Chapter 2

As the night deepened, the air grew thick with anticipation. The group gathered around a makeshift map drawn in the dirt, their shadows dancing eerily in the moonlight. Jasen and Rion had returned with news of the layout, whispering about where the keys were likely hidden and the path they would take to avoid detection. Gaines listened, his mind racing, piecing together the puzzle of their escape.

Under the silvery glow of the harvest moon, they approached the grand farmhouse. Each step was measured, each breath held, as they slipped through the shadows like phantoms of vengeance. The house stood tall and proud, a symbol of the tyranny they were about to challenge.

Dyonte Carson, a man with the grace of a panther, took the lead, his eyes and ears attuned to any sign of danger. The windows were dark, but the occasional flicker of candlelight hinted at life within. Gaines’ heart thudded in his chest as they reached the back door, the metal cold and unforgiving under his trembling hand. Jasen produced a slim blade and worked it into the lock with the precision of a master thief. The mechanism clicked open, and they slipped inside, the floorboards groaning a soft protest beneath their feet.

The house was a labyrinth of corridors and closed doors, each step echoing like a gunshot in the stillness. They moved quickly, the blueprint of their plan etched in their minds. The first room they found was a treasure trove of supplies and weapons. Gaines’ eyes fell upon a set of keys hanging from a hook on the wall, and he grabbed them, feeling their weight as a burden lifted. They had the means to unlock their shackles and set themselves free.

But the house had other secrets.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of a pistol shot rang out, shattering the quiet like a bolt of lightning. Gaines froze, his heart dropping to his stomach. The sound had come from deeper within the house, and he knew without a doubt that it was Arris Byrd, Yajeel Wright, and Rion Tucker’s signal of trouble. They had underestimated their enemy, and now the house was alive with the panic of the disturbed.

Wallace ‘Lawful’ Becker, roused from his slumber by the disturbance, had grabbed his trusty shotgun and was now on the hunt. His bloodshot eyes darted through the darkness as he moved with surprising speed for a man of his girth. He had caught their scent, the scent of rebellion, and he wasn’t about to let it go without a fight.

The trio had stumbled into Becker’s chamber, and in the chaos of their escape attempt, had been cut down. The harsh reality of their situation crashed down upon Gaines and the others like a collapsing mine shaft. The dream of freedom had just turned into a nightmare of survival.

With the cold steel of the keys in his hand, Gaines knew they had to act fast. They couldn’t mourn their fallen comrades now; they had to honor their sacrifice by seeing this through. He whispered urgently to Jasen and Erickah, their eyes wide with terror and determination.

Jasen nodded, his expression grim. He and Dyonte had managed to grab a knife and a fork from the kitchen, makeshift weapons that gleamed menacingly in the moonlit corridor. They split up, Jasen and Dyonte heading towards the sound of the gunfire, while Gaines and Erickah took the stairs to the upper floor, where they hoped to find more supplies and perhaps a way to distract the enraged landowner.

As they turned a corner, Jasen spotted Sir Wallace charging towards them, the shotgun smoking from the barrel. In a flash, Dyonte lunged at the larger man, his knife glinting. But Becker was quicker, and with a roar of fury, he swung the gun around and fired. The blast echoed through the hallway, and Jasen watched in horror as the buckshot tore through his friend’s chest. Dyonte’s eyes widened in shock, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Jasen’s rage boiled over, and he charged at Becker, the only weapon in his hand a simple dinner fork. He knew it was a desperate move, but in that moment, he felt the weight of his comrades’ hopes and the fire of their shared rebellion. With a war cry that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, Jasen plunged the fork into the soft flesh beneath Becker’s chin, driving it up into his brain. The landowner’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a ragdoll, the shotgun clattering to the floor beside him.

The sound of the gunshot and Jasen’s roar brought the household to life. Doors flew open, and from one of them emerged Mrs. Elizabeth ‘Big Boob’ Blankenship, Wallace’s voluptuous wife. She had been roused from her slumber by the chaos, her floral nightgown clinging to her ample figure like a second skin. Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of Jasen standing over her husband’s body, the makeshift weapon still lodged in his throat. She let out a scream that could have woken the dead, her voice a shrill shriek that pierced the night.

Her shrieks grew louder as she stumbled towards the grisly scene, her trembling hands flying to her face as if to shield herself from the unthinkable. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fell to her knees beside Wallace, her ample breasts heaving with the force of her sobs. “No, no, no,” she wailed, her voice a symphony of despair. She pulled the lifeless body into her embrace, the cold metal of the fork clinking against the floorboards as she cradled his head. Her sobs grew in intensity, shaking the very core of the house, a poignant counterpoint to the silence that had once reigned supreme.

Gaines and Erickah exchanged a furtive glance, the gravity of their situation sinking in. The sound of Mrs. Blankenship’s cries would soon bring the rest of the household down upon them, and they knew they had to move fast. Erickah’s hand found Gaines’ arm, her grip firm and unyielding. “We can’t let this be for nothing,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “We have to get out of here, now.”

They raced back downstairs, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets that lined the stairs. The house was now a cacophony of shouts and banging doors as the remaining slaves and farmhands awoke to the chaos. Gaines’ mind raced as he tried to formulate a new plan. They had the keys, but now they had a grieving widow to contend with, one whose grief was likely to turn to rage at the sight of them.

Erickah pulled him into a side room, her eyes wild with fear. “We can’t just leave her,” she whispered, her voice a desperate hiss. “She’ll raise the alarm, and then we’re all as good as dead.”

Gaines looked back at the sobbing widow, his heart torn between pity and the cold reality of their situation. He knew Erickah was right; they couldn’t risk her identifying them as the ones who had killed her husband. But the thought of taking an innocent life, even if it was the wife of their oppressor, was a heavy burden to bear.

Jasen, his eyes dark with rage and loss, stepped into the room, his chest heaving. “We gotta go,” he panted, “now.”

But Erickah’s grip on Gaines’ arm tightened. “Jasen,” she whispered urgently, “what about Mrs. Elizabeth?”

Jasen’s eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, the rage in them dimmed. “We can’t leave her,” he murmured, his voice strained. “If she lives, she’ll hunt us down. She’ll tell everyone who did this.”

Erickah’s gaze searched his, her own fear and anger warring within her. But she knew Jasen was right. They couldn’t risk their freedom on the whims of a grieving widow. She nodded, her decision made. “Then it’s done,” she said, her voice firm. “We’ll deal with her.”

They approached Mrs. Blankenship with heavy steps, their hearts weighing them down like the chains they’d soon cast off. Erickah’s hand trembled as she reached out to touch the widow’s shoulder, her eyes filled with a plea for understanding that would never come. Mrs. Blankenship looked up, her tear-stained face a picture of raw despair, her eyes swollen and red. She saw them, and in that instant, her grief transformed into a rage so fierce it seemed to consume her.

“You,” she spat, her voice thick with hatred. “You did this!”