They grew up together, on the same street separated by a half-dozen homes, yet they lived a world apart. Braxton Freeman dreams of a good college education, blonde, blue-eyed girls and a safe, secure future. Moses Burks just wants to go somewhere else fast, to a place where he would no longer be judged by skin color. In the summer of 1963 in a small, East Alabama town, Brax Freeman and Moses Burks find themselves caught in a vicious crossfire – between George Wallace, the KKK, state troopers and memories of a grisly murder they witnessed as youths. Neither Brax, Moses nor the town of Takasaw will ever be the same.

A Storm Came Up

By Doug Segrest

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Doug Segrest
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-1397-2

Chapter One

Outside Takasaw, Alabama / September 1958

DEAD LEAVES CRACKLED as the three boys hurried along the haphazard trail, a hoped-for shortcut home, before the dying sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees disappeared for good.

"Shee-it," said the oldest boy, coming to a stop. He spit a thick loogie on a clump of bushes while straddling the seat of his bike. "This is his problem," he said, eyeing the smallest of the younger boys. "Why can't you get a bike that's worth a shit? It's not my fault we got lost in the woods."

"There's nothing wrong with Moses' bike," said the third boy calmly. "He can't help a tire gone flat. Besides, it was your idea to take the shortcut."

Actually, Braxton knew Moses' bike was a reprieve from a junk heap. Andy, the complainer, was the eldest of the three and a tag-along at that. The two 12-year-olds, Brax and Moses, had been biking down Main Street when they'd come across Andy. It was Andy's suggestion to ride out on the Shorter Highway, a decision that was about to get them all into hot water.

Brax and Moses had strict orders to be home for supper, which meant seven. Brax's Timex showed a couple of minutes until then and the sun was setting. Realizing it was late, they followed the shortcut Andy had recommended through the maze of woods. They were lost, Moses' tire had gone flat and they were facing serious trouble at home.

Without another word, Andy stepped off the bike and began pushing it ahead. The other two followed silently, trying to keep up with his longer strides.

Fifteen minutes later, darkness made it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. The pace slowed. Andy had been certain they'd eventually run back into Main Street, no more than a mile or so from downtown.

Yet the thick, piney Alabama woods seemed endless. Now the shadows were gone altogether.

Brax's legs burned and his back ached from pushing the bike over rough terrain. His anxiety increased as he checked his watch more frequently. He looked at Andy, who was sweating profusely. Moses showed no sign of wear, but his eyes darted nervously.

"Here. Over here. C'mon," said Andy. He left the trail, cutting through waist-high weeds. He pointed toward his left, where two faint lights cut through the maze. "Some car lights, see? Maybe a clearing. C'mon," Andy said, and the boys trailed.

A hundred yards down the lights pierced through the trees. Brax felt a sense of relief. They could be in Montgomery for all he cared, but as long as they were near a road – or a house with a phone – the ordeal would end. He liked the idea of a phone. If they were going to get into trouble, they might as well get a ride home.

"I knew ..."

Andy's words were cut short by a thump! And a groan.

"Uhhhhh," came the raspy voice, which gave way to a sickening sound. Someone was simultaneously gasping for air and spitting up.

"God damned, nigger!" yelled another voice.

The boys froze. Brax could only see Andy's silhouette a few feet ahead, but he saw the image as the older youth delicately lowered his bike to the ground, shush-ing with an index finger. He waved the two boys to do the same.

Brax lowered his bike nervously and turned to Moses, who hadn't moved at all. He pulled Moses' bike away, leaned it against a tree and grabbed Moses by the hand. With a finger to his lips, he beckoned him to follow silently.

The steps came slowly. The underbrush crackled as they moved, but the noise was easily drowned by the ruckus going on a short distance away.

Andy found the edge of the woods first. Brax and Moses joined him, kneeling to peer through the foliage. Head beams from a single car in the middle of a pasture illuminated three men. Two were standing. One was struggling to get to his knees. His head was brushing the ground as his hands tightly clutched his stomach.

"Ughh, ohhhhh," spit the hunched figure as a foot kicked him in the forehead. His body jerked on the ground spasmodically once, twice, and then went still. The moaning ceased.

"Think he's dead?"

"Hell no. Not yet. Just playin' possum."

"I thought we were gonna scare him. Rough him up. You're gonna kill him!"

"Shut up, dumb ass. Let me think."

In the beam of the headlights, one figure began walking in a fast semi-circle. The other peered down to get a closer glimpse at the wounded figure, blocking the light as he leered. When the accomplice arose, the beaten man's condition became more obvious.

He was black, like Moses, but darker. His hair was matted and darkened with what had to be blood. A cheek was swollen the size of a grapefruit half and shiny. A white T-shirt, soiled with dirt, had spots of maroon trailing toward the waist from the top.

"Keith? Keith?" asked the one who'd checked on the colored man. "What do we do now?"

"Shut up," said the other. He'd stopped his pacing. Slowly, he reached behind his back, pulling out an angular shape with his right hand. A long knife blade flashed in the beam of light.

"Keith!?!"

"Shut up!" The man with the knife bent over the bleeding colored man. He punched him savagely in the face with the butt of the knife, but the colored man didn't react. He lay motionless.

The attacker placed the knife to the man's throat. Still nothing.

Suddenly, the colored man's eyes opened wildly. He grasped for the knife, rolling over as he made the attempt. The man atop thrust a knee into the belly and pulled the knife away – slicing tendons in the palm of the colored man's hand. He then plunged the knife into the man's chest again and again.

And again.

Andy had Brax by the arm, making sure he didn't move and give the hiding place away. Brax's free hand clutched the hand of Moses even tighter.

"Keith!" screamed the other man, who stood a few feet away, not knowing what to do.

Keith pulled the knife out of the colored man's chest one last time and nonchalantly wiped the excess on the T-shirt of the dead man.

"Keith? Keith?! Jesus Christ, Keith!" The other man was shaking. "You killed him!"

Keith ignored him. He looked over the dead body, the way a hunter would kneel over a dead buck. He brought the knife down again, and began sawing at the dead man's head.

"Jesus, Keith. Jesus! What are you doing?"

Keith said nothing. He sawed another two strokes, and then pulled something away, lifting the bounty to the light for the other man to see clearly his bounty.

The dead man's ear.

"Let's get out of here," Keith said, running toward the car. "We got proof."

He stopped momentarily, scanned the surroundings. Damned if he didn't stare directly at the line of brush covering the boys. Brax sucked in his breath so hard he thought he'd die. He could feel Moses tugging at his leg, urging him to get away.

Satisfied no one was around to witness the crime; Keith hopped in the car, racing the engine ferociously. He backed up, spinning wheels in hard earth to face a distant dirt road. That was enough to prompt his accomplice to run toward the passenger's side and hop in.

Minutes later, even with the car long gone, the youngsters remained paralyzed by fear. Brax realized his own numbness fading when he noticed his jeans were sticky. The humidity had soaked his shirt through, but the dampness in his pants? Rubbing absent-mindedly, Brax got a whiff of evidence. He'd peed in his...