POETIC JUSTICE

I COULD HEAR THE sound of a wild animal roaring off in the distance and then gunshots. A shiver ran up my back like a wave. “Did you hear that?” Fender’s mouth fell open; he pointed to his eyes, then mine, motioning to the cave entrance. The men fell in line as we penetrated the hollow with flashlights dancing off the dirt walls. With Fender next to me, I keep the light moving down the right tunnel. Bats fly from the ceiling, swooping overhead. “I hate bats.” The smell of dead animals and bat feces makes me want to hurl, but I have nothing left in my stomach. We moved down the tunnel for almost a mile until Fender grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Let the men go first; Harper has a tranquilizer gun.”