The Land Cruiser started up, moved forward, and wound its way down the dirt road, which was not much more than a faint pair of tire tracks. The passengers in the vehicle were silent. The thoroughness of the hyenas had taken the conversation out of them. After fifteen more minutes, the Land Cruiser came to a place where the savannah was indented by a small gorge. The vehicle went into low gear and negotiated it way down to the bottom. There was a dry creek bed at the bottom, filled with rocks and surrounded by flat-topped acacia trees. Kikanae braked at the crossing and the vehicle rolled slowly over large boulders before lulling its way back up the opposite rim. Ahead now was the last of the acacia trees, beyond which was open range, and just as the Land Cruiser was about to push out onto it, there was movement ahead, there on the road.

Three men suddenly appeared from behind the trees and stood in the middle of the road, blocking the path of the Land Cruiser. They all held rifles in their hands and pointed them directly at Kikanae.

“Nje! Nje!,” the large one shouted. “Get out!”

He was a stout, dark Kikuyu, who stood a step in front of and in between the other two.

Kikanae placed the vehicle in park, turned off the ignition, and held his hands high where they could see them. Bernard did the same, cautiously, showing his white palms through the windshield.

“Be calm,” Bernard said to the group in the back, whispering to them. “Be patient.”

Bernard and Kikanae opened their doors and slowly stepped out, keeping their hands high. However, they did so in a way that left their bodies shielded by the opened doors.

“Sawa! Starehe!” Bernard said to the large one. “Stay calm.”

The large one said something in Swahili, and then he motioned to the passengers, waving his hand as if he wanted them to exit the vehicle.

“Leave them,” Bernard said in Swahili. “They are tourists. They have no weapons. They carry only cameras.”

The large one shouted again in Swahili, motioning with the barrel of his rifle for them to get out.

“We can supply you with whatever you wish,” Bernard said calmly. “We have money, and ammunition, and food, and supplies. The tourists, they’re our responsibility. They need to stay in the vehicle…”

From behind the seat, Sam watched. He watched as Bernard continued to speak; he watched as Bernard’s hand reached for the shotgun on the door panel; he watched as Bernard slowly pulled it from the bracket and looked over at Kikanae, and as his finger found the trigger.

In a flash Bernard’s shotgun was at the top of the door. In the same instant Kikanae’s, rifle came up too. The bright steel of the gun barrels flashed in the sunlight as the shotgun sounded first. Bam! And in rapid succession both rifles spoke; Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

So sudden was it that Sam did not fully comprehend what had just happened. When he finally raised his head and looked through the windshield he saw the three men lying on the road, Bernard and Kikanae approaching them with their guns extended.  Three men, who were alive and standing in one moment, were now dead on the ground. He had never seen men killed before, and could hardly believe how simple and finite a task it was. He felt a chill vibrating through his body. He looked around at the others, who were likewise shocked by the spectacle.

“My God,” the British woman said.

“Stay in the jeep!” Bernard shouted back without turning his head.

Bernard knelt down beside the large Kikuyu and rummaged through his pockets, taking some papers which he tucked into his waist belt, and he found some trinkets which he examined and discarded on the roadside. Kikanae did the same with the others. Then they dragged the bodies to the side of the road and piled them on top of one another. They gathered the weapons and deposited them in the back of the Land Cruiser. When Bernard and Kikanae finally climbed back into the Land Cruiser, they were both breathing heavily from all the work.

“Shouldn’t we take them, or bury them or something?” Sam asked.

Bernard exchanged a glance with Kikanae.

“It is impossible,” he then replied. “There is no place for them in the jeep. And besides, we can’t bury them. The constable will want to see them, and identify them. He will want to see exactly how it happened.” Bernard looked back at them over the seat. “It has been a problem… robberies.”

“What?”

“They are thieves, no different then the hyenas; thugs preying on the tourists and the guide services. It has been a big problem, really, having an impact on the safari industry as a whole.”

“You will just leave them?” the British woman asked.

“The constable will be out here to tag them. He will gather up the bodies,” Bernard said. “He needs to see them exactly as they are.”