The tires screeched as I turned off the main road and veered down a long, broken dirt path, the coordinates Cassie had sent still glowing on the dashboard screen. Trees loomed on both sides. Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked violently—restless.
I pulled up to a decrepit compound—a mess of corrugated iron sheets, cinder blocks, and wooden planks nailed together. Smoke drifted from a barrel near the entrance, and the foul stench of blood and roasted flesh clung to the air.
I killed the engine, stepped out, and listened.
The dogs kept barking.
I walked in.
Inside the compound, the ground was littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, and the occasional bloodstain. Ahead of me, near a crude bonfire, sat a group of men—filthy, half-drunk, with cracked laughter rising in the smoke. One
