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Journey to the West
Chapter 4
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Christie was fast.
It seemed she was ahead of him by several paces just when he thought he had caught up with her. Eddy brushed through bushes, scattered twig piles, and other obstacles of nature slowing him down. His heartbeat pulsated, his thoughts worrisome, but he kept on, wishing Christie had listened to him.
He had told her numerous times to heed his warnings about approaching whatever peril they might encounter; however, his requests always seemed to fall on deaf ears.
As the fear of her well-being gnawed into him, Eddy couldn't imagine what he'd do if something happened to her. With youth, one tended to develop an unmanageable curiosity and a will of rebellion. Everybody had their quirks, but Christie's had potential to place her in trouble, and she was often oblivious to it.
Soon he descried her at a small clearing, standing still, her head down. Eddy's dash began to falter once he was close, ready to scold her between pants; yet, he didn't, as something else grabbed his attention. He looked down with Christie, seeing an animal carcass lying there on its side. It was a panther, glassy-eyed, mouth agape, with two fresh bullet wounds in its stomach. Blood trickled from the shot, staining the ground.
Christie had her hand against her mouth as she emanated a mournful moan, eyes saddened. Eddy could do nothing but stare, shaking his head. He'd never seen an animal killed like this up close, wondering what had called for such brutality.
As if to answer his thoughts, two men crept into view, wielding double-barreled shotguns and dressed in combat fatigue. They surveyed their work, nodding to each other in a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.
'Poachers…' Eddy thought.
Before he could question them, Christie took a step forward, seeming undaunted by the armed men. "Why did you do that?" Eddy couldn't see her face, but assumed by her tone she had given them both a glare.
"Had to." One of them spoke up. His skin was dark and riddled with scabs. He had a light mustache, sharp eyes, and a muscular build. His partner was of equal size, but with fair skin, a crew cut, a bulbous nose, and was in the midst of chewing on tobacco.
Christie grumbled, took another glance at the carcass, and then at them. "That isn't good enough. You have no right to go around killing innocent animals. I doubt this panther did anything to you."
Eddy conceded with his student. Christie was always outspoken about what she found wrong. He continued looking at the poachers with watchful eyes. They meant business, no doubt, with the gear they had. He couldn't resist observing the many indeterminable amount of knives and bullets the men had strapped under their belts.
"Ittriedto attack us. Self-defense, girl, self-defense." The African poacher said, but Eddy could sense Christie wasn't buying their story.
His master's granddaughter scoffed. "Probably attacked you because you bothered it. I've read up on these things. If you leave an animal alone, they are likely not to attack. They usually do only when provoked or approached."
"Aww, isn't that cute, Kamau? The little lady here thinks she knows her stuff." The man with the crew cut cooed and snickered. Bending over forward, he pointed at Christie as if she were an amusing sideshow act.
Eddy's eyes furrowed at this mockery, barring his teeth behind closed lips. He didn't want to start any trouble and tried to keep his thoughts clear. These men had guns, after all, and he didn't want to do or say anything out of line to aggravate them.
Christie, on the other hand, didn't seem to care. Her cheeks flashed red as he came next to her, trying to keep some distance between her and the poachers. "Don't call me little lady, you big-nosed freak."
The man's goofy grin converted into a hateful sneer. "Big-nosed freak? Why, you little skank. I outta-"
"That's enough, Harris!" Kamau snapped at his partner without turning his head. "There is no need for name calling. We're much bigger than that."
Eddy's blood seethed as his mouth tensed, filled with enmity at the remark from the other poacher. He didn't care who started it. Christie was his friend first and foremost, and he didn't approve of anyone calling her demeaning names.
"Better keep your chick-friend in check, man. " Harris muttered.
Eddy tried his best to ignore Harris. "Do you guys have any kind of authorization to be out here hunting animals?" He put himself in front of Christie as he asked this, hearing her snarl behind him. He knew they had no authorization, for poaching was illegal in all of Africa, and all over the world.
Kamau's sweat-ridden face scowled, depressing the barrel of his weapon. "I believe it's not in your place to be questioning us, sir. We are here to do our jobs, and we'd appreciate it if you didn't distract us from our work."
"Yeah, yeah. So butt out and mind your own business!" Harris spit out a glob of tobacco at Eddy's feet with a smug grin. Kamau radioed to have someone help them pick up the deceased panther.
Eddy sighed and took Christie's shoulder, guiding her away from the clearing. He thought it best to stay out of their way before things turned ugly. "Come on. We should leave."
Christie's eyes were as wide as saucers. "What? But Eddy-"
"Please, Christie." He urged her, not wanting to yell or argue. The sooner their departure, the better. He still wanted to punch that Harris fellow in the mouth.
Christie's eyes went downcast, her head lowering in defeat as she followed at his request. A couple times he noticed how she turned to where the poachers were, snorting and groaning.
She huffed, quickening her pace until she was within earshot of him. "What'd you do that for?"
"It's best we not get involved with them." Eddy pushed aside overhanging tree limbs obstructing their path. "Here, watch your step." He jumped atop the end of an inclined log, weighing it down to let her step over it without hesitance.
She did so, continuing her argument. "But you can't disagree that what they're doing is wrong. I'm not trying to sound like a hippy or some Animal Rights Activist, but they shouldn't just go around shooting them like that. These animals have homes, families. That panther they killed could have been a mother."
"I'm glad you think of things like that, Christie, but there's nothing we can do. Those men are armed to the teeth, if you haven't noticed."
"I know. I just feel bad for that poor panther and any other animal that has to go through that. By now, it's probably having its fur and claws removed to be sold somewhere." She grimaced and shuddered. "It just isn't right, Eddy. It just isn't right."
"Why do you care so much?" He knew she meant well, figuring if she explained it to him he might understand better.
"Put it this way: would you like what they did to that panther to be done to you? Would you like someone coming to your home, invading your territory, shooting you, and then doing whatever they please with your remains? Call me stubborn. Maybe I shouldn't care at all. But who will, Eddy? That's all I'm saying."
It made him ponder the nature of poachers; some killed for sport, others for the pay, or both. He knew that much, but what went beyond his comprehension was how they were able to go through with killing something that had done no wrong. He knew all too well, however, what it was like to want to kill
Deep in his mind, he still remembered how much he wanted the culprits behind his father's murder dead. Everyday, he'd envision the gaping hole in his father's torso, smell the stench of blood exuding from the wound like water from a cracked foundation. Because of them, he had to spend eight years of his life behind bars, brawling with belligerent inmates, and eating terrible food over something he didn't do. His vengeance swelling, Eddy had aimed to take the lives of those responsible without remorse, just as they had his father.
He'd spent days coordinating, searching, and waiting, with eyelids heavy and body screaming in exhaustion. Yet, putting a damper on his plans, Christie had found the gun he'd purchased in his room while tending to his unwashed laundry. Of course there was the onset of shock, anxiety, and a heap of questioning on her part; all this coupled with the inability to understand why her friend, her mentor, the man who taught her everything she knew, would resort to criminality.
Her first instinct, after learning of his malevolent motive, was to smack him, and she did it hard enough to make him realize killing wasn't in his blood; he knew it, and so did Christie, as his cheek stung like it never had before. Whether they were in the confines of his spacious manor or outside in the smoldering sun, he'd see her eyes, looking daggers at him with extreme disappointment thereafter as she did her chores. Discarding the gun, without his consent, Christie made him promise her he'd never associate himself with killing again. If not for her intervention, he might have spent several more years in prison with a real murder on his conscience.
But that was all beside the point. The poachers, like them or not, posed no threat to him, Christie, or anyone of significant importance to draw concern. Long as it stayed that way, he had no quarrel with them.
Eddy and Christie had made it back to the village, noting its unusual silence and the eerie absence of activity. The stream, now devoid of children, rippled as the wind coursed through, and the clothes he saw people shrubbing from before now laid flat on the ground.
It seemed the villagers had heard the gunshot from earlier and retreated to their self-made establishments for safety. This wasn't the kind of vacation he had hoped for.
Walking around, Eddy spotted a few heads poking out of the mud huts to stare at them. He beckoned Christie to follow with a wave, deciding to comb the village for the whereabouts of his master.