ride. The bike man had been so stunned at Akpan’s harsh reaction over the breakdown. The Akawoke man was gripped with fear. The student he had been carrying was huge, and there was this dangerous look about him, that made him suspect he must be one of the Badboys terrorizing the school. As the student started walking away without paying him, he kept his cool, and made no attempt to stop him, even though he was sure he had taken him close to his destination.
Although he had recoiled due to fear, when the Badboy scolded him but as soon as he turned his back on him, he cursed him inwardly.
Getting off the bike, the commercial motorcyclist squatted to fix his bike. To his astonishment and anger, he realized the problem was just the plug. He furiously wiped off sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and set to clean the plug. Looking up, he saw the Badboy still walking and almost close to the footpath.
The day had been a bad one. Since morning, he had only managed to make less than three hundred naira instead of his target of 1500 naira for the day, but the damned plug had shattered his plan. In frustration, he threw the plug hard on the ground, cursing his despicable fate and the wicked, callous, God-forsaken and good-for-nothing student who had been partly responsible for his woes.
“Let God judge and reward you!” he muttered, as he fought back tears.
Despite his constant struggles, he was incapable of supporting his family of seven.
Slowly, he retrieved the plug, and cleaned it of dirt and sand. He saw the student again, this time moving into the footpath. He’d had several similar bitter experiences with students, that he should have learned his lesson. There was one incident when he was hijacked and detained in a hostel toilet for two days. His offence was that he protested when a male student, whom he had taken round the school for twenty minutes, refused to pay his fare.The student had pretended he was going to pay only to lure him to a spot where the boy and his friends had hidden. He foolishly followed them to the hostel where they confiscated his bike.
Since that ugly incident, he had sworn never to transport a male student to the hostel on his bike. But that day, out of desperation, he went against his decision. He was highly infuriated. The anger that boiled within him was indescribable and could be compared with that of the biblical Sampson in his clean-shaven state. He looked up to the sky to ask his Maker why he was suffering and suddenly he noticed a movement.
It was fast! He turned quickly, out of curiosity, to see who it was.
Then he saw him!
*
No he saw them! One was climbing down a small tree close to the footpath while the other hastily disappeared into the footpath. The men moved like ghosts, with utmost care not to alarm their target. There was that grim expression on their faces, which frightened the commercial cyclist. He was certain they had seen him, but probably their concern was somewhere else.
The men were dressed in black; one in a black T-shirt and jeans and the other in a black shirt and chinos, with black berets pulled over their left ears. In their possession were dangerous-looking guns. The men were deadly, and the Akawoke man knew it.
He had no doubt, who the two men were after. Quickly, he fixed the plug. He stood, the good part of him told him to warn the stupid boy. He could have conveniently done that and gotten away but when he remembered what the boy had just done to him, his anger intensified.
“Let him go rot in hell where he belonged!” he mumbled as he climbed on his bike. Quickly he started the bike and rode off
*
The men were convinced that the Akawoke man would not alert their target about the impending danger, considering what had transpired between them. They saw what happened and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Going after this PC man, was not in their plan as he had not been their primary target. They had been detailed to hit a different PC man.
All the same, they decided to deal with him since he was also on the “slaughter-list.” The two men were from the Blood Brothers Confraternity, which was recently introduced into the University of Calabar. They had been lying low, but they now want to make an impact in the school. At least people would know they had arrived.
The Pirates gave them the opportunity a few days back in a beer joint and as luck would have it, they had played into their hands and would feel the heat first. The whole school will definitely hear about it and that would make their presence felt in the campus.
Luck was on their side otherwise, how else would they describe the opportunity presented to them to knock out two top-ranking PC men within thirty minutes? They were sure they would be through with this new target within a couple of minutes, and would then wait for their main target.
*
Then he heard a noise that made his heart leap. It had come from the back! He looked back quickly and side-ways, he could see nothing.
“Oh dear me!” he cursed his imagination. “Damn you, Great Gomorrah! You are becoming a coward,” he cautioned himself.
He was now at the middle of the footpath. The strange feeling returned. Lifting his shirt, he pulled out the Beretta from his waistband. He stared at the gun as if he was weighing it. The look on his face was a mixed expression of fear and reassurance. At least he has some groundnuts in the gun. If the worst comes, he could shoot his way through. He had done it before.
The sound of the motorbike moving away momentary disturbed his thought. He smiled inwardly. Not paying Akawoke men was one of his habits, that is, whenever circumstances warranted. To him, it was one of the fringe benefits, and immunity that System Men enjoyed. If a . . .
Another sound jolted him. This time, he knew he was not mistaken. His sixth sense was sending series of danger signals. He released the pistol’s safety catch, ready to pull the trigger. Then, he slowly turned. Nothing was behind him. He was now very tense, convinced that somebody was lurking around and whoever it was, wasn’t a friend. He cursed again, the meandering nature of the path. If he could only have a glimpse of his tormentor!
He hurried to the next bend and dashed into the bush, squatting. If only he had his Luger, he thought furiously.
He had been in danger many times in the past and had managed to escape alive. Thanks to his Luger, which had taken out five men and critically injured more than ten. He had been a member of the Pirates Confraternity right from his first year. Two days earlier, there had been a clash between his friends and two other men, who they later found out were members of the Blood Brothers Confraternity, popularly called Black Beret or 2–2 men. He had been in the joint drinking when the 2–2 men arrogantly came in. There was this thing about them, which pissed him off. But he managed to control himself. The two men had ordered beer and started drinking. A few minutes later, he saw his men and invited them to his table. He had some cash to burn. It was while the PC men were coming toward Gomorrah that they mistakenly overturned the table on which the drinks of the 2–2 men were placed. The shirt of one of the PC men had hooked on the edge of the table, and in the process of unhooking it, the table had overturned. The drinks went tumbling down.
The BB men were infuriated.
“O’boy! Wetin dey do you sef?” one of them growled in pidgin English.
“See what you have just done to the drinks.”
“Sorry, guy. But you know it was an accident,” one of the PC men had said.
“What do you mean by that? You are only sorry? Go and replace the drinks before I blow your heads up.”
“Blow whose heads?” one of the PC men inquired in anger. There was obvious show of surprise on his face. He had actually wanted to replace the drink but the guy’s arrogance annoyed him. The way he said it was insulting. After all they are PC men, and they hated insults and challenges. Considering the source – nincompoops who probably were recently blended into one of the ‘left–over’ fraternities parading the campus — it was hurting to the ego of the PC man.
“My friend, you better watch your tongue,” he warned, having decided not to replace the drinks, damning the consequences. By this time, other patrons of the joint had turned their attention on them. The PC men walked towards Akpan and were blocked halfway by the other guys.
“Hey! You got just three seconds to replace the drinks, or . . . ”
The PC men, catching the hanging threat, paused.
“Or what?” one of them snarled back.
A beer bottle crashed on the PC man’s head, stopping him in his tracks. The speed at which the bottle crashed surprised even Gomorrah, as he had been observing the melodrama. He was becoming uncomfortable with the development. Already there was blood on one of his men’s head.
Within minutes, the bar was chaotic. More bottles were now flying in the air. The broken bottles flew in the air like bomb shrapnels. Other students in the bar started finding their way out of the joint. The PC men, including Gomorrah fought back. Minutes later, the clash stopped, leaving injuries and bruised ego. The two families knew that the battle line had just been drawn.
That was why, when his pal demanded his gun that morning, he didn’t need to ask him where he was heading. He had a fair idea. There was a score to settle somewhere. And his friends don’t even need the approval of the family to tidy some personal jobs. He could have wagered with his life that a hit was imminent. But what he did not realize was that the BBs would be after them sooner. He was not to know that after he left his friends’ room,
four 2–2 men had gotten in, snuffing their lives out. What would have shocked him more would have been the knowledge that his beloved Luger was posing the greatest threat to his life.
The BB men had taken the gun after killing the PC men. In possession of the gun now, was one of the BB hit men, following silently behind him.
The 2–2 men trailing him had not reckoned that he would be this sensitive. But unknown to them, those things were a natural part of Gomorrah. His senses were so sharp. The 2–2 guys had alarmed him when they stamped on dried twigs and leaves. Any other person would have missed it but not Gomorrah. With his ears to the ground, he could pick out such tell-tale sounds. They had seen him hesitate when the first sound was made, and had quickly ducked in the bush. At the second noise, they had performed the same ritual, this time a bit faster. But one thing was certain to them, they had not fooled the man this time. The way he held the gun told them a lot. Seeing him negotiate the bend briskly told them he was laying a trap for them. They stepped out of the bush cautiously and continued on his trail. After a few steps, they stopped to ensure that he was completely unaware that he was being followed. If they delayed a little they might even break his patience and then he will give away his position.
*
The few minutes that passed were the longest Gomorrah had ever experienced. To him it seemed as if he spent more than two hours where he squatted. He looked at his watch and it was twenty-five minutes after five. Since he had been there, he had heard and seen nothing. But deep inside him, there was that feeling that danger was lurking around. He decided to wait for another thirty seconds before moving back to the footpath.
The nerve-shattering wait was not only assailing Gomorrah but also the two BB men. To them, seconds no longer existed. No one could have been able to convince them at that moment that thousands of minutes had not passed since they started waiting. Their main problem was that the man they were now after was not the one they had been detailed to kill. From their reckoning their main target would be appearing any moment. The mere thought of failing in a major assignment was horrifying.
They decided to abandon the hide-and-seek game they were into with this bastard even though they realized the risks in it. Signaling to each other, they rose from their hide-out and the man with the Mauser went first. They made their approach like ghosts. Then all of a sudden, the man with the Mauser abruptly stopped. Seconds later, his gun roared. He had noticed a movement and fired. Looking at where he had just fired, he became confused, as nothing was there. He had been certain he noticed a movement. But he was now not so sure. The bush was so thick that visibility was impaired greatly.
*
The bullet came first, before he heard the explosion. It hit him in the arm. He had focused his attention on his wristwatch, and did not see them approach. He was thrown back to reality when the hot pellet found its way into the bicep of his left arm. The impact shook him, but he was still holding his gun. He raised his head in the direction the ugly sound had come from, carefully searching for his assailant. Fortunately, he was lying down, and that enabled him to spot the hem of his attacker’s pants. Then he saw him fully!Though the man was edging closer, Akpan knew that he had not seen him, as the man was looking elsewhere. Probably the shot had been a guess. No wonder he was still breathing. The distance separating them was not much, and Akpan knew that the bullet could not have missed him in that short distance.
Slowly he raised his gun and aimed. He was about to squeeze the trigger when a sudden wave of pain rushed through his body, blurring his vision and triggering a brief dizzy spell. But that brief pause was his greatest undoing as his assailants had spotted him.
One of the assailants fired in his direction and missed Gomorrah’s head by the whiskers, burning a few strands of his hair.
But this second shot brought Akpan to consciousness. He could clearly see the man now. He pulled the trigger of the Beretta, which he had aimed at the man’s chest. The Beretta rang out, exploding on the man’s chest. As the 2–2 man began to go down, his fingers squeezed the trigger of the Mauser. But, the bullet missed its target.
Akpan fired again into the lifeless body. His problem was now over, he thought. It was now time to find his way out of the bush and get his wound attended to. He ran out of the bush with renewed zeal, and continued on the path, unknowingly exposing himself to one of the assailants still alive.
Ironically, he thought he had come out of another hot jam – victorious.
*
The Luger man, who had managed to keep himself out of the gun battle, resurfaced after seeing his friend go down, and went after Akpan who was running awkwardly. Akpan was just about ten meters away from the Luger man, who allowed him to run few more yards before raining bullets on him.
Gomorrah felt the bullets tear the back of his neck and waist. There was something familiar about the sound of the last two shots, but he could not place it. His mind was elsewhere as he started drifting into unconsciousness. Then he remembered. The gun sounded like his Luger. But it couldn’t be. The Luger was with his men, who he was sure will definitely avenge his death.
How ironic it would be if it was his own gun, which had caused much havoc and discomfort to others, that was killing him. The spasm came again, this time with intensity. It was as if he was watching a movie in a cinema hall, the reels slowly showing him images of all the people he had killed and wounded.
It started with the Vikings man he had killed at the University of Portharcourt. There was still that blood all over the man.
Then there was the girl he had killed alongside her boyfriend. The hit was not an officially-commissioned one. The girl had jilted him for the frail Buccaneer – a very big slap on his face. Afterwards, the girl knelt pleading before him, which was exactly how they were before he shot them, years ago.
Next in the sequence was the Black Axe man he’d killed in UNIBEN, with his skull blown into pieces. Another man, this time from Klansmen Konfraternity—KK—followed. Chuks was the guy’s name. He had given him a tough time before he killed him.
The movie continued for another second, before changing into another scene. This time, all the people now came to him in black robes except the girl, who was in red. They were closing in on him, and what frightened him more was that they all had what seemed like long scimitars, with grim expressions adorning their faces. He realized his hell had already started. He did not realize when he began to shout. Though his lips were moving, no sound came. He had never felt this helpless.
As they were almost on him with weapons, the movie abruptly stopped.
He felt something touch his wrist, checking for a pulse. He suspected his assailant was confirming that he was dead. The next thing he knew was that the gun was taken away from him. It was hard for him to open his eyelids.
Then he saw a glimpse of the man that had shot him. The stupid bastard!
He had foolishly killed him, not knowing that he had started a game he would not live to finish. Gomorrah knew also that his family would come after these bastards with vengeance. He knew the system well. And the war would continue like a cycle, as the guy’s family would also retaliate. That was the foolish game they played in the name of fraternity – the blood spilling game. He had once thought he was indestructible, but now he knew better. From his present vantage point, he had learned something that none of his brothers knew. Contrary to popular belief in the frat world, cultism was no way to stay alive. It was as dangerous as a ricocheting bullet that kills with the viciousness and fury of a hungry Hippopotamus.
BUT WHO WILL TELL THE SYSTEM MEN?
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that's why they always tell people that, "play your frat game with sense"
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