It had been a few days since I'd freed Goliath from the trap, and we'd spent every one of them preparing.
We'd been building nonstop. Sharpening stakes. Reinforcing the cabin walls with logs. Digging shallow trenches around the perimeter. It wasn't a fortress yet, but it was better than nothing.
The bear—Goliath, as Chloe had started calling him—had stayed close to camp, limping on his healing leg but alert. He'd growl at the slightest sound from the jungle, pacing the perimeter like a sentry.
The women worked without complaint. Even Martha had stopped arguing, at least about the fortifications.
David, on the other hand, had been mostly absent.
He'd leave at dawn, claiming to gather firewood or check snares, and wouldn't return until dusk. When he was at camp, he avoided everyone—especially his mother and me. I didn't care. The less I saw of him, the better.
Until Isaac approached me that afternoon.
"Jack," he said, his voice nervous. "I need you to see something."
I was hammering a stake into the ground near the eastern perimeter. I didn't look up. "What?"
"David found fresh water. A waterfall. He says there's a lot of it—enough to fill every container we have."
I stopped hammering. "David found it?"
"Yeah. Yesterday morning, I think. He told me about it last night. Said we should check it out today."
I turned to look at him. "And where is David now?"
Isaac shifted uncomfortably. "He said he had to check on something first. But he told me how to get there. It's maybe an hour northeast."
I set down the hammer and stood. "He told you how to get there, but he's not coming with us?"
"He said he'd meet us there," Isaac said quickly. "He just... had something to do first."
I stared at him. Isaac's face was earnest, maybe a little too eager.
I went back to hammering. "You believe him?" I asked.
Isaac frowned. "Why wouldn't I? We need fresh water, Jack. The stream's getting low, and if there's a waterfall—"
"Where's David now?" I cut him off.
"I... I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning."
I looked toward the jungle, my jaw tight.
David had been acting strange. And now he'd supposedly found a major water source but couldn't be bothered to show us himself?
Something was wrong. But only one way to find out.
"Alright," I said finally. "Let's go."
Isaac looked relieved. "Should I grab some containers? We could—"
"No," I said, pulling the Glock from my waistband and checking the chamber. "Just this. If the waterfall's real, we'll mark the trail and come back with containers later. If it's not..." I let the sentence hang.
Isaac's face paled slightly. "You think it's a trap?"
I started walking toward the jungle. "I think we're about to find out."
---
We moved through the jungle in silence, Isaac leading the way based on David's directions.
The terrain grew rockier as we climbed, the vegetation thicker. The canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, casting everything in green-tinted shadow.
Isaac was focused on the path, checking landmarks—a lightning-struck tree, a boulder shaped like a tooth, a creek bed that had run dry.
I was focused on everything else.
The ground. The trees. The air.
Something felt wrong.
After about forty minutes, I noticed it.
Boot prints in the mud. Multiple sets. Recent.
I stopped.
Isaac stopped too, turning back. "What's wrong?"
I knelt down, examining the prints. They were too large to be David's — and David didn't have boots. None of us did.
"Someone's been through here," I said.
Isaac's face went pale. "Animals?"
"Animals don't wear boots," I said, standing. I scanned the surrounding jungle. The branches here were bent. Broken. The undergrowth had been trampled in places.
This area had been disturbed. Recently. By multiple people.
"How far to the waterfall?" I asked.
"Maybe another twenty minutes northeast," Isaac said, his voice shaking now. "David said we'd hear it before we saw it."
I pulled out the Glock and chambered a round.
"Lead the way," I said.
Isaac blinked. "What? Why?"
"Because I want eyes behind you, not in front of you," I said. "Move."
"Jack, I don't—"
"Move
Isaac moved forward slowly, his eyes darting nervously to the jungle around us.
I stayed three paces behind, the Glock raised, my finger resting on the trigger guard.
We walked for another five minutes.
Then I heard it.
Water. The faint sound of rushing water in the distance.
Isaac's face brightened. "See? I told you! It's real!"
But I wasn't listening to the water.
I was listening to the silence. No birds. No insects. Nothing. The jungle had gone completely quiet.
"Isaac," I said quietly. "Stop."
"But it's right—"
**CRACK.**
A gunshot.
Not close. Maybe sixty, seventy yards to our left. But unmistakable.
Isaac froze, his face white as snow.
"Get down," I hissed.
"What was—"
"GET DOWN!"
Isaac dropped to a crouch. I moved behind a thick tree trunk, pressing my back against it, the Glock raised.
Silence.
Then, faintly, voices. Men's voices. Coming from the direction of the gunshot.
I looked at Isaac. He was shaking, his eyes wide with terror.
"When I say run," I whispered, "you run back the way we came. You don't stop. You don't look back. You get to camp and you tell the women to hide. Understand?"
Isaac nodded frantically.
"Good. Now—"
"Jack," Isaac whispered, his voice breaking. "Where's David?"
Before I could answer, I heard it.
Footsteps. Multiple people. Moving fast. Coming toward us.
"Move," I hissed at Isaac. "Slow. Quiet. Stay low."
We started creeping backward, moving away from the sound.
We made it maybe twenty feet.
Then Isaac stepped forward.
**WHOOSH.**
The snare triggered instantly.
A loop of thick rope yanked Isaac's right leg out from under him. He screamed as his body flipped, the rope hoisting him into the air. Within seconds, he was dangling upside-down from a tree branch.
"JACK! HELP! HELP ME!"
I dove behind a fallen log, pressing myself flat against the ground.
Isaac was thrashing, screaming, the rope creaking as he swung.
The footsteps stopped. Then changed direction.
Coming toward us.
I controlled my breathing, finger on the trigger, watching through a gap in the log.
Three men emerged from the jungle.
The first was tall and broad-shouldered, maybe forty, with a thick beard going gray at the edges. He wore cargo pants and a stained tank top. A hunting rifle was slung across his back. A machete hung from his belt.
The second was younger, wiry, with a shaved head and a pistol tucked into his waistband. He moved like someone who'd done this before—scanning, alert, efficient.
The third was heavyset, balding, carrying a pump-action shotgun. His eyes were cold. Dead.
They stopped directly beneath Isaac.
The bearded one looked up, studying Isaac as he thrashed and screamed.
Then he smiled.
"Well, well," he said, his voice calm, almost amused. "Looks like we caught ourselves something."
The wiry one pulled out a knife. "You want me to cut him down?"
"Not yet," the bearded man said. "Let him hang for a minute."
Isaac was still screaming, begging. "Please! Please, I didn't do anything! We're just trying to survive! Please!"
The bearded man ignored him. He looked at the other two.
"Check the area," he said. "The kid said there were two men with them. This one"—he gestured at Isaac—"and a big guy. Dangerous, supposedly."
My blood went cold.
*The kid.*
The wiry one and the heavyset one spread out, moving through the jungle with practiced efficiency, checking behind trees, scanning the undergrowth.
I pressed myself flatter against the log, controlling my breathing, my heart hammering in my chest.
The heavyset one passed within ten feet of me. I could see the individual shells loaded into his shotgun.
He looked right at the log.
I didn't breathe.
After a moment, he turned away.
"Nothing," he called back to the bearded man.
"Same here," the wiry one said.
The bearded man grunted. "Probably ran. Coward."
He walked over to the tree and cut the rope with a single slash of his machete.
Isaac dropped like a stone, hitting the ground hard. He groaned, curling into a ball.
The bearded man knelt beside him, pressing the barrel of the rifle against Isaac's temple.
"How many of you are there?" he asked calmly.
Isaac was sobbing. "I don't—please don't—"
"How many?"
"Seven!" Isaac gasped. "Seven of us total! Please, we didn't do anything, we're just trying to—"
"Seven," the bearded man repeated, standing up. He looked at the others. "The kid said four women and three men. That checks out."
He turned back toward the jungle and raised his voice.
"Bring him out!"
From the trees, two more men emerged.
Between them, hands bound behind his back, face bruised and swollen, was David.
David's clothes were torn. His lip was split. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. He was limping.
He looked like he'd been beaten. Badly.
The bearded man grabbed David by the shoulder and shoved him forward. David stumbled, barely keeping his feet.
"This the other guy?" the bearded man asked, pointing at Isaac.
David looked down at Isaac, then away. He nodded.
"And the other one? Where is he?"
David's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "I... I don't know. He was supposed to come. I thought—"
The bearded man backhanded him. David's head snapped to the side. He didn't cry out. Just stood there, staring at the ground.
"Don't lie to me, boy."
"I'm not lying," David said, his voice flat. Dead. "I told you everything. Jack. He's the dangerous one. You should—" His voice broke. "You should kill him first."
The bearded man studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Alright. I believe you."
He looked at the others. "Grab this one"—he pointed at Isaac—"and bring the kid. We move on their camp tomorrow at dawn. If they're lying..." He shrugged. "We'll find out."
The wiry one grabbed Isaac by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Isaac screamed.
The heavyset one grabbed David's arm. David didn't resist. He just stared at the ground, his face blank.
He started walking, the others following.
Isaac was sobbing, stumbling, being half-dragged.
David walked on his own, silent, his shoulders slumped.
He'd told them everything. Maybe they'd tortured him. Maybe they'd just threatened him. It didn't matter.
He'd broken.
And now Isaac was paying the price.
Within minutes, they were gone.
---
I stayed hidden for another fifteen minutes, listening, making sure they weren't doubling back.
The jungle slowly came back to life around me. Birds calling. Insects buzzing.
Finally, I stood up.
I checked the snare trap Isaac had triggered. Professional work. Steel cable, spring-loaded mechanism, anchor bolted into the tree. This wasn't improvised. These men were hunters. Trappers.
And they had David and Isaac.
I looked toward the direction they'd gone. I could track them. Maybe. But they were armed, alert, and expecting trouble.
And even if I could take them by surprise, even if I could kill all five of them...
There might be more. The bearded man had said "back at camp." Which meant they had a base.
I was one man with a pistol and maybe seven good rounds left.
I couldn't win that fight.
Not yet.
I turned and started moving back toward camp.
The sun was setting. I had maybe an hour of daylight left.
---
I reached camp just as the last light was fading from the sky.
Chloe was the first to see me. She stood up from the fire, her eyes scanning behind me for the others.
"Where are Isaac and David?" she asked.
I didn't answer. I walked straight to the center of camp.
"Everyone. Now."
Martha emerged from the cabin, frowning. Lydia and Rachel followed.
When they were all gathered, I told them. No softening. No buildup.
"Isaac's been captured. David's been captured. There are at least five armed men out there — hunters, well-armed, experienced. They know about this camp. They know how many we are. They're coming for us at dawn."
Silence.
Rachel's legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees, her hand over her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her throat.
"No," she whispered. "No, not David — he wouldn't—"
"He did," I said. "David told them everything. Where we are. How many of us there are. He told them to kill me first."
Rachel made a sound like she'd been gutted.
Martha's face twisted. "This is your fault."
I looked at her. "You're right," I said quietly. "It is."
The words hit the group harder than a shout. Martha blinked, her fury stalling.
"And if you want to stand here assigning blame while five armed men march on this camp at dawn, be my guest," I continued. "But when they get here, they're not going to care whose fault it is. They'll take what they want — starting with the women."
Silence.
"So we move. Tonight. Now."
"We can't leave Goliath," Chloe said. It was the first time she'd spoken directly to me in days.
I looked at her. "He survived out here before we found him. He'll survive after. We come back for him when it's safe."
She held my gaze for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Martha," I said. "Take them to the rock outcropping east of here — the one with the overhang. It's defensible. Stay hidden. Stay quiet."
"And you?" Martha asked.
"I'll catch up. I need to prepare a few things first."
I looked at all of them. Rachel was still on her knees, sobbing. Lydia was trembling against the cabin wall. Chloe was standing straight, her jaw set — the attitude gone, replaced by something harder. Martha was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
But they were all listening.
Seven rounds against five armed men. Maybe more.
The math didn't work.
But I'd figure it out. I always did.
"Move," I said. "We don't have much time."