The Last Hunt
A work of fiction by Tsao Alexander
Waterton Publishing Company
No part of this book was created using Artificial Intelligence (AI).
This is a work of fiction. The events described are imaginary and the settings and characters are fictitious and not intended to represent actual places, companies, or persons.
Copyright © 2026 by Waterton Publishing Company. All Rights Reserved.
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THE LAST HUNT
CHAPTER 13
As the sun was rising Thomas was lying in bed with his eyes closed thinking about food. He never did get to sleep, worrying, strategizing. ‘Jane said I would have to kill something if I want to eat.’ Tom found the statement interesting. No longer a scavenger hovering over the meat counter at his local grocers, he was now a predator, just like the lion, the tiger, the cheetah, the jackal. All in competition for the prey. And he was also the prey.
The lion wasn’t prey. That magnificent mammal was, Thomas acknowledged, a top-tier predator. King of the Jungle.
Maybe, Tom thought, he would just hide in the cabin and only go out occasionally to forage for edible plants. A week of vegetarianism probably wouldn’t kill him. Unless, or course, he ate the wrong vegetation. Or ran afoul of a lion.
The sun was shining brightly when Tom finally opened the door. He yawned, stretched, and looked around. ‘Everybody must still be in bed; what a lazy bunch!’ Tom poured some water in the sink and splashed it on his face. Then he went out to the veranda and sat in a rocker.
After a few minutes, Tom stepped off the veranda, wearing only his pajamas and slippers, and rubbed his eyes. ‘Weren’t there tents over there?’ Tom rubbed his eyes again and walked over to the side of the cabin. The supply tent was gone. The tables were gone. He yelled out: “Hey, everybody, wake up!” He knew better. They were all gone. He was all alone.
He sat back on the veranda steps and considered his situation. Then he jumped up, ran inside the cabin, and called out on the radio. “Is anybody there? Hello. Hello!” Jane answered.
“Good morning Mr. Stevens, I trust you slept well?”
Tom said that he did not sleep well. “When did you leave?” he asked.
“About an hour and a half ago,” Jane answered. “Now, I am going to tell you where the bullets and knives are. Are you ready?” Tom said he was. “Good,” Jane responded, “put some shoes on and go out and around the cabin to the back.” Tom walked around the cabin. “Okay,” he said, “now what?”
“You see that storage box, part of the cabin, I’m going to give you the combination to the padlock.” Tom knelt next to the box and soon had it open.
“Yes, I see everything,” Tom advised.
“Good, you should probably leave your radio plugged into the battery pack when you’re not using it.” Jane said something to the porters and then asked Tom if he had any questions.
“Have any of your other guests died?”
Jane was silent for a moment thinking about the Englishman. Then she said, “No.”
Thomas took the bag from the storage locker to the veranda and poured the contents onto the floor. There were boxes of nine-millimeter cartridges and four sharp knives of different sizes and shapes. He handled the knives and then put them back in the bag. After that he loaded the pistol.
Tom had the pistol and a large knife with him when he went back outside in his pajamas, this time wearing ankle-high boots. He walked around the camp and got a feel for the perimeter and where things were. Of utmost importance were water and fire so he checked the water barrels and firewood supplies. Both seemed adequate.
He went back to the veranda, drew the pistol, pointed at a nearby shrubby tree, and fired. A miss; but the firearm worked fine. Tom thought about practicing but decided against depleting ammunition. He sat down on a step. He was already bored.
Tom tried to reach somebody on the radio to ask about toilet facilities, but nobody answered. He found some toilet paper near the wash basin and took it with him as he made one final sweep of the area looking for an outhouse. Sure enough, behind the cabin down a short path was a latrine tent, which he made prompt use of.
Walking back to the cabin Thomas was sure he was being followed. His heart raced. The back of his neck tingled. Tom withdrew the pistol and quickened his pace to the safety of the cabin, finding that he had carelessly left the door open for myriad flying and crawling things.
Tom closed the door and peered out a window to see if perhaps there was an animal. He didn’t see one. He spent the next hour swatting and shooing bugs. After that, he lay on the couch and looked at his phone, scrolling old messages. It was thirteen thirty and he was still in his pajamas. Tom was by then quite hungry and there was nothing to eat in the cabin.
He grabbed the book, “Edible Plants of South Africa,” and skimmed through the pages. There were leaves and stems and flowers; all apparently non-poisonous. Tom went outside and looked around, cursing aloud, and threw the book on the floor. “Damn idiots! Couldn’t they have at least shown me where these plants are??”
Tom resolved himself to the fact he was going hunting with a nine-millimeter handgun. So, after washing up and putting on safari clothes and a hat, he strapped on the revolver, sheathed a big knife, and stepped out into wild Africa.