(An excerpt from the opening chapter of the “Koré Kunté” novel and the series, Sophy’s War: Parallel Worlds of the Moon)
(In Progress) ~ a novel by Lloyd Albert Williams
A young Kootenai Indian princess, the lone survivor of a covert U.S. black-ops mass murder on an American Indian reservation, strikes back with angry vengeance against the authoritarian neo-fascist federal government. (Volume 6 of the Sophy’s War: The Parallel Worlds series.)
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“Hello, I’m Koré-Kunté Caterain,” Kunté said, walking toward them, her baby brother’s dirty diaper and towels wadded in her hand. “I’ve seen all of you before at football or basketball games—except you.” She smiled at a tall thin dark-complected boy who wore a warm friendly grin all his own, and she wondered why she’d never seen him before, for she surely would have noticed and remembered—her attraction to him being instant, intimate, and strong. Their eyes met with a mutual affinity that disclosed their attraction to each other and Kunte felt an erotic rush of warmth somewhere between her thighs.
“I’m Klute Cato,” the young man said amiably, his dark eyes penetrating hers so strongly that Kunte could feel their intensity. “You haven’t seen me before ‘cause I’m new here; I’m from Kalispell—between Big Fork and Kalispell, actually. If I’d seen you before we’d already know each other, that’s for sure.
“We’re here because the government took my folks’ farm, and we found a little place over here about five miles east of town. These guys told me about you, and they’d heard about the tribal meeting today, so we came here ‘cause I wanted to meet you. Would the tribe get mad if we were to eavesdrop on your meeting? I’m awful curious about what the government’s doing to all of us, and I’ve read they’re taking the reservations and tribal lands away from the Indians. That sure doesn’t seem right, just as it didn’t seem right that they made us move off our place. My parents have owned it forever and their parents before them, and now it’s gone—just like that. I’d like to speak with your father too, afterwards, if I could—if he can spare just a few minutes for me. Maybe you could introduce him to me later. I saw your mother just now, and I see why you are so pretty.” Klute blushed self-consciously, embarrassed by the flattering words that he couldn’t help but add as he completed his request to her.
In that moment, listening to the intense young man, Kore-Kunte fell in love for the first time in her life, the boy having captivated her in every way, but the strongest emotion she felt from him was compassion—his burning desire to do something—to help, perhaps to try to stop the unrestrained aggression of the federal government. Suddenly flustered and self-conscious. Kunte was in some unknown kind of mind-dizzying love.
Blushing, too, in concert with Klute over his compliment, she looked around for a trash can to dispose of the dirty diaper and the towels. “I’ll introduce you to my dad,” Kunte said softly, “after the meeting. Okay, Klute?” She stuck out her hand, wanting to touch him; he took it and they shook hands politely. “Nice to meet all of you,” Kunte said, hurrying away. “I start high school this fall, so I’ll see all of you around, I guess.” She glanced back at them, a special smile for Klute, as they all stared after her.
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Kunte’s father, Chief Louis Caterain, conducted the meeting, the purpose of it to adopt a resolution to reject the U.S. government’s use of eminent domain and martial law to confiscate tribal and private lands, livestock, and other property from the people indiscriminately, and to ratify the resolution with the consent and support of the tribes. Kunte sat next to her mother, holding little Charlie on her lap, listening carefully to the proceedings, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder to her right to where Klute sat with his friends, his eyes making contact with hers every time, filling her with a deep desire to be sitting there beside him, to be his soulmate, perhaps his lover—for sure his lover, rather. She smiled at him each time and he smiled back, and her heart soared with each smile. She’d not felt this way before, and she was overcome with a kind of joy that filled her whole body with hope and peace – two emotions that had been missing from her and everyone around her for a while. She was sure the feeling was love and she didn’t want it to ever go away. In her mind she tried to will Klute to come sit by her – she could make room between herself and her mother. Looking back at him once more, she tried to send the message with her eyes, and though he grinned at her with curiosity or amused interest as if he wondered what she wanted, he stayed put where he was – sitting next to his pretty blonde friend – the one with the open button on her cutoffs., Kunte forced herself to turn her attention back to her father, listening.
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“The actions of this government cannot be tolerated nor allowed to stand, and as individuals, communities, counties, states, and tribal nations, we must go on record by word and deed that we as a people will not allow such an oligarchy to dictate to us, nor will we tolerate fascism and autocratic government.
“We will set the standard for the Indian nations with a model to all – for the American people, too – and we ask that you support the proposal we will offer to you this morning. There are three main declarations in the proclamation. Simply stated they are, first, that we reject the martial law and the authority of the federal government of the United States and will no longer observe or obey those laws; two, that we will oppose by our own law and action any trespass of the United States government for any reason detrimental or contrary to the generally accepted functions of health, safety, and welfare of this sovereign nation’s people, and, three, that the Salish Kootenai and Flathead Indian Reservation is now and forever a free and independent nation, self-governing, and accepts no jurisdiction of any kind by any other government – federal, state, county, or municipal. We declare ourselves to be an autonomous, free, and independent nation and people, and shall independently and selectively choose our partners and associates in commerce, government, and all other civic, social, and spiritual affairs.”
A huge resonant cheer rose instantly from the hall, and everyone jumped to their feet to applaud and chant their agreement and approval. The community center was packed to standing room only, and the noise was instantly deafening, terrifying little Charlie, and he tugged at Kunte’s breasts, screaming and crying. She held him close to her and kissed him, rocking him in her arms, trying to comfort him.
Above the din, Kunte heard a disconcerting noise behind her and felt a cool draft, then saw her father’s eyes grow wide with surprise, then fear, then shock as he stood at the podium staring toward the back of the room. Other members of the tribal council quickly stepped toward him as if to surround him or protect him, and, Kunte turned to look toward the back of the hall where she saw with her own degree of shock and fear a dozen or more armed men dressed in black unmarked uniforms burst into the room. Bearing automatic weapons, they opened fire within the packed community hall, shooting indiscriminately, spraying their fire everywhere, waving and strafing their weapons, randomly shooting – trying to kill – everyone in the building. Around her people fell like late autumn flies, blood and flesh flying everywhere, the cheers turning to screams and the screams to moans and cries and sobs, and then to silence. Kunte’s eyes were wild, searching, trying to find someone, anyone, to help or save.
Kunte felt the impact of bullets against her, against baby Charlie, and she saw with indescribable terror her mother’s head explode like a bomb, blood, flesh and bone flying through the air in slow motion, covering her and Charlie, and then there was nothing but a piercing pain above her left eye as she felt herself falling like she was dreaming, floating, drifting – perhaps moving on to another time and place in another world. And then there was only darkness.
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When, Kunte opened her eyes, she winced with terrible pain and nearly passed out again. The left side of her head was pounding with every beat of her heart like it was being beaten on with a pickaxe, and she wasn’t sure she could see out of her left eye or even if it was there. She struggled to raise her hand to her head and felt her hair soaked in thick, sticky, blood. Suddenly she realized she was still holding Charlie in her arms, his little body pressed hard against hers, as she lay prone on her back on the floor. She knew at once that he was dead, and she wanted to scream, but she was afraid to and the pain in her head was too great to allow it anyway. She struggled to move her head toward the body next to her – the body of her mother. In horror,, Kunte saw that her mother’s face was gone, and she vomited all over herself and Charlie’s body, tears pouring from her eyes.
For a long time she lay where she was, afraid to move, listening for movement or voices or any sounds at all, but there were none. But still she waited, wondering if she was dying or if she was already dead. If she wasn’t, she wanted to be. Was she lying here bleeding to death?” She hoped so. It was over now – her world and the world of all those around her – her father and mother and brother included – forever over for all of them. Even for Klute, she thought, the boy she’d known and loved for maybe twenty minutes.
Why was it so quiet she wondered, and what had happened to cause this god-awful mass murder?” She recalled the men in the black uniforms with the automatic weapons and the black facemasks they wore, the black beret-style hats, the black britches bloused in black boots, the glint of hubris and hatred in their eyes. Struggling, she sat up, her head spinning, the pain insufferable, and she vomited again, still clutching Charlie’s cold body against her breasts. Kunte closed her right eye with a great painful effort and saw that her vision blurred badly, but that she could see alright with the right one open. She realized her left eye was damaged but still there. Tasting her own blood thick in her mouth, she pushed her fingers up under her matted hair near her left temple and felt the wide, deep tear in her scalp, running her fingers along it, feeling the softness of the open flesh, grimacing with the mind-wrenching pain.
She struggled to her feet, holding on to Charlie, staggered and fell to her knees, then struggled up again. She peered around in the dim light, looking for movement, listening for breathing, from any one of the hundreds of bodies in the meeting hall. There was none. Stepping over people she went to the lectern where her father lay behind it on his back, dead like everyone else. Sitting down hard on her butt next to him she began to sob and then to cry, shaking uncontrollably, squeezing Charlie harder and harder against her chest. How long she cried she didn’t know, but eventually she leaned toward her dead father and kissed his forehead, then closed his eyelids with her fingertips, fury suddenly raging in her, consuming her. She forgot about the pain and felt the rage, the overwhelming need to avenge this brutal senseless massacre.
Standing again she carried Charlie back to the remains of their mother and got down on her knees in front of her. Unbuttoning her mother’s bloody blouse, she exposed her blood-covered breasts, then lay Charlie next to her, carefully putting his lips over a nipple, adjusting his small body against his dead mother’s so he would remain in place until someone or something moved them apart. Then, Kunte stood up again and made her way over the bodies and the debris to the rear of the large room, looking for Klute. He was there, barely recognizable, his neck nearly severed by the machine-gun fire, lying on his side over the body of the girl he’d been with.
In a mindless stupor, her eyes dry now, she stared at the closed double doors from where the covert insurgents had assaulted them, murdering everyone in the building except, miraculously, her. Surely they had checked her, and believed she was dead too, or else she wouldn’t be standing here still alive. Somehow she sensed who they were – or at least who and what they represented – and her hatred was born then – a hatred that would never falter, along with a fury that would never recede for as long as she remained alive. She would dedicate the rest of her life to avenge the loss of her family and all the others who suffered the same terrible loss, and she would avenge every death in this great room. If she could somehow just escape from this place.
For several minutes she stood over Klute’s body, debating whether to open the door and go out into the parking lot, but for now it was quiet out there, and though she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, she knew that soon people would come – law enforcement people, media people, curious people – and if she were to be discovered here she would be taken into some kind of custody, and she didn’t want that at all – could not stand for that at all. She felt for the car keys in the hip pocket of her skimpy cutoffs; they were there, and she pulled them out, clutching them in her hand, and went to the doors, pushing them open a few inches. The parking lot was full of the vehicles of the victims, and she saw two black military tanks blocking the entrances – and exits – to the lot and the community hall. Two black Humvees, or Hummers, sat at the curb on either side of the tanks. Kunte could see two men in black uniforms sitting in each Hummer, their heads laid back against the headrests like they were sleeping or resting.
Peering out between the doors,, Kunte checked the position of her mother’s silver Durango, parked near the edge of the lot about halfway to the exit where the tanks and Hummers were parked, separated from the concentration of vehicles because she’d anticipated having to change Charlie’s diaper, so she’d parked close to the row of grass and trees between the parking lot and the street. If someone were to see her run across the lot toward the SUV, she would have no chance to escape, but if she could get there undetected she could drive over the curb across the narrow strip of lawn between the trees and the street, then drive like hell trying to distance herself from her pursuers. She knew the Hummers couldn’t keep up with the Durango – few vehicles could. But where would she go.” She’d have to lose them quickly, for they would radio for help, and there were, no doubt, helicopters nearby, too.
Traffic, though, was flowing normally on the streets and the highway, and that gave, Kunte confidence. She knew she couldn’t go directly home, and that she couldn’t be separated or isolated from other traffic where running her down would be easy. She thought about just walking over to one of the Hummers and accosting them, trying to wrest one of their rifles from them and just blow their fucking heads off, but she knew that was foolish to even consider. She’d be dead before she got halfway there. Kunte closed the doors and made her way to the back of the hall and opened the rear door a few inches, looking out in the opposite direction.
Two more Hummers sat at the curb of the street behind the community hall where there was a delivery entrance from the street. Kunte realized they and the ones in front were blocking access to the community hall, and with all the cars sitting quietly in the parking lot it appeared that the meeting was still going on. No one would think otherwise, and she recalled how soft the sounds of machine guns had been, the screams much louder. Kunte had to get to the Durango and make a run for it, and she knew she had to do it soon, but how could she cross the parking lot without being seen? Her head was racked with pain and she was having difficulty focusing her eyes, feeling weak, nauseous and dizzy, like she might pass out at any moment. She closed the rear door and went back to the front, unsure of what to do.
Looking out again she saw several trucks – all black with canvas-covered beds approaching the tanks. There were eight of them, and as they pulled into the street the men in the Hummers got out and walked over to the lead truck, which had stopped next to the tanks that blocked the entrance to the parking lot. “Jesus, they’re coming to get the bodies,” Kunte said aloud through her grim tightly closed lips, realizing they were going to load up the trucks with all of the dead bodies from the community hall. Knowing she had very little time now, she bolted out the double doors and ran straight for the Durango, afraid to look toward the men in the black uniforms, her legs pumping furiously, her blood-wet black hair flying out behind her where it wasn’t matted to the side of her head, the keys clenched in her bloody fist.
A hundred feet from the Durango she pressed the door-lock release on the keyring and with relief she saw or heard the door locks lift. She took a wild glance toward the trucks, tanks, and Hummers, and saw the men on the ground turn their heads in her direction, saw one of them pull a pistol from his shoulder holster and lift the barrel toward her. She felt the breeze and heard the whiz of the bullet before she heard the report of the shot, and then a second round zipped past her, but, Kunte was at the Durango. She jerked open the door and leapt in, jammed the key in the ignition, floored the accelerator as soon as the engine fired, and slammed the tires into the curb, jumped it, ran over the strip of grass between the locust trees, over the street curb and peeled off toward the highway heading south to the east-west street – directly toward where the military vehicles were parked. She saw the men running to their Hummers as she careened east on the street behind them, catching pistol shots in the metal body of the Durango. The rear window shattered, and she felt a bullet hit the backrest of her seat with a dull thud.
At the highway she ran the stoplight and turned north toward Polson, having no idea where she was going, her only thought being to run away as fast and as far as possible. She tore north through Pablo, driving in the turn lanes at 120 miles an hour by the time she passed the Kootenai/Salish community college.
Kunte turned on her flashers, the fog lamps, and headlights, and north of town in the short stretch between Pablo and Polson, she pushed the hemi to its limit, the speedometer pegged out at one hundred and forty . Beginning to wonder how she was going to avoid getting caught or killed, she knew she had to get out of sight as soon as possible and find a way to avoid being located by ground or air searches. Her head was throbbing, torturing her with every beat of her heart, and she couldn’t focus her eyes properly, her vision doubled and blurred. She puked again, all over herself, and pissed herself, too, swearing like a big-rig driver. Tears of pain and anger ran down her cheeks, further blurring her vision.
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