A low, vibrating rumble suddenly shook the ground, grounding everyone in the clearing. The mother rhino, partially recovered from the sedative, had heaved herself onto her knees. She let out a roar that shook the very air, a deep, primal sound that seemed to come from the core of the earth itself.
The poachers stumbled back, momentarily panicked, but they quickly realized she was barely conscious. They saw her collapse again, her legs buckling under the weight of the chemicals. The leader glanced at the North Pass, his eyes darting toward the horizon. They didn’t have the time to rig a second harness for her, and trying to transport a thousand-kilogram animal that might wake up mid-transit was a death sentence for their operation.
With the risk of running into a patrol rising by the second, they decided to abandon her. “Forget her,” the leader sneered, grabbing the calf by its ears and dragging it toward the back of the truck. “She’s too much of a liability.” They kicked Elias hard in the ribs, tossing him in next to the thrashing calf, and slammed the heavy metal doors shut. Darkness enveloped them, and the engine roared to life, the truck bouncing violently over the rough, unyielding savanna floor.