They dragged him out into the middle of a desolate, featureless stretch of scrubland miles from any road. “Think of it as a head start,” the poacher laughed, throwing Elias into the dirt. As the truck roared to life and peeled away, Elias screamed, pleading with them, writhing in the dirt with his hands still bound behind his back.
He watched their taillights vanish into the deepening darkness, the red glow fading until it was just a memory. He was alone. The truck was gone. The calf was gone. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of dry earth and impending rain. Elias tried to stand, but his legs felt like lead. The gravity of the situation settled over him like a shroud.
He had failed the calf, he had failed the mother, and now, he was lost in a wilderness that showed no mercy to the stranded. He was entirely at the mercy of the night.