Creative Writing

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A Short Story written by Lukhanyo Sikwebu

A Close Call

A sweaty Naomi panted as she hid behind a dog kennel, crouching down low. It was a flimsy wooden doghouse which could collapse at any second. Fortunately for her, there wasn’t a dog inside – not in this one at least.

Following behind her like a shadow, was a frightened teenager, Melisha Khan. Naomi gripped her hand tightly, trying to figure out what their next move would be … where they’d run to next ... which gate they’d escape though ...

Naomi took a chance and peered over the fence, to see.

She could still hear gunshots roaring. She tried to make sense of it all.

Local gangsters had managed to capsize their armoured vehicle with a bomb, and kill two of her colleagues. They’d use an RPG rocket launcher, Naomi assumed. They’d outwitted and ambushed her security team, for the golden prize – Melisha.

They wouldn’t find her, Naomi swore, searching for an escape route. She’d been briefed on this eventuality, prior to taking the job as Peter Khan’s head of security. As the South African Reserve Bank’s Deputy Governor, he had a giant target on his back. Thugs would try to kidnap his loved ones, for a ransom payout. No surprises there.

They sat hiding in some random person’s yard, calculating.

Melisha suffered a scratch on her ankle from barbwire fencing one of the houses they’d hopped in and out of. Nothing severe.

Naomi heard the bastards cursing in Afrikaans, searching all over for them, knocking on neighbours’ doors, harassing everyone.

Through all the sprinting, fracas and bullets whistling past, Naomi hadn’t a clue where she’d dropped her cell phone at. She also didn’t recognise these goons chasing them. The only tools she had now were the 9mm Berretta in her other hand and her wit.

She wasn’t familiar with the suburb they were in - Norwood, Johannesburg North.

‘You okay, Melisha?’ Naomi asked the frightened teen. ‘We’ll get to a police station just now. It’s about two kilometres away, okay? You’re doing great, baby, just hang on,’ said Naomi, lying to the fragile youngster. She didn’t know where the police station was. ‘Are you okay, Isha?’

The girl shook her head violently She certainly wasn’t okay. Tears streamed down her plump fifteen-year-old face, as she clutched tightly to Naomi’s hand. She was a cute Indian girl. She wore glasses and braces in her teeth. She trembled, gripping on to Naomi like a lion cub to its mom near a clan of hyenas. She’d never been hunted like this before, Naomi knew, trying to calm her down. ‘Everything’s gonna be fine, I promise you. You trust me right?’

Melisha nodded. She whimpered a soft, ‘Yes.’

Naomi and two other bodyguards had just picked her up from high school. They’d been intercepted at the residential area by a gang of hoodlums in three cars. They’d come prepared, armed to the teeth, determined to snatch Melisha away.

Naomi had had to jump out of their car with the teenager before a second explosive detonated. She’d fired clumsily through the smoke, to escape. She’d scanned her surroundings and found a footpath leading somewhere … anywhere …

Now they were in between homes in Norwood, without a bloody cell phone.

Naomi calculated.

She couldn’t keep lifting her head to search for the criminals’ whereabouts. She needed a new strategy. It was all happening so fast. She hadn’t even noticed that she was bleeding from the side of her abdomen.

‘We won’t jump over this fence,’ Naomi explained, also thinking out loud. ‘I’m gonna shoot through the wooden gate there, and then I’ll push it open. You follow behind me, okay? Stay low, Isha?’

Melisha nodded, overwhelmed by the ducking, diving, sprinting, hiding.

The gate was approximately twelve meters away. Naomi fired four shots on the iron lock, breaking it open. She yanked Melisha up and ran towards it, next door, where they were welcomed by a Rottweiler in chains. It was a big black hairy thing, laying on its stomach, just staring up at them.

‘Stay down boy, we’re not here for you. Relax buddy,’ Naomi told the dog, still gripping Melisha’s sweaty palm.

It growled back, gawking up at the intruders.

A man carrying garden tools, in an overall, ran in to see what the commotion was about. The dog stood up and barked now.

Naomi pointed her gun at the man, and then quickly dropped it. ‘Sorry brother. We’re being chased by gangsters. I need your cell phone, now. I need to make a call, hurry,’ Naomi demanded, raising her voice, weary of the dog bringing attention to them, with its bloody barking.

She ducked down low and asked Melisha to do the same.

She could still hear the thugs shouting and plotting at a distance.

‘Please don’t shoot me Sisi,’ the man begged, dropping his garden tools. ‘I don’t have a cell phone, Madam. I have a family. I’m sorry, yho! Please don’t shoot …’

Before he could finish his yellow incoherent ramble, Naomi heard a gunshot from a few houses away. Too close for comfort. One of the gangsters stood on a roof, five houses away, shooting straight at them. He shot missed Melisha by centimetres. Bullets hit a washing line pole and a trampoline beside them.

Naomi pulled Melisha and ran inside the house. It was dark, with slippery wooden floors, plants and vases everywhere. It smelled of cinnamon. An old white woman sat at her TV lounge, sipping tea, watching a soap opera.

‘Call the police! Call the police!’ Naomi yelled at the woman, showing her the gun. ‘Switch your alarm on, Madam. You’re about to get robbed. Do it now or they’ll kill you!’ Naomi ordered, running through the house and out the front door. She didn’t even take time to monitor the old woman shocked reaction. She ran with Melisha across the street and hopped over the next neighbours’ yard.

She ducked down low, dreading the sight of another god-damned dog. She noted that there were CCTV cameras and an ADT alarm system in this one; probably not activated as it was midday.

Naomi looked out. She peeked over the yard for their pursuers. Nothing. She knew that the goon on the rooftop would soon reappear. He was near. She could hear gunshots, but she couldn’t see any of them.

‘Are we gonna die?’ Melisha asked, hugging Naomi from behind, crying. ‘I don’t wanna die, Naomi.’

‘We’re not gonna die, baby. I’ll figure out. Promise.’

Naomi turned her focus back on the house they’d just trespassed in, scrutinizing it. There was a kiddies’ jumping castle … a shed … another trampoline … a small pool ... two large rubbish bins near the washing line … Naomi’s inspection got interrupted by a nanny sliding the back sliding door open. She must’ve been in her mid-sixties, dressed in uniform, holding a feather duster.

Naomi didn’t aim her weapon this time around. She needed to engage her, woman to woman. She gave the help a sincere look and explained, in Xhosa. ‘Mama, you’re about to be robbed. Go inside the house and switch the alarm on. Let it ring. Lock yourself inside and hide.’

The woman froze, evidently trying to grasp what the hell was happening, looking at the frightened teenager behind Naomi.

‘You’re wasting time, Mama. Can’t you hear the gunshots? Two people have just been killed, a block away. Go switch the alarm on right now. Protect yourself. Press the panic button and call the police,’ Naomi reiterated, showing her the gun.

Ready to pee herself, the woman ran inside the house, locked the sliding door behind her, closed the curtains and ran upstairs.

Naomi looked around again. The house had a chimney. There was one next door too.

If they climbed up to the roof they’d be spotted.

She couldn’t fit inside one of the garbage bins with Melisha, and it would be the first place they’d probably search.

She observed the swimming pool pump box. It’s too small to hide in. Fuck!

She heard a gate opening slowly next door.

She heard footsteps.

The goons were whispering, tip toeing, plotting in Afrikaans.

‘C’mon,’ Naomi whispered, pulling Melisha to crawl and hide under the jumping castle, on the far end of the yard.

It was warm, dark and damp under there, as they manouvered awkwardly under the PVC and rubbery polyester.

‘Don’t say a word,’ Naomi advised Melisha, regarding her sniffling and crying. ‘Breathe through your mouth.’

Naomi heard the men plotting. They were close, opening and closing the dirt bins.

Melisha held on to Naomi from behind as if they were on a motorcycle. Her nails tore into Naomi’s stomach.

Can they see the bulge protruding from this bloody jumping castle? Should we maybe lie flat on out stomachs?  Naomi thought, sliding her pistol magazine in, quietly.

Just as she was about to tell Melisha to lie flat, the loud whailing of an alarm went on.

It was brash and vulgar.

Good girl, thought Naomi, regarding the scared nanny ... or was it from the old woman who’d been watching TV? She knew that armed response units took no longer than six minutes to arrive in these posh neighbourhoods – but would that suffice? The gangsters had come armed too, after all.

A second alarm screeched.

Yes, thought Naomi, growing hopeful. It’d cause chaos and commotion. The thugs would panic, surely.

A terrified Melisha clinged on to Naomi forcefully. Her hands rattled as she breathed heavily through her mouth.

To comfort her, Naomi pulled Melisha’s arm over her ribs, but aimed her weapon out with her left hand. If the goons lifted the jumping castle, she’d blast their ankles off.

She waited ...

They waited …

Nothing …