Joint Task Force #1: Liberia Read Free Page A

nighttime jungle. Jamal’s white shirt had long ago been camouflaged by the dirt, vegetation, and clay the two had fought through.
    The rebels never saw them even as, unknown to Jamal and Selma, searching eyes roamed the jungle edges looking for Americans who might have escaped the massacre. Even if the rebels had seen them, it was doubtful the Africans would have passed up the opportunity to loot the more affluent American houses before their Arab masters torched them.
    Eventually, the fighting and fires fell behind as Jamal and Selma circled toward Uncle Nathan’s. Four hours had passed since they left their Mom in the basement when the two weary children saw the circle of homes, one of which belonged to their uncle Nathan. Jamal stopped and squatted.
    “Why are we stopping?”
    “Be quiet, Selma. Need to make sure it is safe to go.”
    She jerked her hand away. “I’m tired and I gotta pee.”
    “Then pee here.”
    “No way. You’ll peek.”
    Jamal sighed. “Okay, come on. It’s dark and we haven’t seen anyone for a long time.”
    He stood, reaching down to take her hand. The body slam hit him hard, knocking him onto the ground. Selma started screaming, shouting for Uncle Nathan. The man who hit him put his knee on Jamal’s back and pressed down. “Shut up,” the American voice said.
    Selma continued to scream.
    “Selma, that you, honey?”
    Jamal felt the pressure from the knee in his back ease up.
    “Sorry, I didn’t know who it was,” the voice said, standing up, freeing Jamal.
    Jamal fought to keep the tears back. Selma’s dress flapped as she ran toward the figure of Uncle Nathan. The person on top of Jamal moved away. Jamal pushed himself into a sitting position and put his hand against his chest, taking several deep breaths. A pair of hands reached under his arms, lifted him, and then released him. He nearly fell. A wave of fatigue rushed over him. His eyes shut for a moment before he opened them, realizing he had nearly fallen asleep standing up.
    A hand reached out and steadied Jamal. “Whoa, buddy,” the person who had tackled him said, holding Jamal by the arm. “Sorry about that. I could tell you were a kid, but didn’t know you were Jerry’s boy.”
    Jamal jerked his arm away and headed toward Uncle Nathan.
    Selma had her arms wrapped around her uncle’s legs. Uncle Nathan stood there patting her on the back with his right hand. In the left, he held an M-16 rifle. Thomas had seen the weapon in his uncle’s bedroom closet. His dad had one also.
    “Jamal, are we glad to see you, son,” Uncle Nathan said, his eyes roving the darkness behind Jamal.
    The sound of gunfire to the south drew their attention.
    “Kafla,” Uncle Nathan said, speaking to the young man who had tackled Thomas and who was now dogging his steps. “Take Jamal and Selma to the cars and find them a seat.”
    His uncle let go of Selma and reached out for Jamal. “Jamal, where’s your mom and dad and Abdul?”
    “They’re back at the house, Uncle Nathan. Mom says for you to come quick and bring help. There are people inside,Uncle Nathan, and if you don’t come quick, they may kill—”
    “I understand, Jamal,” his uncle replied, a hint of sadness in the answer. “You remember how to shoot a rifle?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Kafla, give him a gun,” he ordered the man standing behind Thomas. “Jamal, you go with Kafla and listen to him. You and Selma stay with him.”
    “Uncle Nathan, Mommy says—” Jamal said, thinking maybe Uncle Nathan hadn’t understood what he had said.
    “Jamal, we’ll try to check before we go,” Nathan said, his voice catching.
    “Go?”
    Nathan shook his head. “Son, they’ve either made it and are working their way this way, or . . .” Nathan stopped, leaned down, and unwrapped his niece’s arms from around his leg. “Selma, you go with your brother and Mr. Kafla here. They’re going to take you to a car and find you a seat. We’re leaving Monrovia