I’d like to take this moment to remind myself that I don’t have any survival training. I’ve never been trained for war. The only knowledge I have is limited to self-defense if some weirdo tries something sketchy on me while walking alone at night. I’m a decent shot, can clean my gun, but do I actually know how to battle some nut who thinks people are hunting trophies? No. Do I still open my mouth and dig myself a deep ass hole? Well, yeah.

Though I don’t have those sorts of skills, it’s clear Jiro and Creed do. One moment, I’m standing looking down the barrel of a rifle that’s about to end my short career as a survivalist, and the next, I’m being shoved to the side as the rifle goes off. The bullet misses me by what feels like an inch as I go down, my hands landing roughly on the hard ground. There’s a knife in the hunter’s throat before I can even glance up and I don’t even know which of the two men I’m with threw it. He hits the ground with a heavy thump, blood spurting from his wound as his rattling breath wheezes out and stops. I blink at the body and then drag myself to my feet again, staring between Jiro and Creed.

“What the fuck?” I grunt, dusting myself off.

“You didn’t get shot, did you?” Creed grumbles.

“No, but—”

“Then we’re good,” he says, going over and looking at the dead Hound. “We need to watch our backs better.”

“Or our fronts,” I correct. “Since clearly, he came from the front.”

Creed rolls his eyes as Jiro walks up to the body and takes the cigar from his mouth. He scowls at the crumpled end and tosses it away. I watch as he digs through the pockets until he finds a few more, a cigar cutter, and a lighter before tucking them into his pocket. He takes the rifle next, checks it for ammo, and slings it over his back.

“This is useless for a gun fight but it’s good in a pinch,” he says, gesturing toward the rifle.

He looks at me, and then passed me, so I turn to see what he’s looking at. There, high in the tree, the lens of a camera flashes as it moves and focuses on us. The first one I’ve been able to make out since we got here.

I scowl. “Someone is getting their jollies off.”

“Indeed.” Jiro kicks the predator on the ground roughly, for the benefit of the camera mostly.

“Fuck all of them,” I say and flip the camera the bird. Then, for good measure, I spit on the dead guy and instead of stepping around him, I use him as a stepping stone. Let them see my disrespect. Let them come after me.