by David Alric
As Richard laughed a gentle breeze drifted towards them from the camp. He wrinkled up his nose.
‘Phew! What’s that pong?’
Lucy gave a wicked grin.
‘Oh, that’s a little present I left behind.’ She told her father about the pigs and he burst out laughing. ‘It’s amazing it’s still so strong after all this time,’ Lucy said, laughing. ‘I didn’t specifically ask them to, but it looks as though they went a bit dung-ho and have been back now and then to keep things topped up.’ For a few minutes neither could speak for laughing.
‘But now to business,’ Richard said wiping tears from his eyes. ‘What have you been hatching up with your monkey friends?’
‘It’s all arranged,’ said Lucy. ‘The scurripods are going to suss the place out tonight …’
‘Scurripods?’ interrupted Richard.
‘Sorry, rats and mice – I’m beginning to talk like an animal myself. Anyway, they can tell us who’s where and then Queenie is going to get Chopper’s revolver if he has one. She did it before with the others and isn’t worried about it. We’ll then immobilize them all in the morning and put part of the airstrip out of action after the drugs plane has landed so the police can catch them.’
Richard was looking at her open-mouthed.
‘Hang on a minute. How will you immobilize heaven knows how many villains, put an airfield out of action and call the police?’
‘Well, the first two problems are a secret between Queenie and me,’ grinned Lucy. ‘All you have to do is to get on the radio as soon as we have the men trapped in their cabins and call the cops.’
They slept that night in the boat, protected by the panther stalking the river bank and the caymans cruising in the river. Just after dawn Queenie appeared, carrying some fruit and a revolver.
‘The evil ones sleep in three huts. All except one of those who were here before remain.’ She put down the fruit and held up one paw with the fingers outstretched.
‘Five,’ said Lucy. ‘What happened to the other?’
‘He who inflicted pain on the junglefangs disappeared from his cabin one moon ago while the Brilliant One slept. I know not what happened to him for this was not done at your command.’ Lucy thought it best not to enquire further about Sing Song, but suspected that the uninjured jaguars she had instructed to feed their disabled companions had not gone far for their first supply of rations. The thought that Song had probably already been converted into, among other things, several pints of jaguar bile struck her as something approaching the ultimate in poetic justice.
Queenie continued: ‘… and two more have come since we were last in this place.’
‘Seven altogether, then,’ Lucy added.
‘The new ones sleep in the biggest hut – the others had to move. One is small, like a child; the other looks like the hippophant who bore you through the jungle. I have his thunder-stick, it was easy to remove as it was hanging in its skin on the chair beside where he slept. The door opened easily and he heard nothing for he was making a sound like a great snortikin. I have left him a surprise in the skin as you suggested.’
As the sun rose the men stirred. Fred rose and went to the door to cross over to the mess tent to make coffee. He opened the door and was about to step out when he cursed and slammed the door shut.
‘Can’t you make less noise!’ shouted Sid. ‘Some of us are still trying to kip – what’s up?’ he suddenly added, seeing Fred’s face.
‘Ants,’ said Fred. ‘Millions and millions of the little bleeders. Not a square inch of ground without ants – and big ones too.’ He suddenly swore and slapped at his foot. ‘And their bites are like red-hot needles!’ His brother jumped up and rushed to the window.
‘My God!’ breathed Sid. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’
The entire camp except the radio shack was carpeted with ants. They covered every surface like a seething black coat of treacle and extended along the path leading to the dynamite store and the airstrip.
‘I’ve heard about these ant armies,’ said Fred. ‘When they go on the move they destroy everything in their path, large and small. Nothing that can’t escape survives.’
His brother didn’t seem to find this observation particularly comforting. ‘Well, we can’t escape,’ said Sid. ‘They’re all around us for as far as I can see, in every direction. The only weird thing is, they’re not coming in the doors and windows, even though they’d easily fit through the cracks.’
‘Well, just be grateful they’re not,’ said Fred, ‘and don’t go attracting their attention. I expect they’ll move on when they’ve cleared out all our grub and then we’ll be OK. We’d better just sit tight.’
A similar scene was taking place in the second hut, occupied by Pollard, Barker and Sam. Barker rushed out with a shovel and started beating the ground outside the door. Within seconds he was covered in ants from head to toe and was carried screaming back into the cabin by Sam, who himself got bitten as he attempted to brush the insects off his companion.
‘Where’s Pollard?’ Sam asked when they had finally removed the insects.
‘He got up before dawn and went to the gelly shack. He’s probably got trapped there by the ants. Chopper told him to have a gelignite pack ready from first thing, in case the drugs plane came early. His instructions were to hide near the airstrip all day. He’s to blow their plane up if they try to double-cross us.’
‘Phew! Chopper certainly thinks of everything,’ said Sam.
‘Well – almost everything,’ replied Barker bitterly, rubbing the angry red bites already swelling on his legs. ‘It’s just a pity he didn’t remember to bring a zillion tons of ant powder with him.’
‘We’d better tell Chopper about the ants,’ said Sam. ‘We’ve got to get this lot clear before the plane arrives.’
‘Well, I don’t know what Chopper can do,’ said Barker. ‘He’s not a bleedin’ anteater, even though his nose is the right shape. Still, I suppose you’re right, he needs to know.’ They started shouting through the window across to Chopper’s cabin, a larger hut behind the two smaller ones.
Chopper had gone to bed exhausted as usual. He found the humidity and heat of the camp intensely uncomfortable and since his arrival almost two months earlier had been permanently nauseated by the lingering and all-pervasive stench of peccary ordure. He had been desperately keen, however, that the drugs delivery planned for the next day should go smoothly and had realized that the only way to ensure this was to remain at the camp and supervise things himself. Before getting into his hammock he had finally removed the strapping from the foot he had injured on his garden gnome. His foot had felt much easier once he had taken the strapping off, and he was now in a deep sleep lying flat on his back in the hammock, after having had his first really comfortable night since his injury.
The large black lizard left by Queenie had also spent a very comfortable night in the gun holster slung over the chair next to Chopper’s hammock and, with his head cocked slightly to one side, looked for all the world like a gun. The holster was a perfect spot for, without moving, he had passed the early morning picking off the flies buzzing around Chopper, many of which unwisely stopped for a brief and final rest on the holster or the chair.
‘Chopper … Chopper … Chopper!’ Chopper awoke to the sound of distant shouting. His first thought was that there was a raid by the police or a rival gang, and he attempted to snatch his revolver from its holster, knocking a plastic bottle of water to the floor as he did so. The lizard was more than a little affronted by this interruption to his breakfast, and not only scrabbled violently with front and back legs in Chopper’s hand but bit him hard on the ear for good measure. Chopper gave a howl of fright and disgust and, dropping the reptile, ran straight for the door in his bare feet. In his panic he didn’t notice the large rat standing guard near the door and stampeded past it on the way out, his foot missing its tail by millimetres. The rat did notice Chopper, however, and when, a few seconds later, he came b
ack inside cursing and rubbing at his ant-covered feet, it bit deep into his healing toe, guided by some unerring primitive instinct to his victim’s most vulnerable spot and instantly refracturing the bone. Chopper screamed and, clutching his bleeding toe, hopped around the cabin floor. He hopped into the pool of spilt water and skidded across the cabin towards his cabin mate, the lizard and the rat jumping for their lives as his enormous bulk hurtled towards them.
Chopper was a large man – very large, in fact ‘obscenely fat-arsed git’ was the phrase that crossed most people’s lips once they were safely out of earshot. His momentum when he had been precipitated into motion, usually inadvertently, was prodigious. He now hurtled through the air towards the hammock in which his small hut-mate, Bert Shortshanks, was sleeping soundly.
Bert had been working hard the previous day trying to clear the remains of the most recent delivery of pig dung from the camp. It was hard and disgusting work and, as the washing facilities had still not been restored in the camp since Lucy’s last visit, he had retired to his hammock smelly and exhausted. He was so deeply asleep that Chopper’s snoring had not disturbed him, and even while Chopper was confronting the lizard, the ants and the rat, he remained engrossed in an absorbing dream. Whatever dream he was dreaming it seems unlikely that, under normal circumstances, it would have ended with his being hit by a human bulldozer, but when Chopper’s massive bulk came hurtling across the room and collided with Bert’s diminutive form, there was only one possible outcome. Bert left his hammock as though someone had pressed the ejector seat button in a fighter aircraft, and sailed through the air to land headfirst in the corner. The hut was very sparsely furnished: apart from the two hammocks and Chopper’s bedside chair there was only a bucket and a small cupboard. The bucket was used by the men as a chamberpot during the night to avoid them having to go out across the unlit compound with the risk of attack by snakes, poisonous insects or larger animals. It stood in the far corner of the room and was ideally positioned to break Bert’s fall as he landed headfirst in its welcoming depths.
Meanwhile Chopper had made a perfect two-point landing. His bottom hit the floor of the hut, making a noise that sounded like the end of the world. The impact shook the entire hut and the surrounding ground for several yards and the floorboards splintered as if made of matchwood, a very large fragment disappearing into the blubbery depths of Chopper’s buttock; two days later it would take a prison doctor, two nurses and a hospital porter to remove it. While his buttocks were demolishing the floor Chopper’s right foot, hitherto his good foot, smashed through the door of the little cupboard, breaking two of his toes. The screams of rage and pain emitted by Chopper and Bert carried to the jetty, where Richard looked in concern at Lucy.
‘You’re not having them killed, are you?’ he said as Chopper’s howls floated across the clearing. ‘I mean, I know they’re a crowd of so-and-sos, but we should try to bring them to justice.’
‘Chill out, Dad!’ said Lucy laughing. ‘Queenie and I have just arranged a little early morning entertainment, but nothing that’s against the Geneva Convention.’
Richard smiled nervously in relief and instantly regretted having let such a terrible thought even cross his mind. The fact that it had, however, did bring home to him the true power and responsibility that his daughter now exercised. She was the first person in history who could commit the perfect unsolved murder – or a thousand – without being at any risk of discovery or even suspicion. She could, for instance, easily arrange for every man in the camp to be exterminated by snakes, scorpions, caymans, jaguars or any other lethal creatures. Far from being under any suspicion she would, in all probability, even end up being seen as an innocent and fortunate survivor. In his mind’s eye he saw a headline from one of the tabloid newspapers:
PLUCKY KIDNAP GIRL AND FATHER SOLE SURVIVORS OF AMAZON TOOTH AND CLAW CARNAGE
Our South American correspondent flew into what is now being referred to as the ‘Camp of Terror’ to establish why up to thirty jaguars ate seven men yesterday in an inexplicable display of ferocious savagery. Here is his exclusive account of his conversation at the blood-drenched scene with one of the only two survivors, Lucy Bonaventure, who emerged as the heroine of the incident. She told him of her kidnap ordeal and the horror of the massacre.
‘I found Lucy sitting on a log cuddling a small marmoset for comfort and obviously too numbed by the horrific experience to show any real grief. “Daddy tried to rescue me from the camp but when the villains caught him too I almost gave up hope of ever escaping alive,” she told me, her amazing blue eyes misting over at the memory. “Then, one day, the jaguars appeared from nowhere. I was a bit scared,” she admitted modestly with true British pluck, “but the animals just seemed to ignore me and Daddy. It was almost as if somebody had told them who the bad guys were. While I was a prisoner I had thought of lots of ways I might get free, but the way it finally happened …” Her voice trembled with emotion and a grimace of anguish crossed her face which, if I hadn’t known better from my long years in trauma journalism, I could easily have mistaken for a ghastly smile.’
‘Dad … Dad!’ Richard was jerked out of his reverie by Lucy. ‘What on earth are you daydreaming about? We’ve things to do!’ With a guilty start Richard was relieved to remember that his daughter could only read animal thoughts and not his own.
‘I think you’ll find it’s all clear in the radio shack now,’ she continued briskly. ‘I’ll come with you in case we need to call up more reinforcements but somehow I don’t think it’ll be necessary.’ Lucy threw Chopper’s gun into the river and they strolled across to the radio hut. Richard gaped in astonishment when he saw the seething carpet of ants and the enraged faces of the men at the cabin windows. The panther strolled nonchalantly up and down outside the radio shack just in case anyone felt like making a dash across the sea of ants. She had been joined in her patrols by the jaguars operated on by Sing Song, which had been recalled from the jungle by Lucy in preparation for their veterinary treatment.
‘Don’t tread on any ants, Dad,’ said Lucy. ‘They think we’re the good guys and we don’t want to confuse them.’
They went into the shack and Richard called José Verdade back in Macapá.
‘José? It’s Richard. Thank heavens you’re there, even on New Year’s Day! I was worried about what Chopper might have done. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ José replied against a background of noisy static. ‘I’ve been coming in every day in case you called. It’s great to hear you again – thank God you’re safe. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Cayman Creek,’ said Richard. ‘Listen, I need to fire a lot of information at you so get a pen and paper ready.’
‘OK, but first I must tell you that there’ve been a lot of developments here. I’ll give you a quick summary. Apparently the police in London got a garbled story about the kidnapping of a girl in which the Ecocidal Timber Company was involved.’
Richard turned to Lucy. ‘Looks as if at least one of your messages got through – well done!’
‘Anyway,’ continued José, ‘it turns out that the Brazilian authorities have had their eye on Chopper and his crew for some time – something to do with drugs – and this kidnapping was the final straw. They’ve got warrants to arrest Chopper, his brothers and some associates. I’m the most senior innocent manager in the company, so it looks as if I’m now in charge. Someone flew over from Scotland Yard a couple of days ago – nice chap – and he’s been through all the company records with me. He flew to Manaus yesterday to join the local police and drug enforcement people. The company pilot, I’m pleased to say, is also innocent and he’ll guide the police and customs officers to Cayman Creek, so they should all be with you later today. There’ll probably be three planes in all.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Richard, ‘and the kidnapped girl, by the way, is my daughter Lucy who is standing here right next to me. Her adventures are a story on their own, which I’ll tell you when we meet.
There are urgent matters to deal with first, though. Are you ready?’
‘Fire away!’
Richard then asked José to warn the police about the drug consignment due that day, to arrange a rescue plane for Helen and Julian, to fly a vet out to treat the jaguars, to obtain an emergency passport for Lucy and, of course, to contact the two sets of families at home.
‘Phew!’ said Richard as they left the shack, ‘I feel as if life is at last beginning to sort itself out. Now, what about this plane?’
‘All you have to do just now, Dad, is relax and enjoy the show. I’ll tell you when you need to do your bit. Let’s go and sit by the airstrip, eat our bananas and wait for the fun to start.’
Richard stumbled after his daughter in disbelief. He couldn’t begin to understand how his little girl had been transformed into this decisive, resourceful young woman but he was intensely proud of her. He hugged her.
‘I feel so confident with you around,’ he said. ‘I’m quite enjoying a bit of role reversal after looking after you for nearly twelve years.’
‘It makes a change for me too,’ said Lucy. ‘You don’t think I enjoyed being a child slave for all that time, do you?’ She ducked to dodge a banana skin. ‘And my animals don’t want to see your rubbish around thank you very much, even if it is biodegradable!’
They sat in the shade by the little airstrip, Michelle, as ever, on Lucy’s shoulder, Katy curled up on her knees and Melanie now sprawled languidly alongside Richard. The monkeys chattered in the branches, taking it in turns to go and check on the prisoners. It was an unnecessary precaution, however, since the men had all seen the jaguars prowling around through their windows and none of them fancied a bare-handed grapple with the big cats.
Richard suddenly made an exclamation and slapped his forehead.
‘What is it, Dad?’ Lucy looked concerned and Richard quickly reassured her.
