Blasts from the high-powered rifles shattered the
quiet, sending the herd trumpeting from the watering hole, their gigantic feet quaking
the ground beneath them; mothers, calves and great bulls all fleeing for their
lives.
The men panicked as the barrage of metal ripped
through six of their own, sending their bodies snapping wildly in the air,
before falling bloodied to the jungle’s dirt floor.
Bold and arrogant, they had been easier prey than
that which they had preyed upon.
Leaving their dead comrades behind,
they ran toward the trio of Jeeps, firing their weapons aimlessly in an effort to
ward off their unseen attackers and prevent their own impending slaughter.
What was left of their carcasses after the lions
and vultures had had their fill would be found next to signs written in blood: POACHER.
From the
Five Sentence Fiction prompt “hunt.”
