Page 12 of Five Goodbyes

Chapter Four

“GET DOWN!” I yell over my shoulder.

More shots ring out. The woods are far too dense to tell exactly where the shots are coming from. It doesn’t matter which direction they’re arriving from, what matters is getting down and moving away from danger. At least, this is my initial reaction. When I turn to begin heading down the mountain, I see Jasmine and Philip taking stances, ready to fight. Well hell! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.

“Come to me!” Patrick yells. His rifle is up and pointed toward the trees, but he doesn’t shoot. He’s focused, a military trained man in his element.

We carefully make our way to him, the reality of the situation becoming even more grave. The gunfire rips out of the jungle, and rounds are hitting all around us. Twigs and limbs snap, blowing to pieces above us. Small thuds hitting the dirt are muffled by the sharp cracks of more gunfire.

“Are you okay?” I ask Jasmine, then look to Philip and Mora for confirmation of their well-being.

“Good,” all three of them reply. A scream of agony flows over us. One of the other guides has been hit.

“We have to get to him,” Mora demands.

“Follow me,” Patrick says. He keeps his eyes on the woods where the poachers are while we begin to move toward the man still screaming.

More gun fire lets loose but this time, it’s clear it’s pointed in a different direction from where we are . . . but then the unthinkable happens. A horrifying, guttural sound comes from the woods, and even though I’ve never heard a gorilla scream in pain before, I instantly know what has happened . . . a gorilla has been hit. Another round of gunfire follows . . . and sadly, the screaming stops.

“They’ve killed a mother. They do that to confuse the young ones and snatch them up. We have to go in there,” Patrick tells the team as we surround the injured guide.

“Let me use his rifle! I’ll help,” I tell Patrick.

“Me too, if there are no other rifles, give me a sidearm,” Jasmine says before I finish my sentence.

I know there’s no point in trying to argue with Jasmine that she should stay back. I want to even if I know she’s more than capable of handling herself and taking care of others. That doesn’t matter. I love her, and the thought of her running into a situation where she could die makes my heart burn. Her bravery is just one of the many reasons I fell in love with her. Trying to separate emotion from intelligent thinking is a son of a bitch.

“And me!” Philip exclaims.

“I cannot do that. We’re trained, and this is our land. We cannot ask this of you,” Patrick tells us, though respect fills his eyes.

“Listen. Both Jasmine and I are in the FBI in the United States,” I say in a firm, but respectful voice. “And Philip spent most of his adult life in the U.S. military. We know how to track people, and, more importantly, how to handle weapons far better than most.” Patrick still seems hesitant, but he’s also well aware he has an even better chance of catching these bastards.

“Patrick, let’s make this happen. We can get these bastards who injured your friend and are killing these beautiful gorillas. Let us help you. Please?” I say. I want to respect him and his culture and his land, but I need to help. I’m not a man who can stand by while others do the work. Everything in me needs to help.

The team leader looks at his crew, finds their heads shaking in agreement with what I just said, two of the men already taking off their sidearms to hand them over to Jasmine and Philip. Patrick then turns to me and nods.

“Thank you for your bravery. It’s appreciated. These men are heavily armed and won't go down without a fight if we get them cornered. I suggest we split up and cover more ground. That way we can cut them off and catch them by surprise,” Patrick says.

“I agree but, we should have a contingency plan in case things go south. We don't know how many poachers are out there, and we don't want to take any unnecessary risks,” Philip adds.

As we are strategizing, one of the guides hands me the rifle of the injured guard. “This is my brother’s rifle. I hope it brings you better fortune than him. It's loaded and ready to go. Listen to the forest, it has better eyes than you. Good luck. You'll need it, this jungle is tricky to navigate. Keep yourself safe.”

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if he’s warning me to rethink my desire to help or if this is his way of a pep talk. I know this is a matter of life and death, and we have to do everything in our power to protect the gorillas, and ourselves, from harm. I also know that Jasmine, Philip, and I have sworn to a life of protecting people and fighting back the dark cloud of evil that’s in a constant battle against the inherent good of mankind.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the rifle and making sure it’s secure on my shoulder. I then turn and look at my best friend. “Mora, are you okay staying with this man?”

“He’s well enough to walk, and while the wound will need additional care, he won’t die from it if we get him back in a timely manner,” Mora explains. “I’ll wait here and watch over him. I’d like one of those guns left behind just in case someone breaks through.”

Philip looks torn on whether to go with us or to stay behind and protect his wife. I know the feeling. One of the crew steps up, the one who handed me his brother’s rifle. He looks Philip in the eyes.

“I will stay and guard your wife and my brother. I will give my own life to protect both of them,” he says. He clearly means it.

“No, I will stay cousin. You are a better tracker than I am and we all know it. They will need you out there,” the youngest man of the group says.

The brother of the injured man looks back and forth between his brother and his cousin and then relents to the intellectual side of the equation.

“You are correct,” is all the man says before he speaks in his native dialect to his injured brother and then stands with us, a different energy about him.

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