Bette’s jaw tightened as she kept her eyes firmly on the dusty trail ahead. “Vultures don’t gather for no reason. Poachers or injury, it’s bad either way.” The vet continued, “We lost three rhinos this month. If it’s another one…” her voice trailed off.

Nyah’s hand reached across the cabin and squeezed Bette’s arm. It lingered for a bit.

The car bumped over a depression in the trail, jerking Bette’s arm out of the comforting gesture, she steadied herself, her hand tightening around the wheel. She smiled meekly at Nyah, who straightened herself in her seat, but Bette could still feel the warmth of Nyah’s palm lingering on her forearm.

“You ever wonder if it’s enough? We’re just a handful of people with radios and old trucks. They’re organized. Armed,” Bette asked trying hard to focus back on the driving.

Nyah, now keeping her eyes back on the road, answered realistically, “Every day. But if we stop, who stands between them and extinction?”

“Yeah.” Bette sighed, “You’re right.”

The radio crackled to life and a voice broke through the static. “Base to Bravo One. Confirm visual on downed rhino near acacia grove. East ridge. Over.”

Nyah grabbed the radio, “Copy, Base. Bravo One en route. ETA five minutes. Over.”

Bette swallowed hard as she floored the accelerator creating a larger cloud of dust and turning every small stones caught in the grooves of her tyres, into a low level lethal projectile. Bitterly she thought about what they were sure to encounter; the consequences of yet another senseless killing.

The vet glanced behind her on the back seat at her tranquilizer rifle, “If it’s still alive, we might have a chance.”

Nyah met her gaze, “You always find a way. Let’s hope this one waited for you.”

The distant shapes of vultures spiralling against the sky appeared in the distance. The Land Cruiser veered a little to the right and sped toward them.

***

The harbour was a maze of weathered wooden piers and rusting fishing boats, their hulls slick with algae and oil. Dim lanterns cast flickering reflections on the inky water, where the occasional ripple betrayed unseen movement beneath the surface. The air was thick with humidity and the heat near suffocating. It clung to the skin like a second layer, carrying the mingling scents of brine, diesel, and the acrid tang of drying fish.