When Keoki lost the client in the jungle mist, he feared for his reputation, his business. That was hours ago, in daylight.
Dog-tired, he hunted for the clumsy, rich, white woman playing Lara Croft, with perfect teeth and $300 nails.
Piercing cackles from the dark triggered goosebumps on his arms. Laughing gulls—noisy fuckers.
The air grew cold. More gulls. Then whispers. Keoki froze.
A hiss. The arrow struck his calf; as Keoki buckled, breathless, the archer emerged, naked, bloodied. Cruel laughter from the trees: not gulls. More crimson nightmares appeared.
The archer drew her bow, smiling with perfect teeth.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>