Pistol held in front of her chest, finger resting lightly against the trigger, she waited, breathing ceased, body tense. Her ears strained to catch the sound of heavy footsteps, waiting -- hoping -- for them to begin retreating into the forest, away from her. The snuffling of the hounds grew louder, and the harsh voices of the men drew closer. Drawing closer against the tree, bark digging into her back, she began to move the gun up from her chest. Closing her eyes briefly, she pressed the barrel against her head.
Case, Katrika assured herself. Case they find me.
Suddenly, the heavy footfalls stopped. A loud voice shouted out a word over the sniffing and growls of the fogs. Katrika couldn’t ear it, but the reaction filled her chest with hope.
Just as quickly as they had come, the hunters left. Lowering the gun, Katrika exhaled slowly. She silently began to maneuver through the dense forest, the sunlight filtering in through the tree tops guiding her. Traveling in the light of day was risky, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Her next station was very close, and she hadn’t had any food for three days now. The bread and cheese and rice from the previous safe house hadn’t lasted very long.
Raising her arm to brush aside a low-hanging branch, Katrika gasped as a white hand wrapped around her wrist. From behind, a hand quickly covered her mouth, just as she was preparing to yell. The white hand released her arm, but the figure behind her grabbed it, holding it behind her back. She was caught, and now she wished she could use the pistol on herself. Katrika couldn’t go through it all again.
“Now,” the man holding her lowered his head to her ear as he spoke. His soft, soothing voice calmed her. Only a little. “You gonna yell?” he asked, his grip loosening slightly.
She shook her head against his hand.
“Good. I'll let you go." he told her quietly. His breath was warm as it caressed her cheek, and it smelled of maple.
Katrika waited as he released her arm, but wrapped an arm around her waist. He then removed his hand from her mouth, holding it briefly in front of her. He wanted her to see the deep chocolate skin, to stare at the pale scars running along his palm. He wanted her to see who he was. See that he was like her.
“You a slave,” she whispered, twisting around in his grasp to face him. He released her, and she turned around to see a man she’d hoped for. A man who had went through the same torture as she had. Someone who could understand.
He was tall, about a head taller than she, with dark chocolate skin and beautiful brown eyes. His black hair was long and loose, falling around his head, just past his chin. He wore no shirt, almost seeming to take pride in the ugly scars marking his back and torso. Katrika couldn’t help but find this tortured man -- this kindred spirit -- beautiful.
Then she saw the white man.
Without thinking, Katrika opened her mouth, sucking in air, preparing to scream out a warning. But the black man covered her mouth again, his gentle eyes seeking hers, telling her to trust him. Her body was shaking in fear, and her heart was pounding, trying to get her body to flee, but she nodded.
“This Jonathon.” he told her, gesturing to the man, uncovering her mouth once more. “He not one of them.”
Jonathon seemed to take this as his cue and he pulled his white shirt off over his head. Underneath the shirt, blemishing the beautiful, perfect tanned skin, were the familiar scars. The similar wounds on both her and the other slave. Tears in the skin caused by countless beatings with a whip. He was a slave.
Katrika gasped, her hand instinctively reaching towards her mouth. Never before had she seen a white man beaten. A white man treated the same as the black. White were superior, they never beat their own kind. Blacks weren’t humans, but the whites were.
“Look at him. What you see?” came the other man’s soft voice from behind her.
“Slave,” she whispered.
“Look at his skin. Hair. Eyes. What you see?”
Katrika stared hard at the handsome young man before her. His skin was much darker than most of the pale white men, but much lighter than the brown of the Africans. His hair, just as long as most slave’s, was a beautiful black. In the direct sunlight, she could see very faint hints of brown weaving in and out of the black strands. Finally, her eyes found his. Then she saw it. The tortured gaze, filled with hope and determination. His whole life story seemed to be revealed in those dark brown eyes. In a way, she knew.
“Who are you?” she whispered, gazing in pity at this strange white man.
“I am son of a white man and black woman.” Jonathon answered quietly.
“And you a slave?” she asked, incredulous.
“My father thought me no better than mother. Or brother.” he answered. His tone told her he didn’t wish to speak of it any further.
“Me Jamal,” the black man interrupted, stepping in between her and Jonathon. He held out one of his scarred, bruised hands.
“Katrika.” she replied, grasping it and smiling up at him. She felt completely comfortable here in the company of two fellow slaves.
Jamal nodded once and looked over at Jonathon. He nodded and then both moved their gazes to Katrika. She could see their worried gazes. Wondering if the woman would slow them down.
“I be leavin’ now.” she said abruptly, not about to wait for the men to tell her she’d have to travel alone. Turning on her heel, she began to walk into the forest, her eyes scanning the vegetation for the safe house.
“Wait!” The voice was Jonathon’s.
Katrika stopped, but didn’t turn around. She’d listen, but not for long.
“Where you going?” This time Jamal asked the question.
“To next station. You welcome to follow.” she answered shortly, beginning to walk again.
She heard nothing for a few moments, then heard the men walk after her. Rolling her eyes, she picked up her speed, looking for the house.
~-~
Stopping suddenly, Katrika saw it. She ignored the scrambling of the men trying not to run into her. The house was right in front of her, and she couldn’t see it until she was right in front of it. The smooth wooden logs were surrounded by trees on every side, vines and other plants crawling along the sides.
The door opened and Katrika and the other men were immediately ushered inside. Hearing the comforting sound of the wooden door closing firmly behind them, Katrika let the white people lead her up into the cellar. She stopped in front of the trapdoor, looking at her rescuers. An elderly white couple, maybe in their seventies. She just smiled at them and nodded, they returned the gesture. She never spoke much with them, they knew how much slaves appreciated their homes and contributes in the underground railroad.
“Now go in here, later we’ll bring you up some food.” the woman whispered, pulling open a door that looked like a closet. In the top was a hidden trapdoor which she opened, lending them a ladder to climb up.
Katrika was surprised to find how much space there was. There was easily enough room for the three of them to lie down, for them to stand up and still have a little elbow room. And she finally looked at her companions. The angry look on her face was unmistakable.
“I sorry Katrika,” Jamal said softly, his big brown eyes resembling a little boy’s trying to avoid discipline. “What we do that hurt you?”
Katrika turned her face from his, looking at a wall. It was hard to be mad looking at a face like that.
“Knew you worry woman slow you down. You go to tell me I can't come with you?” she said quietly, folding her arms across her chest.
She felt a hand on her arm and looked at Jamal out of the corner of her eye. He still had that look on his face.
“We never think that. Honest. We worry you have issue keeping us. We try and decide if one of us carry you.” he told her earnestly.
She sighed. She couldn’t really stay angry. Turning to face him, and shrugging off his hand, she just nodded. “OK.”
They didn’t talk much after that. Until the food came. Opening the door to the specific knock used by passengers, they marveled over the tray of food the couple brought them. An assortment of rolls and pastries, three slices of thick bread, three small bowls of stew, and three glasses of milk.
Katrika was tempted to drool until Jamal passed her a bowl of the stew. It was warm, not the greatest taste, but she savored every spoonful. She ate her bread more slowly, washing the stale, dirty taste down with the fresh milk. Not wanting to be greedy, she only ate one of the wonderful pastries.
When they finished they put their tray in a corner where one other cleaned tray waited. All Katrika had on her mind was how good her full stomach felt and sleep. Without another word to her two companions, she curled into a corner, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep. She stiffened as she felt one of the men lay beside her, but drew closer to Jamal as he draped and arm over her side. The familiar shape of his body molded against hers like the last piece of a puzzle, and she fell asleep, barely hearing Jamal’s whispered words.
“ 'Night Katrika.”
~-~
Katrika woke to Jamal stirring beside her. She sat up slowly, blinking in the dark. Jonathon was at the trap door speaking to the couple that had saved them. He then nodded to her and Jamal and climbed down. They followed. After a brief thank you, they were given a small basket of food and ushered out of the house with the directions to the next one.
Katrika was in the lead again as hey headed farther north, once again traveling in the day. She could sense Jamal wasn’t comfortable in the light, but they had been told their freedom was so close. One more house and they’d have a short walk until they came to their first town of freedom. With that in mind, waiting was out of the question.
Jamal seemed to put aside his unease as he moved a little faster, matching Katrika’s fast-paced stride. For a couple of steps they walked in companionable silence. Then Jamal began to speak.
“Katrika, I --” he stopped walking and talking. Then glanced back at Jonathon, who nodded. Taking Katrika’s light brown hand in his darker one, he pulled her off their path deeper into the forest. He stopped after they were out of Jonathon’s earshot. He looked at her and started again.
“Katrika… I…” he stopped and cocked his head at her. His doubtful gaze cleared and he seemed more confident. She almost smiled, but couldn’t. “I...love...you.” he finally said, his voice filled with confidence as he spoke.
Katrika just stared. She opened her mouth, hoping the words Jamal wanted to hear would just pour out. They didn’t. She looked into his dark, hopeful eyes and felt something in her heart break. As much as she wished she could return his words, she couldn’t. Deep in her heart she knew she didn’t love him. Not like that anyway.
“Jamal -- I sorry. I don’t feel same…” Katrika whispered, not meeting his gaze. She gaze him a sideways glance, and regretted it instantly. He looked as though she had punched him in the face. She just turned around and walked back to where Jonathon was waiting, hearing him follow her.
Jonathon took one look at the two of them and didn’t ask any questions. None of them spoke as they as they headed farther north. Until they heard the first growl. Whirling around, Katrika saw a canine snarling at them, teeth bared, fur on end. He wasn’t just any dog, he belonged to the white men. Who came crashing through the trees after him, more dogs loping towards them.
“Run!” was the one word spoken between the slaves. Katrika wasn’t sure who said it, but as soon as she heard it, her legs kicked into action and the three began sprinting into the forest. Katrika skidded to a halt as she heard a sound behind her. She looked behind her and saw that Jamal and Jonathon had tripped. The dogs were on them immediately, and the white men were right behind them. Katrika heard growling from behind her and knew she was trapped. She knew her only escape.
Pulling the pistol out of her pants, she gazed at Jamal and Jonathon for the last time. Closing her eyes briefly, she pressed the barrel of the gun against her head.
Just in case… she thought to herself.
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