Edio Yenye Shavu

Voices carried through the camp, low and scattered, drifting between tents and supply crates. Jessie didn’t mean to listen. But he heard it anyway. “…we saw him again.” “…not one of ours.” “…kid. Out in the bush.” Jessie’s steps slowed slightly. Not enough to notice. But enough to hear more. “He’s alone.” “Won’t be for long.” “Set a sweep out past the ridge tomorrow—we’ll flush him out.”