Chapter 13

As the sun reached its zenith, the poachers’ camp grew eerily quiet. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, only to be pierced by the distant sound of a door slamming shut. Karen’s grip on the stick tightened as she watched the poachers emerge from the tent, their weapons gleaming in the harsh light. They climbed into the jeep, their laughter a grating counterpoint to the jungle’s symphony of life. The engine roared to life, and they disappeared into the foliage, leaving a trail of dust and the promise of more death in their wake.

The camp was now guarded by four of the men, their eyes scanning the jungle with a bored indifference. Karen and Jason studied them from their hidden vantage point, their muscles taut with anticipation. The guards were armed, their AK-47s slung over their shoulders like an afterthought. They lounged against the truck, their cigarettes smoldering in the shade.

Jason leaned closer to Karen, his voice a barely audible whisper. “I think they’ve gone hunting,” he murmured, his eyes following the path of the receding dust cloud. “We need to move now, before they come back.”

With the grace of a gazelle, Karen led her son through the dense underbrush, her eyes never leaving the tent. Each step was calculated, her body moving in silent harmony with the rhythm of the jungle. They approached the camp, their hearts beating in time with the pulse of the land beneath them.

When they were close enough to touch the fabric of the tent, they stopped, their chests heaving with the effort of holding their breath. The guards were out of sight, but Karen knew better than to underestimate the senses of men trained to hear the faintest rustle of leaves.

Jason’s eyes were wide with anticipation as he cautiously peered into the tent. The fabric stretched taut, giving him a blurred view of the interior. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized the figures inside. “Mom,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “They’re in there. I see Ezelda and Nkanyezi.”

The sight of their friends bound and helpless fueled the fire of their determination. Karen’s eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched in a silent snarl. She knew they had to act swiftly and decisively. She whispered their names, her voice a soft caress that carried on the jungle breeze, “We’re here. Stay strong.”

Suddenly, the crunch of leaves underfoot reached their ears, the sound growing louder and closer. Panic surged through their veins, and they dove behind the nearest oil drum, their bodies pressed against the cool metal. The drum was large, almost as tall as Karen, offering them a semblance of cover. The scent of gasoline was strong, a potent reminder of the stakes of their mission.

Through a gap in the foliage, they watched as one of the guards stepped away from his post, his hand unbuckling his belt. He walked towards a nearby bush, the arrogance of his stride revealing his belief in the jungle’s indifference to his actions. This was their chance.

With the swiftness of a serpent, Karen darted from their hiding spot, her bare feet silent on the soft earth. Her heart pounded in her chest, the stick held high as a weapon. She approached the unsuspecting poacher from behind, his back turned to her as he relieved himself.

Jason watched, his eyes wide with admiration, as she executed a move that had brought down countless opponents in the wrestling ring. The body lift. Her muscles coiled and sprang into action, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms locking under his armpits. With a grunt of effort, she hoisted him off the ground, the man’s eyes going wide with shock.

The poacher’s grip on his gun faltered as Karen’s powerful thighs crushed his abdomen. He gasped for air, the world spinning around him as she twisted his body into a human pretzel. Karen’s arms slammed his neck into the dirt, the force of the impact making his eyes roll back in his head.

With a fluid motion, she transitioned into a double leg nelson, her strong arms looping around his neck, her legs entwined with his. The poacher’s struggle grew weaker as she cranked the hold, his face turning a disturbing shade of purple. His comrades, oblivious to the silent battle happening behind them, continued to smoke and chat, their weapons slung over their shoulders.

Karen tightened her legs, her muscles bulging with the effort. The poacher’s eyes bulged in his sockets, his hands clawing at the earth, desperate for purchase. His breath grew shallower, the fight draining from his body as she applied more pressure. Her thighs, honed from years of wrestling, formed an unyielding vice around his torso.

With a final, guttural grunt, she felt the poacher’s body go slack. His eyes rolled back, and he went still. She held the clamp for a few more moments, ensuring he wouldn’t recover too quickly, then gently released her hold. His body slumped to the ground, unconscious but alive.

As she stood, the world spun briefly, the effort of the battle leaving her momentarily light-headed. But there was no time for rest. The jungle was a relentless stage, and the play of survival was ongoing. Just as she caught her breath, a sudden, searing pain exploded in her neck.

Another poacher had snuck up on them, his arm wrapping around her throat like a serpent’s embrace. Panic flared in her eyes as she gasped for air, her hands flying up to claw at the vice around her windpipe. The stick fell from her grasp, clattering to the ground uselessly.

Karen’s eyes bulged as the poacher’s forearm tightened around her throat, cutting off her airway. Her hands shot up, nails digging into the man’s skin as she desperately clawed at the iron band that was choking the life from her. Her legs kicked out, searching for purchase, but found only the yielding jungle floor.