It’s Just Hair!

“Go south to the big anthill. There are no rangers patrolling there now,” came the staticky voice on the radio. “The target was last seen in the clearing a few meters from that position. Be warned. He’s been aggressive lately. Radio back as soon as the mission’s complete, and we’ll come pick you up by the water hole.”

“Roger.”

“And Tango?”

“Yes?”

“If the rangers catch you, you’re on your own. Don’t even think about mentioning our names or who we work for. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your family now, would you?”

Koitalel swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

“Good. The clouds are dispersing. You should have plenty of moonlight to operate. Don’t mess this up! We’re counting on you. Over and out.”

Koitalel slid the worn-out black radio in his olive cargo pants. He scanned the surrounding Savannah vegetation for signs of any lions or hyenas. Save for a sleeping warthog in a hole nearby, the place was empty. He zipped up the rest of the zipper on his black hoodie and blew hot air into his trembling, cupped hands.

He glanced at the small cut from the barbed wire fence a few minutes ago. Just had to be my left hand. The hand he used to hold the wooden bow he made three days ago. A single drop from the poison on the arrows would’ve have killed him in minutes. The rangers would find his body the next morning and bury it somewhere in the grasslands just like they did all the other poachers they killed.

He got up and walked to towards the anthill, trying to shake off the doubts creeping into his mind. He thought about how he could use the money to pay for the medicine for his sick daughter. He took out the little piece of paper the nurses wrote on. Saratani ya mlango ya kizazi—cervical cancer is what they called it. He didn’t know much about the types of cancer that existed, but he did know one thing—those who didn’t get treated early didn’t last very long after finding out.

The anthill came into view soon enough, and so did the massive black blob lying beside it. Koitalel could hear its heavy breathing even from that distance. He snuck behind an acacia tree and took out an arrow dipped in toxins from the golden poison dart frog. He drew back the string and took a deep breath, but a rustle of leaves made him think twice. A brown, giant anteater had descended upon the anthill and was tearing apart the dried mud. The two-thousand-pound black rhino turned its head and grunted. Koitalel held his breath.

From that angle, he got a clear view of the prize, twice as big as promised reaching close to 36 inches. Ching-Chong, as most of the locals called him, would be very pleased. He might even get an AK-47 for the next hunt.

The rhino stared at the anthill for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, it faced forward ignoring the rowdy guest on his peaceful night. This time, however, it seemed more alert. Its tail wagged more, and its sniffs and grunts grew louder. Koitalel tried to hide as much of him behind the thin yellow tree as possible. If it wasn’t for the rhino’s poor eyesight, he very well may have been spotted or, even worse, gored to death by now.

The rhino got up without warning and stood staring into the distance. Koitalel gripped his bow more tightly. He took another deep breath, drew back the string as far as he could, and let the arrow fly straight into the large abdomen. The rhino took off dazed and confused crashing into the anthill sending the anteater flying. The footsteps were so heavy Koitalel could feel the earth shake with every thundering step the massive beast took.

Three minutes in and it showed no sign of stopping. Why wasn’t it dead? The poison was more than enough to kill ten grown men. Koitalel readied another arrow this time aiming for the heart. A quarter of a second before he let fly, the rhino stumbled. Even in its final death throes, a single shun from its head would be enough to crack a rib. He waited a while longer until it lay on the ground, its small ears swaying ever so slightly.

Koitalel sighed. “Finally,” he said as he approached the dying rhino.

Static from his radio filled the air.

“Tango? Tango, do you read me? Tango!” came the staticky voice.

“Yes. I read you,” Koitalel replied.

“Do you have the horn?”

“Not yet. I’m about to—”

“Why?” the voice thundered over the radio. “Get it quickly, and get out of there! The rangers have been alerted. They’re making their way to your location right now.”

Koitalel swallowed hard. If caught, he faced life in prison. If he tried to run, the bloodhounds would sniff him out. The rangers had a shoot to kill order allowed by the government so if the dogs failed, then he would pay the ultimate price. He rushed to the rhino’s side and took out to a small chainsaw from his backpack. The rhino, now completely docile, let out a small whine as Koitalel fired up the chainsaw.

Koitalel lowered the blade. He’d been in this situation many times before but for some reason, this time he just stood there staring at his target. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he raised the chainsaw once more, “I’ll try not to hurt you. I just want the horn,” he whispered.

The loud whirring tore through the night sending tiny pieces of keratin flying everywhere. He had to get the horn and get out of there. Koitalel grimaced when the metal brushed the rhino’s skin spewing blood all over his clothes. It squirmed briefly but nothing more.

In the distance, he could hear the ranger’s Land Cruiser rip through the bumpy terrain heading straight towards him. Could this be what the rhino stopped to look at earlier? He turned around and saw the eyes of the car getting bigger and brighter. Damn it!

He hurriedly sawed off the rest of the horn without cutting further into the rhino’s flesh but didn’t have time to put it in his satchel when a gunshot ripped through the night. A warning shot. At this rate, he had no way of escaping before they caught up. He had to try. Not just for himself, but for his daughter lying in bed at home.

He sped off, horn in hand, towards the watering hole hoping his ride would still be there. He ducked under the branches of the scattered acacias whose thorns were more than happy to tear away bits of flesh from his neck and face. Koitalel glanced back the way he came. The rangers crouched low examining the remains of what once was the country’s prized possession. Sad, but he had no other choice.

“Tango? What’s going on out there?” the voice from the radio shouted.

“They found me… but I… I managed to get the horn,” Koitalel replied, gasping.

“Good work. Are you being followed?”

“Yes. They’re… still… far away. I… I can make it.”

“You have three minutes. If you’re not here by then, don’t bother showing up! We can’t risk getting caught. Ching-Chong can’t have any bad press. Am I clear?”

Koitalel wiped some sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie as he stopped to catch his breath. “I understand.”

A few heavy footsteps from behind sent chills down his spine. It couldn’t be. He would’ve heard it approaching from the hippo-infested water hole. Much to his surprise, the footsteps slowly spread out into two, getting closer and closer. The animals eventually walked beside him revealing their true form. Two burly figures, one to his right and the other to his left, strolled by. Two black rhinos, the one on his left missing its front horn.

Koitalel’s heart skipped a beat. The blood dripping down its face hadn’t even dried. He tried to move, but fear’s vice grip kept him in place. The other rhino sauntered ahead leaving Koitalel and his latest victim alone. The two of them stared at each other in idle silence. It moved closer and sniffed the horn in Koitalel’s hand.

“He went this way!” one of the rangers yelled in the distance.

Koitalel glanced back at the bright flashlights and barking dogs. “Crap,” he said under his breath. He quickly turned back to the beast, except nothing but a cold chill occupied the space the mysterious rhino stood on.

“Over there!” another ranger shouted.

Koitalel sped off towards the water hole with the bloodhounds and rangers giving chase not too far behind. He slid down the little hill on his back landing beside the water with a loud thud. A brown German Shepherd lunged after him and sunk its jaws into his arm. Koitalel let out a loud cry. He yanked an arrow out the quiver and stabbed the dog on its side forcing it to let go.

“Hey! Stop or we will shoot!” the ranger shouted, this time much closer.

Koitalel hobbled up the hill on the other side of the watering hole to where the black Toyota Ching-Chong gave them would’ve be waiting. It had to be there. The rangers fired another shot. He didn’t bother to look back. The road was in sight.

Pain from the bite shot up his arm as he took out the radio. “Oscar! Oscar! This is Tango. I’m close to the rendezvous point. Where are you?” He staggered towards the road waiting for a response. Nothing. “Oscar! This is Tango. I’m at the rendezvous point. Where are you?”

The horn weighed him down as he stood by the road searching. The barking dogs grew louder. Koitalel could already picture the dripping saliva from the large canines anxious to launch another attack at his already mutilated arm.

“Oscar! This is Tango! I’m at the rendezvous—”

The bullet didn’t miss this time.

He dropped the horn and fell to his knees clutching his left thigh. The pain coursed through his entire leg like a jolt of electricity fired a hundred times over. He reached for the radio on the dry grass with his healthy arm one last time. “Oscar. This is… this is Tango. If you can hear me… please… help me! I’m about to die. I… I’m at the… rendezvous point. I have what you asked for. Please… just…” Koitalel choked up, tears trickling down his dusty face as he squeezed the radio’s side-button with all his might.

“Just come save me!”

Koitalel screamed as another German Shepherd lunged at his other arm pinning him to the ground. Struggling now was futile. He had heard about the ranger who patrolled this part of the park. He knew him all too well after he shot and killed his friend who tried to run away with an elephant tusk. Everyone called him Hatari, but no one could confirm he was indeed responsible for the death of the last six poachers.

“Zuri!” the ranger yelled at the dog that let go of Koitalel. That voice could’ve belonged to only one person. He recognized it from when they tapped into the rangers’ comms earlier that month.

“You stupid poachers never learn,” Hatari said as he cocked the very same AK-47 Koitalel dreamed of owning one day. The cold metal pressed against the back of his head as the remaining rangers got out the car. Koitalel closed his eyes.

#

“Head east towards the river. There are no rangers patrolling there now,” the staticky voice said over the radio. “The target was last seen in the forest a few meters from that position. Be careful. She’s been very moody lately. Radio back as soon as the mission’s complete.”

“Roger that.”

“And Koitalel?”

“Yes?”

“Your daughter just got discharged and is expected to make a full recovery.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sir,” Koitalel said with a smile.

“The Kenya Wildlife Service is more than happy to have you on its side, Koitalel,” Hatari concluded.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

END

This is a short piece I put together on a whim just so I didn’t get too rusty. I considered entering it into some of the competitions, but most of them have their own guidelines on length and subject matter. Finding one that fits this story was probably not going to happen, so I figured I’d post it here instead.

Part of the inspiration behind this came after reading on the conservation efforts at Ol Pejeta Conservancy for the last two northern white rhinos as well as the human wildlife conflict in many parts of Africa.

I hope to write more short stories in future so if you enjoyed reading this, there’s more to come!

As always, from me to you…

Deuces!

VICKTA.