We had been tracking the mighty beast for days without rest or sleep. Joe had spent two tours finding things that refused to pop their heads from the ground. He was the only figure I would want on an expedition like this.
Joe stops. His right fist slices through the air throwing up the signal for stop. With a flick of the wrist he indicated the creature had changed course and was now waiting to our right.
It was the first time this expression was revealed on Joe’s face in the eight years we had hunted together, fear.
Turning to the right I raised my rifle. With no time to aim a flash of fur and grizzled hair darted before me. I clicked off three rounds while Joe got off two. We both missed.
“He’s playing with us.” Joe said. His voice was soft and low. He moved his head slightly and we made our way in that direction.
Twilight in this jungle was night in any other land. I could only see the white of Joe eyes squint and strain in front of us.
Joe stops again. His breathing paused. Slowly he took aim. I tried to focus, see what caught his attention, but there was nothing.
Deep in the brush, past the low leafs, beside the trunk of a fallen tree, the pair of pink and red eyes of the monster pierced into the heart of Joe. With a brave effort the beast jumped at us straight on.
Two rounds echoed in the distance. The animal dropped inches from Joes boot. It’s heart racing from the hunt slowed and finally stopped.
Avenged were the women it maimed and men it killed. There would be a feast tonight to remember the loss.