Owen was just about to approach the body when he suddenly remembered how the kukri-wielding man had ambushed the archer back at the water vine. Instinct kicking in, Owen nocked another arrow and fired it into the attacker's thigh. The "dead" man suddenly let out a howl of pain.
As Owen stepped closer, he confirmed his suspicion—the man had been playing dead. He clutched a hidden knife in his hand. Another arrow thudded into his arm, pinning it to the ground and forcing another agonized scream from him.
Owen caught sight of the doghead tattoo on the man's arm. That alone was enough for him to pass judgment.
"Have you seen this woman?" Owen asked coldly, pulling out the necklace and showing him the photo.
The man ignored the question, launching into a string of curses. "F*** you, f*** your mother—"
Owen didn't flinch. He loosed another arrow, this time into the man's shoulder. The scream that followed was louder than the last.
"I asked you: have you seen this woman?"
This time, the man gave in. He could tell Owen wasn't like the other prey—this one didn't hesitate.
"I… I haven't seen her."
"Look carefully."
"I'm sure! I swear, I haven't seen her! I…"
Before he could finish begging, Owen put an arrow through his skull. If he couldn't provide information on Monica, then to Owen, he was of no use. People like this, who took pleasure in killing, only deserved scorn.
Owen retrieved his arrows, searched the corpse for anything useful, and destroyed the crossbow before turning to leave. But after just two steps, he froze.
From behind a tree, a bow slowly emerged—drawn taut, the arrow aimed squarely at Owen.
John Rambo stepped out, still maintaining his firing posture.
Owen slowly raised his hands. This time, he'd walked right into it. Last time, he was the hunter sneaking up on someone. This time, he was the one being hunted.
Owen considered making a move, but some part of him instinctively knew: he couldn't dodge that arrow. Not at this distance. Not even with his bullet-time reflexes. Seeing danger and reacting to it were two different things. There just wouldn't be enough time.
The man didn't speak, but neither did he lower his weapon. Owen was about to say something when the arrow suddenly flew—not at him, but past his head.
Thunk! It embedded itself in a tree behind him.
Owen turned and saw a viper pinned beneath the arrowhead.
"Th-thank you…"
Still recovering from the scare, Owen managed to get the words out. He understood now—this man had just saved his life.
John said nothing. Owen glanced at his arm, then gestured to his own.
"If you had a tattoo, you'd already be dead," John said simply, explaining why he had spared him.
Owen pulled out the necklace again. "Have you seen this woman? She's my wife."
John gave the photo a quick glance, then shook his head. Owen's heart sank with disappointment. John walked past him to the dead hunter and dumped out the ears the man had collected, sifting through them one by one.
Only after searching for a while did John finally straighten.
"You're looking for someone too?" Owen asked.
"Yes," John nodded. He wasn't much of a talker, but after a pause, he added, "A little girl."
Now Owen understood why he'd been inspecting the ears—adult ears all looked fairly similar, but a child's was much smaller and easier to distinguish. Unfortunately, that method wouldn't work for Monica.
The drone caught the entire exchange, broadcasting it live once again. Nick, watching the screen, was beyond exasperated. Half of the twelve professional hunters were already dead—and five of those kills came from just three people.
This can't go on, Nick thought. He had to change tactics.
Ten minutes later, Owen felt something buzz in his pocket. He pulled out the pad he'd taken from the kukri man—it was a communication device issued to every hunter.
A message flashed on the screen:
"Effective immediately, hunters are prohibited from killing each other. Priority is now to eliminate prey. The hunter who kills the most prey will receive a $300,000 bonus."
Owen shoved the pad back into his pocket.
At the same time, John and Monica received the same message on their devices. Elsewhere in the Amazon, the remaining six professional hunters received it as well. But unlike the three protagonists, the hunters also received updated coordinates indicating the general locations of the remaining prey.
…
In another part of the jungle, Carol was crouched inside a shrub, nervously munching on berries. Every little noise sent her heart racing. She was filthy, her clothes torn and covered in mud—there was no trace of the beautiful woman she had once been.
Suddenly, footsteps rang out in the distance—growing louder, closing in fast.
Like a frightened rabbit, Carol froze. She wanted to run, to hide, but couldn't decide where. She could only tremble in place.
Within moments, the footsteps were nearly upon her. She dared not move, holding her breath.
A figure burst into her line of sight, stumbling and panicked—it was Carl.
"Car—"
She was just about to call out when Carl tripped and fell flat on his face.
Her voice caught in her throat. Her eyes widened with horror.
Behind him, a bearded man appeared with a twisted grin. He carried a large hunting knife. Carl scrambled backward, pleading for mercy, but the man ignored him, grinning wider as he approached.
Carl screamed.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
The sickening sound of blade on flesh filled the air, joined by spurts of blood. Carl's screams turned from shrill to hoarse, then ceased altogether.
Blood soaked into the earth.
Carol remained in the bush, hands clamped over her mouth, not daring to make a sound. She watched Carl die in front of her—watched, but did nothing. His wide, lifeless eyes stared straight at her, as if accusing her of betrayal.
The bearded man wasn't satisfied with just killing. He kept mutilating the corpse, playing with it. Every sound of the knife tearing through flesh made Carol feel as if it were slicing through her own skin.
I'm sorry… I'm sorry…
She repeated it over and over in her mind.
At some point, the bearded man left. Only after a long time did Carol dare to crawl out of the bush, trembling. She approached Carl's body, but what she saw made her gag.
His chest and abdomen had been ripped open, internal organs spilled out, glistening in the sunlight.
She turned away, vomited violently against a tree, purging everything she'd eaten—including the berries.
Just as she was catching her breath, she saw something—boots. She looked up, horrified.
Standing before her was a man with dreadlocks and a perfectly calm smile.
It was Salro.
______
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