One of the men tossed something into a barrel fire. Another stood near a crate, rifle slung over his back. Caleb’s eyes moved carefully across the camp, scanning between tents and gear. That’s when he saw it. A metal cage.
It was tucked behind a stack of supplies, partially covered with a tarp. But inside—shaking, small, and barely moving—was a walrus calf. Its skin was marked with frost and a red tag on its flipper. Its eyes, wide and tired, blinked slowly as it let out a soft, muffled squeal.
Caleb’s breath caught. That was it. That’s why the adult had followed him. Why it hadn’t attacked. Why it had led him all this way. It wasn’t just looking for food. It was trying to get help. The adult walrus was still behind him, unmoving, its eyes fixed on the camp.
Caleb looked between the two—parent and child—now separated by guns, metal, and men with no conscience. He clenched his fists, the cold forgotten. He needed to get that calf out of there. But first, he had to figure out how to do it without getting caught—or worse.