I stood alone in the center of the camp, watching the women disappear into the jungle.
Martha had Rachel by the arm, practically dragging her through the brush. Lydia followed close behind. Chloe was the last to go. She stopped at the tree line and looked back at me. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes were hard.
"Don't die," she said.
I didn't answer. I just watched her vanish into the shadows.
The camp was completely silent now, except for the crackling of the dying fire and Goliath's heavy breathing. The massive bear was lying near the fire pit. His injured leg was stretched out, and his heavy head rested on his paws.
"Come on," I said, walking over to him. "You're with me."
Goliath let out a low breath and slowly got to his feet. He favored his healing leg, but he was moving well enough. I led him to a thick patch of brush about twenty yards from the camp's main entrance. It was hidden, downwind, and had a clear view of anyone walking in. A perfect spot for an ambush.
"Stay," I said, pressing my hand against his broad head. "Don't move until I come back for you."
The bear stared at me with dark, intelligent eyes. Then he settled into the brush and went perfectly still. Within seconds, he blended into the shadows, looking like just another dark mound of dirt and leaves.
Good.
I turned back to the camp and got to work.
***
I worked through the night, running on pure adrenaline.
First, I dug spike pits. I made three of them at the narrowest points around the camp perimeter. Each pit was about three feet deep and lined with sharpened bamboo stakes pointing upward. If someone fell in, they weren't getting out easily. I covered the holes with thin branches and dead leaves, blending them into the dirt until they were completely hidden.
Next were the tripwires. I tied some of them to empty tin cans filled with pebbles. They were simple but effective alarms that would rattle the second someone kicked the wire. I connected other tripwires to deadfalls—heavy logs I had pulled up into the trees and tied off with thick vines. One wrong step, and two hundred pounds of wood would swing down like a wrecking ball.
Finally, I made false trails. I broke branches and scuffed the dirt in three different directions, all leading far away from where the women were hiding. If anyone tried to track them, they would waste hours following paths that led to nowhere.
By the time the sun started to rise, the camp was a death trap.
I climbed a thick tree on the eastern edge of the clearing. It was high enough to give me a clear view of the entrance, with solid branches to sit on. I leaned my back against the bark, rested the Glock on my knee, and checked my ammo.
Seven rounds left. At least five men coming.
I had to make every bullet count.
And then, I waited.
***
They showed up just after sunrise.
I heard them before I saw them. Heavy boots crunching on dead leaves, low voices cutting through the morning air, and the metallic clicks of guns being readied.
Four men.
Not five.
The bearded leader wasn't with them. Either he stayed back at their base to guard the prisoners, or he was watching from a safe distance, waiting to see if his men survived before risking his own neck. It was a smart move, which made him more dangerous than the rest of them combined.
The four men walked in a loose group. A wiry guy with a shaved head took the lead, scanning the trees with his pistol raised. He moved like he had military training, checking his corners and watching the ground. Behind him was a heavyset man carrying a pump-action shotgun, aiming it at the dark cabin windows. The last two were new faces: a tall, lanky guy holding a hunting rifle, and a shorter, stocky man with a machete on his belt and a revolver in his hand.
They stopped at the edge of the camp.
The wiry man raised a fist, and the others froze.
"This place is too quiet," he muttered, looking around the empty clearing. The fire was just pale ashes now. "You sure the women are inside?"
"The kid said four women and one man," the heavyset guy said. "They're probably sleeping. Probably don't even know we're here yet."
The stocky man with the machete grinned. "I wonder if they'd wake up if I started fucking them."
The others laughed. A low, easy sound, like guys sharing a joke at a bar.
My finger tightened on the trigger.
*Not yet. Let them walk all the way in.*
They took another step forward.
Suddenly, the tall guy with the rifle stopped. He frowned, knelt down, and touched the dirt near one of my traps.
"Hey," he said slowly. "Someone's been digging here. This dirt is fresh—"
I didn't let him finish.
**BANG.**
My bullet hit the wiry man in the side of the head. He dropped instantly, his pistol hitting a rock as he fell.
The other three spun toward the sound of my gunshot, their eyes wide with panic as they raised their weapons.
But I was already moving.
I dropped from the branch, hit the ground rolling, and sprinted into the thick jungle before they could fire back.
**CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.**
Gunfire erupted behind me. Bullets tore through the leaves and chipped the tree bark right next to my head. I ran in a zigzag pattern, using the thick tree trunks as cover, my legs pushing hard against the uneven ground.
"AFTER HIM!" someone yelled. "DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"
I didn't look back. I just ran. I wasn't running away—I was leading them deeper into the traps.
I could hear their heavy boots pounding the dirt behind me as they crashed blindly through the bushes.
Then—
**SNAP.**
A man screamed, but the sound was cut short by a heavy thud.
I glanced over my shoulder. The tall guy with the rifle had tripped the wire. My log trap had swung down from the trees and hit him square in the chest. He was pinned to the ground beneath the heavy wood, blood pouring from his mouth. He wasn't getting up.
Two left.
I kept running. The jungle grew thicker here. I jumped over a fallen tree, dove into a patch of tall ferns, and pressed my body flat against the damp earth.
I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow down. I stayed perfectly still.
The two remaining hunters crashed into the bushes moments later. They were breathing hard, and they weren't trying to be quiet anymore. They were angry and scared.
The heavyset man with the shotgun stopped about ten feet from where I was hiding. He wiped sweat from his face and looked wildly in every direction.
"Where'd he go?" he panted.
"He can't be far," the machete guy said from somewhere to my left. "Spread out. Find him."
They separated.
I raised my Glock, tracking the heavyset man through a gap in the ferns. He was walking slowly now, his shotgun ready.
I aimed right at the center of his chest.
**BANG.**
I missed. The bullet hit a tree trunk right next to him, sending splinters flying into the air.
*Shit.*
Both men spun toward me.
I rolled sideways, putting a thick tree between us right as the shotgun went off.
**BOOM.**
The blast was deafening. Buckshot shredded the bushes where I had just been lying, tearing through the leaves and sending sharp pieces of wood flying into my arms.
It was way too close.
Before he could pump the shotgun again, I popped up on one knee, gripped the Glock with both hands, and aimed.
**BANG.**
I didn't miss this time. The bullet hit the heavyset man dead center. He jerked backward, a dark bloodstain spreading quickly across his shirt. He dropped the shotgun, took one clumsy step forward, and fell face-first into the mud.
The last hunter panicked. He started firing his revolver blindly into the jungle. Three shots rang out, but none of them came close to me. They just hit the dirt and the trees.
Then, silence.
I stayed low. I could hear him breathing heavily, making scared, wet sounds in the back of his throat.
"Wait!" he shouted into the trees. "Wait—hold on!"
I didn't answer. I just crawled slowly through the bushes, moving in a circle to get behind him.
"Wait, please! Let's talk about this!"
I kept moving.
"I can help you!" His voice cracked. "I know where your friends are! The kid and the other guy! They're alive!"
I stopped. I didn't believe him, but I needed to hear what he had to say.
"I'm serious!" he cried out, spinning in a circle with his gun shaking in his hand. "Our camp is three miles north of here, near the cliffs. There's a cave system. They're tied up in a tent. Still alive. But if you kill me, you'll never find them. The boss will kill them!"
I had heard enough.
I stepped out from behind a tree, aiming my gun right at his face.
He spun toward me and raised his revolver, but froze when he saw my weapon already pointed at his head.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
"Drop it," I said calmly.
He hesitated, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to decide if he could shoot me first.
"Drop it," I repeated, "or I put a bullet between your eyes right now. Your choice."
The revolver hit the dirt.
"Kick it away."
He kicked it aside and slowly raised his hands.
"Where's your camp?" I asked.
"Three miles north," he answered quickly. "Near the cliffs. I can take you there—"
"How many?"
"What?"
"How many more of you are there?"
He swallowed hard. I could tell he was trying to figure out if he should lie or tell the truth.
"Two," he finally said. "Just two more. The boss and one other guy. They stayed behind to guard the prisoners."
"The boss," I said. "The bearded one?"
"Yes." He nodded quickly. "He sent us. He stayed behind with Marks."
"And he sent four men to take our camp."
"Yes."
"Stupid," I said.
He looked hopeful for a second. "Look, I didn't want to be here, okay? I was just following orders. Let me go and I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I swear—"
**BANG.**
I shot him in the throat. He grabbed his neck as blood poured through his fingers. He made a wet, gurgling sound and dropped to his knees.
**BANG.**
The second shot hit him in the head. He fell onto his side and didn't move again.
I stood over him for a minute, making sure he was dead. Then, I started searching the bodies.
***
These men weren't ordinary poachers or castaways. They were organized, funded, and very dangerous.
I went through their pockets and took everything useful. The weapons alone changed my entire situation. I grabbed two hunting rifles, a pump-action shotgun, and two handguns.
I also found plenty of ammo: rifle bullets, shotgun shells, and exactly what I needed—two full boxes of 9mm rounds that fit my Glock perfectly. I wouldn't have to count my bullets anymore.
But the best find was clipped to the heavyset man's belt.
Three military-grade grenades. I turned one over in my hand, checking the pin. This was serious equipment.
I clipped one grenade to my own belt. I used the other two to set a trap. I dragged the dead bodies into a pile and hid the grenades underneath them, tying the pins to a tripwire. If their boss came looking for his men, he was going to get a nasty surprise.
Along with the guns, I took their knives, rope, a compass, matches, a canteen of clean water, and some food.
I sat down against a tree, my hands finally steady, and opened a can of beans. I ate them cold, along with some dried meat. I also found a chocolate bar in a foil wrapper. After weeks of eating nothing but fish and fruit, the sugar tasted incredible.
I ate slowly while I reloaded my gun and checked the stolen rifles. I wasn't running on adrenaline anymore. I felt calm, cold, and focused.
Four men were dead. Two were left. Maybe more, if the man had lied.
But I had real weapons now. And I knew exactly where to go. Three miles north. Near the cliffs. A cave.
I wiped my mouth and stood up. I strapped the hunting rifle onto my back, tucked a spare pistol into my waistband, and slung the shotgun across my chest. It was heavy, but I could manage it.
I looked north through the trees. I could go back to the women, rest, and plan an attack for tomorrow.
Or I could end this right now, while I still had the element of surprise. Before their boss realized his men weren't coming back. Before he decided to just kill David and Isaac.
I made my choice.
I whistled two short notes into the air.
Goliath stepped out of the bushes. He was tense. The loud gunfire and the smell of blood had put him on edge, but he had stayed exactly where I told him to.
When he saw me, he relaxed a little. He let out a low breath and limped over to me. His leg was stiff, but he could put weight on it. He wasn't fast, but he was huge, and right now, that was all I needed.
I rubbed his head.
"Come on," I said. "We're not done yet."
I started walking north.
The bear followed.