“This is Caleb Morgan from marine station nine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “There’s an active poacher camp near Ice Ridge Delta. They have weapons in the camp. Please send help—” A hand grabbed the back of his coat and yanked hard.
Caleb dropped the radio as he was dragged backward, boots scraping the snow. He twisted, struggling, but the man’s grip was firm. The others gathered quickly, their shouts full of anger and disbelief. One of them looked past Caleb and let out a laugh.