Dracula of the Apes 2

by G. Wells Taylor

  From time to time since then he had heard this in his sleep, but always the call haunted his memory—and never could he picture the beasts that gave it voice.

  Gazda retreated to the lair whenever he could. He was usually inspired to visit by boredom or curiosity; but it was a place away from the group that had little in common with the other apes, so he felt at home where he was sure that they would not.

  It offered some respite to the night ape’s busy mind.

  On this occasion, the tribe had wandered far to the east of the tree-nest, and Gazda knew it was a full half-day’s travel or more to get there and another to return, but since his hunting had already taken him toward the clearing, he had crossed the final distance with little thought of rejoining the tribe before nightfall.

  His confidence had grown as he aged, and his abilities assured his own safety. The shadows held few things he feared anymore, so for short periods he was learning to forget his ingrained need to be near the tribe after sunset. He felt safe in the dark by himself with no one close to hear his cry.

  Gazda’s only concern was for Eeda, whom on several occasions he’d found near sunrise, searching the treetops for him if his hunting had ever taken him far and his mother had awakened in her sleeping tree to find him outside the range of her call.

  He always took the punishment she gave him without complaint because he was more worried about her wandering the jungle shadows in search of him without his or Goro’s protection near, and he would have blamed himself if something ever happened to her.

  Because of this, the night ape had many times abandoned previous plans to visit the lair if the tribe had wandered too far for him to get there and back in good time. So out of love and loyalty to his mother, the frustrated night ape had been forced to stay with the often noisy and always tedious tribe.

  But Gazda had become more open to caprice as he matured, and could convince himself that his mother would understand his impulsive needs. He could not always depend upon her for safety and sustenance, he reasoned, and so she would benefit from his time away.

  That thought had kept him swinging through the trees until it left him at the platform outside his lair, clenched in mortal combat with guilt as he imagined his mother alone in the dead of night.

  However, like most growing offspring of the anthropoid variety, he got better at overpowering the instinctive urges that would have him race home and see to her safety.

  Gazda combated those impulses by embracing the logic that had put him at the tree-nest in the first place. He was there in part to improve his hunting skills. His mother had already benefited greatly by the rich meat he shared with her as a result.

  So, in a way, he was doing it for her.

  Also, he had a point to make. Goro’s reaction and embarrassment over the snakeskin had greatly overshadowed Gazda’s accomplishment of killing the python in the first place. So, rather than risk bringing up that unpleasant incident again by hunting another snake, the night ape had decided to go after a beast that was larger than his previous shame.

  He wanted to kill a predator like himself—not an ape—for they were group hunters, and no masters of stalking and stealth—no, he knew a greater prize would be to go after something that could hunt and kill a python—or an ape.

  In the past Gazda had relied on chance for finding prey, following tracks and scents to the inevitable kill; and while he had found the spoor of predators aplenty, he had guessed quite accurately that they were more adept at avoiding him than the creatures he usually dined upon.

  From this he had surmised that hunting such a beast required more skill than chance.

  Gazda and the rest of his tribe had long hated the leopards that had fed upon apes like Poomak, but like the others, Gazda had always retreated to the safety of the trees whenever one was near.

  However, as time passed, and the night ape’s confidence had grown, while the other apes hurled taunts and scolded, Gazda studied the supple killers until they retreated.

  Leopards were deliberate with each movement they made—leaving nothing to chance. They studied every patch of earth upon which they were about to set a paw, and they would appraise each blade of grass for scent or mark. This calculating nature made them the efficient and terrifying predators they were.

  Gazda had seen the results. Remains of beasts often heavier than the killers, carried into the high branches and wedged in place where they were butchered, the bodies torn to ribbons and stripped of flesh by long fangs and razor-sharp claws.

  Hunting such an animal would be dangerous and the outcome entirely unpredictable. But if he were successful? The thought of the respect that such a deed would earn made Gazda dizzy.

  Gazda had grown to about the size of an average leopard, and while great power surged in his own limbs, he seemed awkward and angular in comparison to their compact bodies that were formed of solid muscle and thick bone

  But the night ape knew his long knife would make all the difference. It had so easily slain the great python, biting deeply until the creature almost broke in half, and wielded again in the night ape’s fist; the blade would surely work in the same way with a leopard.

  The only difference would be that when Gazda had drunk its blood and skinned its flesh, he’d have a hide worth celebrating that none within the tribe would dare criticize.

  Then would come the long-deserved respect.

  Gazda knew that like him, the leopard preferred hunting in the dark, and likely had powers similar to his own that grew stronger after sunset. The night ape was encouraged by this notion, for while he did not greatly fear the beasts; he wanted to be at his strongest when he met one.

  CHAPTER 16 – The Pride of Prey

  So, that night as the full moon drifted in and out of ragged clouds, Gazda slipped past the tree-nest door and sprinted the short distance to where long branches reached out of the jungle and into the clearing. With a powerful leap, he was into the trees and swinging away with all his speed. Around him the night creatures made their songs and calls, and all of them combined to form a constant noise that would have confused an animal not born to the jungle.

  The night ape moved seemingly deaf to the cacophony, though his subconscious mind studied the raucous cloud for any sign of danger.

  His thoughts were otherwise focused upon the hunt.

  Gazda knew jungle trails that led to a spring where many forest creatures drank.

  And near such paths would leopards lurk.

  Gazda’s eyes pierced the jungle depths so acutely at night that it still took him great concentration to see only what he wished to see. The jungle was so crowded that every glowing insect, reptile, bird or tree gleamed against surrounding shadow in a way that could dazzle him.

  This effect was pronounced on nights where the great moon flew in and out of scudding clouds, alternately bathing the jungle landscape with its bright light, adding random changes as the night ape’s eyes struggled to adjust.

  In even low light or darkness, the trees were to him illuminated as though by a pale, blue gleam and so he could pass recklessly through the canopied jungle, leaping from one branch to the next or by sprinting along the wider boughs before hurtling into open space to catch at vine or creeper.

  At other times, he swung hand to hand, throwing his body through any hole in the dense foliage that opened in the direction in which he flew.

  Just now, Gazda had opened his senses to his surrounds, scanning the jungle trail below for evidence of his favorite food, a small antelope or bushbuck. The short-horned beasts had tasty red blood that would appeal to a leopard too, so he had decided to catch one of the creatures for a meal, and then set its flesh out afterwards to serve as bait. He knew that no jungle predator would pass up such an offering of fresh meat.

  The moon moved behind the clouds, and in the descending night a familiar glowing shape gleamed brightly against the sudden darkness that opened up below. It was moving quickly along the path, the incandescent spark flickering as it passe
d beneath the underbrush, so Gazda circled through the branches, before dropping swiftly earthwards while clinging tightly to a vine.

  With a single swinging motion, the night ape flew close to the ground while reaching out to snatch the bushbuck from the trail before the vine began its arcing upward climb toward the trees, where he came to rest on a twisted bough.

  Gazda wasted no time slashing the bushbuck’s jugular with his fangs and hungrily lapping at the blood that flowed from the dying creature, but he pulled away suddenly near the end so that he did not completely drain the beast.

  The remaining blood-scent would bring a leopard. Gazda’s short meal had invigorated him while leaving room for the carnivore’s blood he planned to feast upon later.

  The night ape clamped the bushbuck’s neck between his teeth and climbed down to the jungle path where he laid the warm carcass on the earth under the low-hanging branches of an ironwood tree.

  Gazda positioned himself on a thick limb some 15 feet over the bait where he stretched out on his belly, arms and legs ready to coil and leap at the first sign.

  The trap was set.

  Thunder rumbled and interrupted the incessant calls of the creatures that filled the trees around the night ape.

  Gazda frowned up at the first light patter of raindrops upon the leaves. Then, as the rain picked up, the normal night sounds ceased altogether and were replaced by the rushing roar of the growing downpour.

  The night ape took it without complaint since the high canopy broke up the worst of the rain, absorbing and scattering the deluge, and he believed the sound from it could cover any unintentional noises he might make, which would give him and his long knife an edge when a leopard came.

  He waited, watching and listening to the rainfall, as droplets ran over his back and legs. He saw several small creatures scurry across the jungle floor, some halting to sniff the dead bushbuck; others simply flitted from one terrifying shadow to the next.

  The jungle was dangerous at night.

  The rain continued, and Gazda’s long hair was soon soaked and hanging down around his face where it dripped onto the path below. He pushed it back over his shoulders, and wedged it behind his pointed ears but the weight of rainwater soon had it falling forward again.

  The night ape shifted his position as time crawled by, and soon Gazda was bored, as if he was watching old Baho snore in his nest of elephant plant leaves.

  Gazda’s thoughts drifted from there toward the general coarseness of his adoptive tribe. Their lives were a constant struggle against the elements, but the rewards they received were so simple and plain.

  Grooming, fruit and grubs—family, certainly—but the night ape could never be satisfied with such an end. Family then? He cared for Ooso, but he did not think of her, or any of the other she-apes, in a way suggestive of mating or offspring.

  He grunted to himself acknowledging that even the meager prize of tribal contentment that the apes often experienced in the idyllic green jungle could so easily become a chaotic display of madness as Omag or some young blackback lost control of his brutish emotions and terrorized the tribe.

  Dramatic, but it led nowhere, and came to nothing.

  And yet, the others in the tribe were content, not as restless as he. Was this just another difference between him and the other apes? He found them boring, but did that make him better? Sometimes it felt that way to him, when chaos disrupted the calm, when his fellows became lost in their passions. Then he quietly admired the differences that made him what he was.

  At those times, Gazda was pleased to be a night ape.

  Thunder startled him from his reverie, and the branch shook beneath him as he caught his balance. Yawning, he raised his head.

  Gazda had never imagined that hunting meat eaters would be boring. Like many young animals he craved action, even if it came with the possibility of death. He panted quietly to himself, thinking it a fine joke that dying might be better than listening to Baho’s snoring...

  He opened his eyes on a jungle that was silent except for the incessant drip of raindrops. The downpour must have ceased while he drowsed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky flickered behind the canopy.

  Asleep? Gazda pushed the hair out of his face, and drew his legs and arms under him, coiled to spring. Holding his breath as his pulse flared, he felt the hairs along the back of his neck prickle.

  So stupid to doze off—boredom and the bushbuck blood had caused it, made him drowsy and distracted.

  He cast about the night with his senses, the action dropping his lank hair into his face again. Hooking the long locks behind his ears, he wondered why the animals were still silent. Did they know the rain would return, or had the other beasts noticed his presence?

  A blood-curdling scream came close behind him, and Gazda leapt from the branch; but not quickly enough to escape a wide, black paw that struck at him as he fell; its long claws sunk into the flesh of his face and throat and held him dangling in the air.

  A black panther brother to the spotted leopard glared down at him from above; the crafty beast had smelled the bushbuck but decided on a live meal, so it had stealthily moved up into the tree behind the night ape. Had it smelled the blood on Gazda’s breath as he slept?

  Stupid! Fool!

  The full moon suddenly slipped out from behind the rain clouds, its light piercing the canopy to throw the predator into stark relief.

  The sudden brilliance blinded Gazda as pain burned across his mind where the panther’s big claws dug deeper into his flesh. The beast was forced to keep its other limbs wrapped around the branch to avoid being pulled from its perch with its prize.

  The night ape growled up into the black beast’s yellow eyes. Unlike the spotted leopard’s fur, this panther’s hide made it the perfect night hunter.

  Snarling, it lifted Gazda, as the night ape’s vision cleared and showed him the bright white fangs in its open jaws.

  Gazda squirmed, and reached up to grab the big cat’s shoulder. With a wrench, he ripped his face and neck away from the claws and fell the 15 feet to hit the ground on his back.

  The impact knocked the breath out of him but he had no time to catch it. While above, still etched against the moonlit canopy, the panther hissed, and with a terrifying howl leapt down at him with long fangs flashing and curved claws raking the air.

  Gazda ignored the pain in his mangled face and throat as he whipped the long knife from its sheath and brought the shining blade up in time to drive it into the panther’s chest when it fell upon him.

  The beast’s eyes blazed with pain and fury; before yowling, the predator writhed and raked at Gazda with its long claws.

  The panther bit into the night ape’s face, driving its upper fangs into Gazda’s cheekbone while the lower teeth ripped up through his jaw and tongue, jamming the crushed bone against the roof of his mouth.

  Gazda ignored the ruin of his flesh and the burning pain to put his full fury into the long knife he twisted between the big cat’s ribs. Locked together by teeth and violence, the night ape tasted the panther’s blood in his mouth where it mixed with his own.

  The beast again slashed his naked chest and thighs with its claws to tear him asunder.

  But the night ape could do no more than growl and twist his long knife with all his strength as the panther chewed at his face.

  The beast shuddered suddenly, and a cracking noise reverberated as Gazda’s blade snapped three of the big cat’s ribs. The animal went limp.

  Growling angrily, Gazda moved and rolled to get out from under the body, and onto his knees. There he slowed, dragging in a deep breath before he shifted the panther’s head this way and that to gingerly open the muscular jaws that were still locked upon him, pulling and pushing to work its fangs out of his face.

  There was a wet, sucking sound finally and the panther’s jaws fell away from him.

  Dark blood pulsed out of the holes in Gazda’s mangled face as he climbed unsteadily to his feet to sway over his dead en
emy.

  The pale skin on the night ape’s body hung in flaps and showed the bloody ribs on each side of his chest, and he wondered for a moment why he was not dead.

  But then, elation overpowered his pain, and setting one bare foot upon the dead panther, he threw his head back and beat upon his chest while giving the mighty roar of a bull ape that had killed its prey.

  The bestial cry shook the jungle around him, and painted the forest floor with a bloody spray of gore from his lungs.

  Coughing, Gazda’s strength began to pour out of him, but his nostrils caught the potent scent of the panther’s blood. He dropped upon the body and tore its throat open to drink. Kneading the dead muscles with his shaking hands, the blood spurted into his mouth, and as it flowed down his throat he felt a shadow of his strength return.

  His vision still swam as he drank, but as he squeezed the dead flesh for every drop of rich blood, his power returned in surges.

  And as he drank, all of his wounds began itching and throbbing, and his torn muscles quivered terribly. Gazda gripped his lower jaw while agony flared there as the broken bone made cracking noises while positioning itself to knit.

  Then dropping to his knees, the night ape clutched at the torn flesh on his chest and thighs, pressing it painfully into place, pushing it against the shape of his ribs and muscles where it formed scarlet lines along the torn edges.

  He was healing, but he needed much more blood to restore the lethal injuries he had suffered—and much of the panther’s store had spilled upon the ground.

  Gazda glared at the dead beast in the dark, licking at the strong red fluid that still seeped from it. The pain, heat and fury of battle was leaving him as his wounds healed, and he finally smiled at the panther’s carcass, while running a hand over its sleek black fur.

  “Thank you for your blood, it is me now,” he told the dead creature through mangled lips. “You are a great hunter and honor me with this gift. I will be like you and our flesh will be one. I will move silently and strike quickly.” He went quiet as a hunger pang wrenched his guts. His wounds continued to itch. “I will catch the hunter while he hunts.”