My name is Gaspard Jerome Masson, and I have one regret.
The last word smudged beneath the old man’s trembling hand. He drew a breath, then continued writing.
Her name was Marie.
###
June 6, 1944
Rennes, France
“Gaspard! They’re coming!”
Gaspard shot up from his seat. Marie burst through the door of his small apartment
The thumb drive is in my coat pocket, slapping my leg with every step as I weave through the hypogeum. The Colosseum’s floodlights illuminate the broken walls from above while small lights along the ground light up the path. Blood seeps from my shoulder and trickles down my arm, dripping from my fingers and…
Read it now
I’ve just collapsed my blind when I realize two things.
First, the bushveld is silent.
Second, I’m being hunted.
If my hunch is correct, I’m being hunted by the same man-eating lion I’ve been stalking for the past three weeks. He must be tired of toying with me. Tired of avoiding my blind.
The thing about adventures is they’re only fun in hindsight.
Take last week, for example. My car broke down, which wouldn’t be too special, except it was in a ginormous mudhole. While it was raining. Actually, raining is too mild a description. This was a monsoon.
I stared out the windscreen…
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