don’t see a soul.
“Hello?” I shout. “Where are you? Who are you?”
“Do not…be afraid! We…will not…hurt you. Please, listen…to me!”
I turn now toward the direction of the voice and aim my rifle at it—not easy to do with my adrenaline pumping and my hands trembling.
For the briefest moment, I wonder if maybe this feral human is being honest. The way they ate that antelope was savage, but how they killed it was almost reverent. Maybe they do have respect for human life. Maybe they aren’t vicious killers like the rest of the animal kingdom. Maybe we pre-judged them too quickly. Maybe—
“Arrrrrgh!”
One of the males lunges out of the tree line and charges at me, baring his teeth and brandishing a pickaxe.
I squeeze the trigger and pepper his chest with rounds. But he keeps coming, swinging his axe wildly.
At the last possible moment I crouch down and spear my bayonet up and into his chest—piercing him clean through the heart.
He releases his axe and flails. He gurgles blood. Finally he goes limp, and I shove him to the jungle floor.
“You…you sneaky son of a bitch!” I shout at his bloody corpse.
I’m livid. I can’t believe I doubted for even one millisecond that he wanted to kill me. These savages are worse than the animals. They have tools at their disposal. I don’t just mean guns and pickaxes. They have language. Cognition. Trickery .
I take off running again, equal parts furious and fearful. I yell team members’ names—Sarah, Freitas, Kabelo, and some of the others—but I get no response.
I keep moving. I hope I’m still headed in the right direction, but I’m starting to feel light-headed. All the trees and shrubs are starting to look alike.
“Help, help me!” I hear a woman scream, from somewhere not too far away.
That voice is one I instantly recognize: Sarah’s.
I switch course and sprint toward it. Not wanting to give up the potential element of surprise, I don’t yell back.
And I’m very glad I don’t. When I finally see her, she’s being chased by a lone female feral human holding a pitchfork—who is quickly gaining.
I raise my rifle but can’t get a clean shot, so I loop around to outflank her primal pursuer.
As soon as they reach a clearing, I plow into the woman like a linebacker and tackle her to the ground.
We roll around in the underbrush together, grappling viciously. For such a small woman, she’s strong as an ox.
Grunting and straining—employing some of the moves I learned on my JV high school wrestling team—I finally manage to flip her on her back and pin her down.
She starts speaking to me in that same eerie, scratchy voice the man had, in an African language I don’t understand. I assume she’s begging for her life. Or trying to trick me again somehow. Not this time . I swing my rifle around from behind my back and position the bayonet blade inches from her throat…
“Oz, don’t!” yells Sarah, rushing over to me. “Remember? We need her alive!”
Damnit . She’s right. After all that talk of how we were going to trap a feral human, I’ve just done it by accident. Still, staring into this woman’s beady, almost ghostly eyes, the desire to end her miserable life is overwhelming. But I resist.
“Grab her legs,” I order Sarah. “Until we can find the others.”
“You mean us?”
I look over to see Dr. Freitas, Kabelo, and many others hurrying toward us.
They practically pile onto the thrashing woman, helping me restrain her. I’m grateful for the assistance—she’s incredibly strong.
“Is everyone all right?” I ask Freitas, still trying to catch my breath.
“Dr. Langston…he didn’t make it. His death was…ugly. And our guide Dikotsi was mauled pretty badly. Some of the others are tending to him now.”
I ease myself off of the feral woman and help flip her onto her stomach, allowing Kabelo to zip-tie her hands. Freitas and the others just stare at her, seemingly numb.
“Very well done, Oz,” he
“Hello?” I shout. “Where are you? Who are you?”
“Do not…be afraid! We…will not…hurt you. Please, listen…to me!”
I turn now toward the direction of the voice and aim my rifle at it—not easy to do with my adrenaline pumping and my hands trembling.
For the briefest moment, I wonder if maybe this feral human is being honest. The way they ate that antelope was savage, but how they killed it was almost reverent. Maybe they do have respect for human life. Maybe they aren’t vicious killers like the rest of the animal kingdom. Maybe we pre-judged them too quickly. Maybe—
“Arrrrrgh!”
One of the males lunges out of the tree line and charges at me, baring his teeth and brandishing a pickaxe.
I squeeze the trigger and pepper his chest with rounds. But he keeps coming, swinging his axe wildly.
At the last possible moment I crouch down and spear my bayonet up and into his chest—piercing him clean through the heart.
He releases his axe and flails. He gurgles blood. Finally he goes limp, and I shove him to the jungle floor.
“You…you sneaky son of a bitch!” I shout at his bloody corpse.
I’m livid. I can’t believe I doubted for even one millisecond that he wanted to kill me. These savages are worse than the animals. They have tools at their disposal. I don’t just mean guns and pickaxes. They have language. Cognition. Trickery .
I take off running again, equal parts furious and fearful. I yell team members’ names—Sarah, Freitas, Kabelo, and some of the others—but I get no response.
I keep moving. I hope I’m still headed in the right direction, but I’m starting to feel light-headed. All the trees and shrubs are starting to look alike.
“Help, help me!” I hear a woman scream, from somewhere not too far away.
That voice is one I instantly recognize: Sarah’s.
I switch course and sprint toward it. Not wanting to give up the potential element of surprise, I don’t yell back.
And I’m very glad I don’t. When I finally see her, she’s being chased by a lone female feral human holding a pitchfork—who is quickly gaining.
I raise my rifle but can’t get a clean shot, so I loop around to outflank her primal pursuer.
As soon as they reach a clearing, I plow into the woman like a linebacker and tackle her to the ground.
We roll around in the underbrush together, grappling viciously. For such a small woman, she’s strong as an ox.
Grunting and straining—employing some of the moves I learned on my JV high school wrestling team—I finally manage to flip her on her back and pin her down.
She starts speaking to me in that same eerie, scratchy voice the man had, in an African language I don’t understand. I assume she’s begging for her life. Or trying to trick me again somehow. Not this time . I swing my rifle around from behind my back and position the bayonet blade inches from her throat…
“Oz, don’t!” yells Sarah, rushing over to me. “Remember? We need her alive!”
Damnit . She’s right. After all that talk of how we were going to trap a feral human, I’ve just done it by accident. Still, staring into this woman’s beady, almost ghostly eyes, the desire to end her miserable life is overwhelming. But I resist.
“Grab her legs,” I order Sarah. “Until we can find the others.”
“You mean us?”
I look over to see Dr. Freitas, Kabelo, and many others hurrying toward us.
They practically pile onto the thrashing woman, helping me restrain her. I’m grateful for the assistance—she’s incredibly strong.
“Is everyone all right?” I ask Freitas, still trying to catch my breath.
“Dr. Langston…he didn’t make it. His death was…ugly. And our guide Dikotsi was mauled pretty badly. Some of the others are tending to him now.”
I ease myself off of the feral woman and help flip her onto her stomach, allowing Kabelo to zip-tie her hands. Freitas and the others just stare at her, seemingly numb.
“Very well done, Oz,” he
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