4:
I could sense him out there – my hackles would go all in a tizzy when
death was near. No matter where I found
myself, from Shanghai to Palm Springs, the hairs on my nape would get the
tingles and I'd go all queasy - that was proof enough for me. I was smartly cautious, although dear Africa
wasn't going to make that an easy chore.
Trekking away from my humble soapstone abode and into the brush,
reminiscent of switchgrass (or some other form of virgatum), grew 6 feet
tall along this strip of savanna, which made it a perfect ground for hiding.
But, as prey and predator can be easily reversed in the wild, I had to be the
smarter one here.
....
Once or twice, as I was in mid-movement, I could hear the snap of a
large thing reacting. There were
only two options: fight or stay still. My
eyes scanned the area above the brush. I
did await a silhouette so I could shoot it.
But, I heard it walk away. Better
then, I said to myself, it would have
been a bad way - I would've shot one of his henchmen, allowing him time to
fight back. Not knowing by what means he
could kill me, I could not simply walk up to him like a Saturday morning
matinee Western.
The second time I stayed real quiet, like a teacup at dinner, for at
least a half of an hour. The sound never returned. The queasiness persisted. I
should have also mentioned it must have been 90 degrees out and humidity that
never eased, no matter the wind speed. My clothes were a mash of sweat and oil.
The sweat was bad enough - every time I attempted to look up, my eyes would
burn. But I could wait this bastard out despite him having the advantage.
The sun hit the center of the sky.
During the apex of the heat, I crawled to a short bush that allowed me a
bit of a reprieve. I allowed myself to pass
out for minutes at a time. It was a
stupid move, but it wasn't by choice, believe you me.
I checked the brush around me when I came to, not one imprint of a step was
made: a good sign. The bad juju that clung to me for the better part of the day
was starting to wane. I'll take that Da Vinci may be good at killing, but not so
at the hunt. Most of the deaths he
inflicted were simply outright, nothing subtle in the approach. However, as bad
as he was at not being quiet about murder, he was a tit-mouse when it came to
hiding. My tactic was to hang as close
to the fringe of his trail as I could. It
took two or three times to get back on him again - being out in the wilds I
doubt I'd have to do the same.
....
I couldn't sleep now, it would have been dumb. I could
hear their conspiratorial conversations in the dark. I just had to wait out 2am,
the witching hour, and take them all out if the good Lord would let me.
...on to Part 5...full version available on Lulu...
...on to Part 5...full version available on Lulu...
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