by Archer Swift
Chapter 26
Another dream. A nightmare with a twist. Terrible but inspiring. Tragic yet rousing. A memory so clear, disturbingly vivid.
Seven of us digging a Hog trap in an open area of the jungle. The Sabre bursting through the surrounding bush, taking us by complete surprise. Pouncing on Colby, Judd’s father. Dad shoving Judd and me out of the way, herding us into the hole. And two other young ones.
Dad and Burt’s arrows bouncing off the Sabre as it mauled Judd’s father.
Colby’s silent courage as it ripped chunks from him. Not wanting to fill our nights with more terror than necessary.
Judd, frozen in terror.
Dad’s heroic decision when the Sabre came for the rest of us … bored with Colby’s limp, mutilated body.
Baiting the monster, Dad steered it away from the hole.
Drawing the creature away from us.
His last words: “Burt! Get the kids up a tree.”
Then his luring dash to drag the beast after him. Back into the dense foliage.
The jungle swallowing whole my father, and the beast.
The spine-chilling roar of the monster. Not a peep from Dad.
Pushed up a tree. Told to climb. High!
My shock, my pounding heart. My parched throat.
Out of breath. My tears. The horror.
The long wait. Enduring the beast’s return.
Covered in sticky, crimson red—the blood of our fathers.
Its crude attempts to shake us down from the tree we’d climbed.
Snarling and slobbering, gnashing its teeth. Goring the tree with its blood-soaked horn; slashing the bark with its razor-sharp claws.
All in vain.
Watching it disappear from sight; too scared to breathe.
Then painstakingly waiting for Burt’s all clear. Thirty minutes that felt like thirty years.
Knowing the inevitable.
I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
A father’s courage. A son’s heartbreak.
