A Race Against Time

Wafula crouched low behind the thick undergrowth, his breath ragged and his heart hammering like a faulty water pump. The night was still alive with movement and muffled voices, hurried footsteps, the occasional crack of a twig. The men who had been chasing him were still searching, their figures barely visible in the dim moonlight.

He had to move.

Carefully, he lifted his head and scanned the area. The path back to the car was clear, at least for now. He couldn't afford to hesitate. Taking one last deep breath, he bolted.

----

Every muscle in his body burned as he sprinted through the darkness, ducking under low-hanging branches and leaping over roots like a gazelle being chased by a lion.

He didn't look back.

The only thought in his mind was reaching the vehicle.

The terrain was uneven, and at one point, he nearly tripped over a rock. His hands shot out just in time to steady himself, and he kept going. He wasn't about to die in a Tanzanian forest because of some glowing chalice that had dived into his chest like a thirsty man drinking water.

His lungs screamed for air, but finally, he saw the car.

And, unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had made it there first.

----

Heinrich was pacing near the vehicle, his face twisted in frustration. His three bodyguards stood nearby, all looking equally disheveled, their clothes stained with mud and sweat.

The moment Heinrich saw Wafula, his anger erupted.

"Where the hell have you been?!" he barked, marching toward him. "You think this is a damn safari? Open the damn car!"

Wafula barely had time to process the insults. His hands instinctively patted his pockets.

For a horrifying second, he thought he had lost the keys.

Then, his fingers brushed against the familiar cold metal. Relief flooded his body as he yanked them out and fumbled to unlock the door.

Nobody cared where he had been.

Nobody noticed that his clothes were completely soaked, his hands trembling, or that his eyes held secrets that even he didn't fully understand.

Everyone was just desperate to get out of there.

The moment the doors were unlocked, they all piled in, slamming them shut in haste. Wafula barely had time to settle into the driver's seat before Heinrich's voice roared again.

"Drive!"

Wafula didn't need to be told twice.

-----

He floored the accelerator, and the car lurched forward.

The tires kicked up dust and gravel as they sped away from the scene, leaving behind a cluster of confused chauffeurs who had no idea what had just happened.

Wafula gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. His eyes darted between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. There were no headlights following them yet, but he wasn't about to slow down.

His pulse was still erratic. Every sharp turn, every bump on the road made him feel like they were seconds away from being caught.

"Faster, dammit!" Heinrich shouted from the back seat, his voice laced with desperation.

Wafula resisted the urge to snap back at him.

"Would you like to come and drive yourself?" he muttered under his breath.

But truth be told, he was scared too.

Whatever had gone down at that river wasn't just some rich man's treasure hunt. People had died. Gunfire had erupted like New Year's fireworks.

And somehow, he had walked away with something no one else had managed to claim.

His chest still felt strange—like something was simmering inside him. But now wasn't the time to think about that.

They just had to get far, far away.

---

By the time the local police finally mobilized, Wafula and his passengers were already twenty minutes away.

The officers, alerted by the sudden eruption of gunfire in the dead of night, had taken their sweet time gearing up. By the time they arrived at the river, all they found were bodies and footprints.

Wafula, meanwhile, had no idea how close he had come to an international incident.

All he knew was that his passengers were shaken, and that Heinrich, usually arrogant and composed, was now visibly panicked.

None of them spoke.

For once, the usually talkative Heinrich was silent, staring out of the window, deep in thought. His wife sat stiffly beside him, her hands gripping her gadget tightly, her eyes darting around nervously.

The bodyguards were tense, their weapons still within reach.

The air inside the car was thick with unease.

Wafula didn't ask questions.

Not that they would have answered anyway.

----

After nearly an hour of non-stop driving, Wafula finally spotted a roadside hotel.

It wasn't fancy, but it was secluded enough to be safe.

He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.

"We need to clean up and rest," he said simply. "You'll need a new car too—this one's drawing too much attention."

Nobody argued.

Everyone climbed out, exhausted, their bodies aching from the night's madness. Heinrich rubbed his face roughly and nodded toward one of his bodyguards.

"Sort the rooms," he muttered.

Wafula stretched his sore legs, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the night.

It was quiet here. A stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped.

But even as the group disappeared into the hotel, Wafula remained by the car for a moment.

His hand drifted to his chest, fingers pressing lightly against his sternum.

Nothing felt different on the outside.

But inside, he could tell something was there.

Something powerful.

Something that had chosen him.

He sighed and shook his head.

"This is above my pay grade."

Then, with one last glance at the dark horizon, he followed the others inside.

He needed sleep.

Badly.