Predator

17

On the other side, the off-road vehicle had ventured deep into the legendary "wild and untamed territory"—Tsavo.

The locals often said: Nakuru is a cage, Maasai Mara is merely a zoo, and Amboseli's elephants have been studied to the point of stupidity. If you truly love wildlife, you must come to Tsavo.

Covering an area of more than 13,000 square kilometers, Tsavo East National Park's wilderness camp is a place where one can encounter leopards, lions, baboons, and Nile crocodiles. These creatures like to dwell in the camp along the Galana River, their golden-brown eyes silently watching the speeding metal monster.

Where the wheels were about to tread, they would fleetingly appear from the dense forest and shrubbery and then vanish.

The extraordinary stories born here always seem to revolve around the word "hunt."

The driver, with a Maasai twig in his mouth, chewed idly. After driving along the riverbank for another ten minutes, a cave, half-hidden by palm trees, came into view. The driver excitedly braked with a "screech": "Yo, we're here."

Liam was the first to get out of the car. He squatted down, pressing his thumb into the ground's three-centimeter-deep circular footprint. When he stood up, he pressed down the dagger handle protruding from his pocket and tossed the gun back into the car. Turning to the men holding the hunting dogs, he ordered, "The one inside is no more than three and a half years old. Switch to the tranquilizer gun."

The cave was pitch-black, and the further they went, the stronger the smell of decay and blood became.

Liam, holding a hunting dog on a leash, illuminated the cave wall with a powerful flashlight. His broad back was hidden behind the light, like a beast lying in wait.

This realization reassured the men deprived of their hunting rifles.

Suddenly, he stopped.

As the hunting dog became restless, Liam raised his hand in a "halt" gesture, tightening his grip on the leash, and whispered, "Shh—"

Less than a meter away from them, a pair of black, moist eyes stared at them. The short tail, with a tuft of coarse black hair at the end, swayed unconsciously, making a "swoosh" sound.

The three-and-a-half-month-old elephant lacked the will to survive, seemingly mired in a swamp of pain, with a powerful hatred that was deathly silent behind it.

Like Amelia, whom he had imprisoned.

Liam's hand froze for a moment, then slowly clenched into a fist. As soon as he did, a tranquilizer dart shot into the calf's ear.

The calf let out a piercing cry before collapsing with a thud.

"Liam, check its tusks," someone said.

Liam, standing beside the unconscious calf, knelt and felt along its mouth: "It's still a premolar tusk. It will take another year and a half to grow real tusks."

"Ugh, a year and a half. Think of how much it will eat," one of the men complained as they lifted the calf's body out of the cave.

"Though lately, African elephant tusks have been getting shorter. The old elephant's tusks nearly reached the ground. I haven't seen such good ones in a year or two. This one's a winner for sure. If nothing else, we can raise it as bait. Elephants are very protective of their young; we might lure a few old ones."

As they spoke, someone noticed a man lagging behind: "Liam... come?"

Liam, clutching his phone, was bathed in its pale light, his face shadowed.

He had received a text message.