Grigsby peeked out of the hut at a herd of zebras that were grazing nearby. He proposed the plan of riding them out of the village toward the landing zone. Ira was having second thoughts.
“These are wild zebra’s Grigs, they’re nothing like the show horses back at Pemberton manor,” Ira said.
“I’m a fine horseman and can handle any steed. Ryūki is an awarding winning Yabusame Archer, the practice of Japanese horse archery. He’ll carry you. If he can hit a bullseye target at full gallop he can hold on to you.”
“Fine.” Ira said. “Did you hear that?” Ira moved Grigsby out of the way and peeked through the crack in the hut. “Oh no.”
Outside the tribespeople were setting up fires and stakes long enough to hold humans. A few of the butchers were sharpening long blades and bone saws. Ira went pale and hid behind Ryūki.
Grigsby smirked and checked his watch. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here before their little dinner party starts.” He said powering on the sat-phone. Grigsby dialed Dalia, she picked up on the first ring. Grigsby urged her to hurry. Dalia said she’d be there soon and to tear ass out of there the second they hear an engine. Grigsby set his watch timer and powered down the phone.
Ryūki tightened his boots up and began stretching. Then he did some pushups to get warmed up. Grigsby nodded at him.
“Ira, stay behind Ryūki and hold on to him like a fat desperate prom date.” Grigsby advised.
They waited in silence. They could smell the campfires growing in strength. In the distance, Grigsby heard a faint buzzing. He closed his eyes and listened.
“Is that the plane?” Grigsby asked.
A tribesman leaped into their hut and grabbed Ira. His smile showed small and yellow teeth. Ira screamed as more tribesmen ran into the hut to carry him away. Ryūki went to fight but knew to wait for the opportune moment. The samurai way.
“Grigsby,” Ryūki said. “Run!”