All that could be heard was the intense sound of gunfire, and his vision was blocked by the tall grass, but Brian Carter had no intention of getting up to see what was happening. All he could do now was pray that no one saw him.

The battle had started very suddenly, but the gunfire quickly became sparse, though it didn’t stop completely. Soon, Brian Carter was surprised to realize that the gunshots were getting closer and closer to him.

Gunfire rang out from time to time, approaching him rapidly.

Brian Carter cursed inwardly. With adrenaline surging through his body, his mouth felt dry, his hair stood on end, and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

Brian Carter forced himself to calm down. He drew the hunting knife tucked into his waistband, took a few deep breaths, and then cautiously raised his head to take a look.

Two black men in camouflage were running one after the other toward where Brian Carter was hiding, and behind them, seven or eight people were in pursuit, firing continuously at the two fleeing men. Soon, the one who had fallen behind was hit in the chest, a burst of blood spraying out, and he collapsed to the ground.

The only remaining black man kept running toward Brian Carter. The worst part was, he was running faster than a damn rabbit. There had been several hundred meters between them, but less than a minute had passed since the gunfire started, and now he was less than fifty meters from Brian Carter. With the man running for his life, the distance was shrinking rapidly.

The fleeing man fired back from time to time, hoping to slow down his pursuers. But when he turned to shoot again, his gun didn’t fire—he was out of bullets. Then a bullet struck him squarely in the head, and with a muffled “thud,” his brains splattered through the air.

Brian Carter lay on the ground and didn’t even need to lift his head to see what was happening, because if that man hadn’t died, just a couple more steps and he would have trampled right over Brian Carter.

After the last fleeing man fell, a cheer erupted. But at that moment, all Brian Carter wanted to do was cry. He deeply regretted not running at the start; if he had, he probably wouldn’t have drawn the attention of either side. Now it was too late to run.

The cheering quickly died down, and then a voice rang out.

“Ian Clark, go check it out. The rest of you, clean up the battlefield. We need to leave quickly.”

The speaker was using English. Although the accent was a bit strange, Brian Carter could still understand.

The footsteps drew closer and closer. Glancing at the corpse within arm’s reach, Brian Carter knew he couldn’t stay hidden any longer. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided it was better to take the initiative.

To avoid any misunderstanding, Brian Carter first stuck the hunting knife into the back of his waistband, then lay on the ground and shouted loudly in English, “Don’t shoot! I’m Chinese! I don’t have a gun! I’m not a threat! I’m a survivor of a plane crash! Please listen, I’m Chinese, I’m a plane crash survivor, I’m not a threat!”

“Who is it? Come out, hands up!”

They didn’t shoot immediately, which made Brian Carter breathe a little easier.

“I’m coming out, please don’t shoot! Sorry, I’m injured, seriously, so I’ll be moving slowly. Please don’t shoot.”

As he spoke, Brian Carter slowly stood up, raised his hands, and stayed where he was. He saw that the nearest black man was about seven or eight meters away, and there were six others scattered at varying distances, about a hundred meters away. But now, all of them had their guns trained on him.

The black man closest to Brian Carter saw his face and seemed to believe that Brian Carter wasn’t dangerous. The look on his face relaxed a bit. At that moment, someone in the distance shouted, “Ian Clark, who is it?”

The black man called Ian Clark was holding a rusty AK-47, dressed in worn-out camouflage, and, surprisingly, wearing flip-flops. He didn’t look like any regular soldier.

Ian Clark pointed his gun at Brian Carter and quickly ran up to him. After a careful look, he tilted his head slightly and shouted to the people behind him, “It’s a yellow-skinned guy. He says he’s Chinese. He doesn’t have a gun.”

Brian Carter kept his hands raised. Though extremely nervous, he forced a smile and shouted, “Sir, I was in a plane crash. I’m the only survivor. If you and your friends can help me, I’ll do everything I can to reward you. Please, don’t kill me. I can give you a lot of money. Saving me will be better for you.”

As he spoke, Brian Carter stared intently at the gun in Ian Clark’s hands. They were almost face to face, the muzzle just within reach of his head. Brian Carter was terrified that this guy called Ian Clark might pull the trigger while he was talking.

After Brian Carter finished speaking, there was no response from Ian Clark, but from someone farther away came a word he absolutely did not want to hear: “Kill him!”

Brian Carter’s heart sank, but Ian Clark didn’t pull the trigger right away. Instead, he turned his head and shouted, “He says he can give us a lot of money.”

“Idiot, kill him!”