The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff Read Online Free PDF Page B

the pandemonium. The ping of a bullet rebounding pierced the air. It must have ricocheted off the badji .  
    With courage filling his heart, Crispus headed for the door. He flung it open. Bodies of black men, women, and children lay on the road, crimson blood pooling around them. Torn and ripped clothes revealed deep lacerations, skin pulled back from bones, and exposed organs. Bodies of fathers lay atop their wife and daughters.
    Screams of the dying, and laughter from white-robed banshees filled the air, mingling with the rumble of gunshots. Vomit filled Crispus’s mouth, and he was on his knees, spewing his breakfast on the street. He looked around for any Klansmen, but found none. They must’ve moved on to another part of town. I was hiding when they were murdered!  
    The late afternoon sun set the seas of blood alight like fire. Crispus spotted the glint of a pistol on one of the torn bodies. Whether it’d been a man or woman, he couldn’t guess. Hearing another gunshot, Crispus dashed for the pistol. He pulled it from the twisted, broken hand. More bile burst from his mouth when he realized it’d been a man—a white man. “Mr. Wardell!” Crispus fell on the body. “Why?” He shuffled through Wardell’s pockets. Bullets, he needed all the bullets he could find. Pushing Wardell over, Crispus found why Wardell died—Elle Mae laid cut apart underneath him. He defended us and they killed him!  
    â€œFather God, forgive me.” Crispus prayed, pulling out a box of slugs from Wardell’s pants. He pocketed it. Then checked to make certain the pistol was loaded. It was. He let out a pained groan, terrified it’d go off in his hands.
    Crispus rose to his feet, blood dripping from his hands. Plumes of smoke surged through the street and enveloped him. Bits of smoldering debris burned in his nostrils and throat. Where could he go? What could he do? Could he even aim a pistol?  He found himself surrounded by a field of butchered masses of flesh that were once people. His people.
    â€œHow did he survive this?” A shamed whimper escaped Crispus as he wiped the smoke from his eyes. “Jeb, where are you?”  

 
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    Chapter Six
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    Goblins, draped in ceremonial white robes, filled Soft Sound Street. Some carried nooses, some torches, while others held rifles. It’d been a wild hunt all day. Scores of Goblins ransacked houses—Crispus watched them pile into a house, storming over everything in their way. Soon the horde pulled a man, his wife, and their young daughter into the street. Nearby, a gang of them huddled together, making a game of stabbing a carcass with pitchforks. Their laughter wasn’t human—not even bestial. More like the cackles of demented hyenas.
    Crispus fought to keep his stomach down as he watched the horrid sight from around the corner of an alleyway. He couldn’t find another way around Soft Sound Street—behind him was the mass grave of his people, and in the front stood an army of desolation. He’d been squatted in the alley for what felt like days, watching murderers shove, toss, and beat the husband to the ground.
    Rage engulfed Crispus. Spraying a fire of vengeance on them was a trigger away. He’d put down the whole pack of jackals. No, you can’t do that. Don’t be brash. What would Jeb do? He’d wait. Watch. Protect the map . If it fell into the Klan’s hands, he might as well return freedmen to slavery. The Klan will do it if you lose the map, Crispus. So, he waited and watched.  
    The debauchery ebbed on in a hellish nightmare, but the pungent stench of burnt flesh was worse. Crispus buried his face with his arm, trying to hide from the sea of smoke. But in reality, he’d go insane if he watched anymore. What do I do? I can’t sit here and let these monsters do this! Do something! He couldn’t think. All his preaching and protests meant