CHIBOK (COMPLETED)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Meanwhile...

Gunfire reverberated all round in the dark. Bello hopped on the chair, straightening his back, he could feel the small tube holstered to his waist by the belt. The utility knife was somewhere underneath his clothing. It was hard to feel, that must have been why they couldn’t find or remove it from him. And he was with that slim silvery saviour all the time. If only he could reach it.

Bello gritted his teeth as the ropes bit on his wrist; he tried to sit straighter with a muffled grunt. His hand was closer to his belt now. He tentatively pressed his thumb and index finger in and could feel the tiny sheath.  He hopped slightly, the knife stood even the more erect. His fingers slowly, cautiously clenched on it, he drew it out slowly.

After five precarious minutes in which his entire concentration was all zeroed on what he did such that the sparks across the distance and the thunderous sounds that assailed the air from every direction echoing across the mountain and the cavernous space held no cognizance to his ears.

He heard the soft fall of the sheath and began with the ropes that held his wrist. Just two fingers worked dexterously, cutting the band fibre by fibre.

The camp below was alive with flames, wails and rattling ammunitions.

Slowly, he kept cutting. Soon, he was half way through, he joined the third middle finger, a hasty attempt nicked his wrist so deep the sharp metal went, he then could feel the tickle of warm blood coursing down the to the tip of his finger. Yet, blood was lubrication. Bello kept on, despite the pain. The only picture on his mind was two tied hand gaining freedom.

He then heard the pants and heavy footsteps running up the hill, he could see Wizen’s silhouette zooming up the mountain side. His rifle was held ready in his hand as he looked back at the pandemonium, he turned sharply and Bello could imagine his bad eye glitter mischievously as he heard him curse loudly at the open air.

Bello cut from the daze and resumed his work, the succeeding cuts nevertheless. It was either laceration by himself or gunshot by Wizen.
Just few more fibres he kept telling himself, just as Wizen stepped tall through the entrance aiming his rifle at him. His chest rose and fell as he heaved laboriously, there was something around his waist, but Bello couldn’t tell what it was. The bond around his wrists finally snapped, and the slack loosened the rope around his legs. He would still need to cut through to be free and there was no time.

“You!” Wizen shouted, his gun still pointed at him.

“I can help you trust me, I’d do anything.” Bello spoke so fast and just as his brain clicked on what he should do, he sent the gleaming knife across the distance, through the air. Wizen’s reaction was slower, the knife pressed squarely just above his armpit and the gun fell. Wizen howled, clutching at his limp hand.

Bello had little time to congratulate his genius, the knife inched just above the armpit  and deep enough, thanks to the loose clothing Wizen wore, and his hand went limp—a nerve must have been severed—Wizen was partially paralysed.

The throw, though, had tilted the chair off balance; and even Bello was in a precarious condition on the floor.

Wizen pulled at the knife and howled the more running madly towards Bello who struggled with the slackened rope. One of his legs was free.

Bello rolled away just before Wizen’s hand could reach him, his raised leg collided with his assailant’s jaw, Wizen howled. His left hand clumsily picked the rifle and sent the butt through the air, this time, Bello was slower as his quick movement and the darkness put him at a level of disadvantage. The butt landed on Bello’s temple, yet he threw his leg, Wizen caught it this time with just one hand and tried pulling Bello across the floor.