I looked around again, trying to recreate how this happened.
The opening in the trees above was enough for a cargo plane to lower down the crate. It would’ve been sitting here for at least a few days based on the leaves and soil buildup that settled around the bottom. Then a single dirt bike rider could have dropped me off while I was unconscious.
I glanced down at the chain in my hand, imagining Molly’s face as she’d given the order to secure the doors.
This was personal.
I turned and flipped off the trail cameras mounted to the trees that sat recording me like this was some wildlife documentary.
Molly is dead once I get my teeth into her.
Agreed.
But the cameras meant the show was still filming and the strategic way my nest was placed made me realize this couldn’t be just about me
