'There's a fucking tiger'- 'There are other starving gun toting survivalists murdering our friends for gear' - 'broken ankle' - ' they-'
"What did they do to you" I interrupted myself as Anna emerged, head down with a hand to her cheek.
"I'll fuckin' kill em , like nothing, where are they -how far" Artcher said starting off into the jungle, opposite the direction in which Anna had come.
"Christ were all going to kill each other." I said. Christ was a slang word. God bless Cambodia.
"Its nothing , its not important do go after them. They're dumping that body in the river. They're just assholes." She said and didn't stop walking toward the compound.She was crying.
"FUCK THAT!" Artcher began pushing his way through the dense jungle. A jungle that hadn't originally been all that intense but was made so by the CoP(Council of Protectorates). It's always been considered an underhanded move on their part. Planes- Growth hormones- the idea was to make any terrain that wasn't owned by a private protectorate un-inhabitable, as to eradicate the natives and have more land to sell. Land can always be developed. Turns out. In any case, the Jungles had become a very serious place. most of it was so thick you could hardly make it through without a pack , and with one there was no chance of it. There were trails cut and burned by the native populations, always fighting to keep their land but consistently stifled. Less so now a day with the recent influx of readily available weaponry. Things were a bit more 'even'.
Business wars, what a cheap reason to kill each other. A deal is made between a corporation and a struggling government- you give us land, we give you the cash. Simple. But no, they get greedy. Nothing new. Another rival Protectorate offers more money for the land to the PM, president , Dictator etc. and a third party is hired to do the dirty work . Make these Protectorates a living hell, we move out, the Corporates go broke, and the land is soon up for sale. The new company moves in and its started all over again. In Cambodia's case, there was no other party given money to come terrorize the Protectorates, the natives were simply handed guns, and told they were free to take back their land. Thanks to their ignorance and fervent hate for the Corporates things seemed to be working out for the ones at the top. Down here everything had gone to shit.
The protectorates had all hired their own Private armies, often comprised of militia-men gun nuts, Grown up boyscouts, and ex-soldiers who needed a dime or missed firing a rifle. We give you the money, you kill the native rebels. Simple. We were caught up in a war between money grubbers and misers, but to survive you either need to be quiet or a soldier, se we found guns. I was beginning to wonder if maybe these french hot-heads were a part of this whole struggle. If so I wondered, do they see us as fighting for or against the natives? We were fighting both sides, mostly just avoiding our demise. We had waited this long, to see if it would blow over quickly, but it had been long enough and the French had ferry tickets. I was also beginning to wonder if they would share as they had promised.
Artcher only made it a few feet before the French arrived a meter or two away from a trail they had found or cut. It wasn't an obvious rout, it was well chosen. They were quick. "The Burglar it afloat!" Capt. Blush declared waving his pistol with his boys, drinking from a glass flask filled with something half clear half brown.
"What the fuck did you do to her." Artcher let roar. Loud but not overly pronounced, very direct. They laughed "Tell me you drunk bastards!". It was the middle of the night and the tree cover was so that moonlight did little. The only light was that of the light in my hand. The French had turned theirs off and Anna's had come and gone. They laughed at him and kept moving.
I shinned the light on that laughing idiot captain of theirs, bursting with rage at their arrogance. " Stop right there you sonofabitch. That woman fed you as you lay in bed and shit yourself. You will apologize or so help me one of the two of us is gonna shoot ya." There was no law. Only judgement.
"Who's to say I don't shoot you first tree dweller." The drunk leader said as he staggered to a stop. They had been drinking through the day, into the night and had just fallen into their beds when break-in happened. I guess they decided to keep it flowing. They were victorious and cocky.
"Yeah what the fuck you gonna do if weve got shooters aswell!" one of his boys declared. He was mousy and had a little yellow mustache. It was weak and didn't suit him. The other boy, the youngest, said nothing, ever. I don't think he spoke much english. I may have heard him speaking French once but who knows. The mustachioed drew his gun and it took no time for Artcher to misinterpret/act quickly. The boy hit the ground and the last thing I saw as I turned my light away was the boys eye had come out. He was over. Capt. Blush was caught off guard being A.)that he was Tanked and B.) A shit talker who didn't get called out enough. It took him just enough time to react. I was able to drop the light and swing my rifle around. Just as his mussel was in my line I tapped the trigger and popped him. Right in the chest. All sorts of liquids were coming out as he ran 3 steps, walked 2, knelt on the 6th, and by the 7thhe was dead in the mud, in the dark.
The youngest boy stood there with his hand in the air, and his pistol at his feet. God bless the french...
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