Moment – The Thunder of Death

We were saturated by an ever-expanding cloud of wild pig smell from a herd of hundreds of gunshot-panicked jungle javelinacharging away from danger but directly toward my wife and me, along the barren river plane where we were standing. A stampede with us in the middle. Our only hope was to get to a gnarled three-foot stump, if only we could make it in time. There was an overpowering thunder of noise and dust and a fearsome crescendo of hundreds of gnashing teeth as we barely made our rushed leap to safety, wildly pressing together, our exposed bodies within an inch of being clipped into sure death if struck by one of the hurling by ninety pound missiles. Eyeball to eyeball in the dead center of the charge!