She became entranced by the elephants, taking pictures when she remembered and enjoying the spectacle when she didn’t. She watched as one of the cows lumbered up to a silver oak tree. As the cow approached it, she lifted her trunk high into the air, placing it flat and vertical against the bark, as her tusks slipped either side of the tree’s circumference with ease. The cow then shook the tree violently with a few casual rams of her head against the trunk. The result was a sudden downpour of loose limbs, branches and debris from the canopy. Content, the female began to pick through the bounty with the tip of her trunk.
The first crack didn’t quite register with her, as its echo brought every animal in the crater to a standstill. The animals seemed to look round in bewilderment, as did Catherine as she tried to place the sound. Her eyes darted to one of the lone cows in the elephant herd. It was swaying its head to and fro as if trying to ascertain the source of the sound. As it turned, it seemed to become overbalanced and crumpled to its knees before keeling over completely. Only then did Catherine notice the smear of blood behind its head on the left side of its skull. She froze, still trying to process what had happened. Another shot rang out, this time sending one of the giant forest hogs spinning into the dust. The remaining animals didn’t hesitate any longer, scattering in a thunder of hooves, squeals and grunts. Only the elephants remained, although most had moved back to the trees at least. They seemed unwilling to leave their fallen herd member lying out in the open.
The screaming roar was so loud it made Catherine jump and cower closer to the tree. She heard the splintering and smashing of wood as Sefu thundered through the trees like a juggernaut. He exploded into the clearing with a screeching trumpet that declared murderous rage. Her eyes darted to the other side of the crater, where she noticed movement. The source of the gunshots and Sefu’s focus was now obvious, as men began to emerge from the trees. She counted eight in all, all dark skinned and dressed in what looked like tan coloured military fatigues. One carried an AK47 over his shoulder whilst the others brandished grizzly looking machetes and long -bladed knives. Two headed over towards the forest hog as the other six approached the dead elephant. They seemed unworried by Sefu’s display and the violent, rumbling drone that emanated from him constantly.
With a second roar of unbridled wrath, Sefu charged. He careened forward, lifting his head to bring his curved and near nine foot long tusks up. They gleamed in magnificent readiness as he covered the ground with tumultuous screams. Before the man with the AK47 could react, Sefu was on him. The trunk hit the armed man like a wound spring, sending him tumbling backwards in a cartwheel of flailing limbs. Sefu didn’t stop, his giant feet smashing into the man and rolling him along the ground like a football. As he tried to scramble away, Sefu reached out with his trunk and coiled its tip around the man’s ankle, pulling him back beneath his great mass violently. The elephant stamped on the man’s chest with one triumphant blow of a single foot, then sank onto his knees. As he did so, the tip of his tusk sliced through the man’s right shoulder, separating his arm from his body as Sefu crushed the remaining life out of him with methodical thrusts of his knees and chin. Catherine watched transfixed as the man was turned to bloody pulp before her eyes.
Another of the soldier poachers ran forward to grab the AK47 that had been dropped some yards away. Sefu spun with a surprising turn of speed, a savage, growl-like sound caught deep in his throat. The trunk snapped out like a whip and caught the man on the side of his head, sending him spinning into the dirt, but not before a lucky squeeze of the trigger peppered Sefu’s side. The frantic elephant roared with renewed rage and charged instantly, dropping his head and tusks as he scooped the man from the ground and tossed him high into the air. He landed in a crumpled heap in a cloud of dust, and Sefu thundered over to finish the job. As the dust cloud whirled and encompassed the great beast and his victim, they momentarily became invisible. Only the reddening of the cloud and the sounds of squelch and cracking bones gave hint to the man’s fate.
Sefu emerged from the cloud in a full charge at the remaining men, who began to scatter in hurried shouts and high pitched cries. All froze as the crack of another shot rang out and echoed along the edges of the crater. Sefu too stopped stock still. As Catherine watched, he seemed to be rocking back and forth on his feet unsteadily. He raised his trunk high, forming the shape of an ‘S’ as he wrapped it around his head and began to feel the edges of his face with its tip. Catherine knew this was a protective behaviour elephants adopted when they were frightened. She stepped out from the trees, her body trembling. All sound seemed lost except the thrashing of her heart in her ears as she noticed the trickle of blood seeping from the wound in the side of Sefu’s head. She turned rigid, and her eyes fixed on those of the defiant bull as another shot sounded. Sefu’s legs gave out from underneath him completely and he rolled over onto his right side. He struggled violently to keep his head and shoulders elevated as he tried to roll back up. But his strength was leaving him.
Catherine was running now. She saw the angry soldiers reaching for her in seeming slow motion as she passed them. Her gasping breaths came short and struggled, in time with the fall of her feet as she raced over the ground towards the dying elephant. As she reached Sefu, she spun on her heels, raising her arms above her head and spreading them wide in a protective stance. The soldiers stood back and did not approach, unsure of the feral woman now in their midst. As a third shot near deafened her, Catherine felt the soft touch of Sefu’s trunk on her shoulder. She turned slowly, shaking uncontrollably. As her eyes met his bloodshot, questioning gaze, time seemed to stop. She hardly noticed as his trunk tenderly swept around her waist and pulled her out of the way and to the side, placing her behind his left shoulder. She never dropped her gaze, confused at first by his actions. There was something regal in his eyes, an acceptance of death, but also an unrelenting intelligence and nobility that shook her. She realised these were his last moments and he was trying to protect her. Pressed against his skin, she felt the impact of the final shot but did not hear it. The only sound she focused on was the fading thump of Sefu’s heart. It was long after it stopped that she felt herself being roughly grabbed by the wrist and dragged away towards the trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“She’s not picking up on the radio,” Mason said, shaking his head. “I think it’s time we headed out after her.”
“Agreed,” said Jericho. “We know where she was headed. The three of us jump in the Warthog and get her back to camp before dinner I say.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Thomas growled. “Jelani, can you provide Mason with a shotgun from the rack and bring mine and Jericho’s rifles too. We’ll head out as soon as we’re all ready.”
Jelani nodded and scurried away towards the equipment racks. Thomas had seen the worried look in his eyes and wanted to give him something to do. He would ask him and the men to sweep west just in case she had tried to double back that way and run into trouble. Given that would put her at the heart of the pride’s territory, he hoped that wasn’t the case.
“She probably just took a radio with a dead battery.” Jericho tried to reassure him, thumping Thomas on the shoulder.
“Then why didn’t she show up to meet Mason?” Thomas shrugged.
“It’s her first time in Africa, and distractions don’t come much bigger than an obliging herd of elephants for a photographer,” Jericho suggested.
“Not Catherine,” Thomas replied softly. “She’s maniacal when it comes to doing things by the book. She almost would have certainly checked the batteries of the radio, and she wouldn’t be gone this long without heading back, no matter how enthralled she was.”
“I know. I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“Stick to what you’re good at,” Thomas warned.
Jelani returned to them carrying the guns. He handed the rifles to Jericho and Thomas, then passed a pump action shotgun to Mason. Thomas glanced at it, noticing it was a Mossberg
tactical model, easy to use and a good choice for someone not used to guns like Mason. He leaned over and showed him where the safety was. The gun had an ammo clip attached to the stock, which Jelani had filled with six shells. Thomas checked he had cartridges in his shooting vest still, and made sure the five shot magazine was full before clipping it into the rifle. Jericho tapped the gleaming brass bullets edging around his own belt to indicate he was ready too. By the time Thomas had taken Jelani aside and asked him to conduct a westerly search, Jericho and Mason were waiting in the Warthog. Thomas climbed into the truck bed and banged on the roof. The V8 roared as the big Jeep tore off down the track towards the river. Thomas searched the scrub and landscape ahead for any sign of Catherine or the car. As he looked up at the sun, he realised that there were probably only a few hours of daylight left at most.
With Thomas’s keen eyes studying the trail ahead and Jericho backing him up from the driver’s seat, following the path of the Big Cat from the other side of the river was easy. The wet tyres had bit deep into the mud and left a deeply rutted and discoloured path in their wake. It also didn’t hurt that Catherine had told them roughly where she was heading. Jericho slowed and stopped as Thomas caught the tell-tale signs of where the Big Cat had come to a halt, and signalled him to slow down by thumping the cabin roof.
“He wouldn’t be letting me do that to his pride and joy,” Jericho grumbled to Mason as they pulled off again, still following the tracks.
They worked their way down a ridgeline and onto a scrub and termite mound strewn plain. It was easy for them to see what had drawn Catherine there. The elephant trails were as easy to follow for them as they had been for her. As Thomas’s eyes darted over the trail ahead, he spotted the creased ripples in the dirt that signalled where the tyres of the Big Cat had clawed at the ground as Catherine had brought the car to a stop. He slapped the roof of the cab again and Jericho obligingly drew to a halt. It didn’t take long to see why she had stopped. The relatively fresh droppings would have confirmed that she was on the right track, which meant so were they. As he crouched down, he spotted the shiny, almost ultraviolet backed dung beetle that had frozen at his approach. A few inches from where it sat was a neat heal print from Catherine’s boot. Thomas followed the direction it seemed to be heading and saw what had undoubtedly caught her attention. Less than a mile ahead, through the haze, he could see the tree line of a forest. As he climbed back into the truck bed, he could see Jericho had seen it too from the impatient glance he threw him. The Irishman knew this was where both the elephants and Catherine would have been headed. He knew of the lake at its centre and instinctively put his foot down. The engine complied happily, tearing ahead with renewed purpose.
Just as they entered the trees, a concealed drop sent them momentarily flying before the bumpy landing put them into a careless drift that ended abruptly, as they sideswiped a small African pencil cedar sapling. With nothing holding him back, Thomas was thrown from the truck bed and tumbled heavily into the hard red dust.
“Sorry boys,” chirped Jericho. “That Ray Charles Driving School has a lot to answer for.”
Thomas picked himself up unsteadily, grabbing his hat from the ground and dusting it off. He was facing away from the other two still in the cab of the Warthog, and his eyes were drawn to a glint of metal a little way ahead. As he put the hat back on, shielding his eyes further from the sun, he realised it was the Big Cat. He walked towards it, following the bent and folded stems of Bermuda grass the car had left in its wake, as Catherine had turned off the trail and parked up. He heard the doors of the Warthog open as Jericho and Mason followed him. The car was untouched, and he could still see the discarded contents of Catherine’s pack that she had left on the passenger seat before heading off. He took the spare keys from his own pack and opened the car, quickly searching through the interior and checking the gun rack. She’d taken her rifle and pistol from what he could see. If he hadn’t been so worried, he would have smiled as he caught the scent of the expensive sun lotion he’d given her still lingering in the cabin. He had noticed over the last few days that being back in the bush had heightened his senses again, something he would be pleased about if not so distracted.
He twisted round sharply as a distant cry caught his attention. It sounded like a squabbling, hissing series of cackles. He looked up and to the north, knowing what he would see. Dotting the sky were the black silhouettes of vultures as they descended, eventually falling from sight beyond the trees. The sheer number of them meant only one thing. Somewhere up ahead there was a body, and the birds were already feasting.
The three of them tracked their way through the scrubby forest, guns raised in readiness and not knowing what they might find. As they approached a break in the trees up ahead, Thomas found himself biting his lip and taking short raspy breaths. His mouth was as dry as the dust on the ground and his heart thumped in his chest like a jackhammer. He hesitated, sensing the hole that seemed to be forming in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t dare imagine what might be out there in the clearing. He sensed Jericho move in close behind him.
“Easy does it fella. It’s not your sweetheart they got. It’s mine,” the Irishman growled softly.
Thomas’s head snapped round in momentary confusion, but he followed Jericho as they stepped out into the clearing. His eyes were drawn to the large crimson headed birds that seemed to line the crater they were standing in. They were lappet-faced vultures, the biggest of their kind in Africa. The flaps and folds of skin that hung from the sides of their heads and gave them their name made them look like some kind of vulgar, mutant, predatory turkey. Their vicious black curved beaks were the only instruments that could break through the tough dried hides of the carcasses they fed on. Even other vultures, like the griffon and white-backed ones now gathering in droves, had to wait for the arrival of the lappets before they could eat. They were therefore head of the table, cursing angrily at any that dared approach whilst they were still enjoying the choicest morsels. They kept the competitors back with angry wing slaps and slicing snaps of their beaks. The only birds that they tolerated were the equally grotesque looking marabou storks, whose intimidating size and long, wide straight beaks gave them equal standing. The storks would use their weaponry to enlarge and deepen the entry points into a carcass, which then opened up the table to the lesser vultures scrapping for their place. Even in this wretched and macabre dance, nature adhered to a hierarchy that would benefit all.
As he scanned the trees he spotted the solitary form of a male bateleur eagle. Compared to the others, it was an incredibly handsome bird with black head, neck, belly and breast. The back, tail and mantle were coloured chestnut, and the upper parts of the wing appeared silvery white. But the flash of red, featherless skin at the base of the beak gave away the bird’s role here. It too was not against scavenging, and Thomas knew that it had probably been first on the scene, having a predilection for the eyes and tongue. It only donned the regal pretence associated with its kind as it waited for the larger and more aggressive birds to clear the area once more. The vultures had even quite possibly followed the bateleur to the scene.
There was no difficulty in finding what had drawn the birds to the crater. The scene of slaughter and butchery was laid out before them like a morbid diorama. Nearest to them was the straggled carcass of an elephant cow. Her legs were pushed out to her sides, her knees only slightly bent in an ungainly sprawl. Thomas knew that if he looked closer, he would find rope burns on the legs where she would have been pulled into position. The vultures had already bored into her side, and were now busy widening the opening. The internal organs would be the first to go, followed by as much of the meat as they could tear from the insides before larger predators arrived. Thomas knew it wouldn’t be long, especially with the stench of blood scorched by the dry heat of the day wafting over the savannah.
As his gaze wandered over the carcass, he couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips as his eyes came to rest on what was left of
the cow’s head. The golf ball sized eyes had already been gouged from their sockets, leaving only fleshy, bloody pits in their absence. But it was beyond them that the true butchery had taken place. There was simply nothing. The head had been cleaved, hacked through by hatchets, machetes, or perhaps even a chainsaw. The only thing that remained of the face was the lower jaw and lip. Everything else was gone. It was as if some giant thing had come along and bitten off the face. Globules of fat, tattered flesh, and a gaping hole in the centre of the cross-sectioned skull where the brain had been, was all that remained. The vultures had already dined there with glee. The ground where he stood had soaked up the waterfall of blood, that must have flowed as if it had been rain. He knew the hyenas would lick away any remnants they found once on scene, even swallowing the blood splashed stones to aid their digestion.
The poachers that had done this of course wanted the ivory, and this brutal method not only allowed them to remove the tusks intact, but also provided them with a meal in the form of the fatty and muscular trunk. They hadn’t bothered taking anything else from the carcass, which was strange given the demand for bush meat. As Thomas looked up, he saw Jericho standing in front of a much larger elephant a little further away. As he started to walk over, he was distracted for a moment, as a white-backed vulture flapped down and landed clumsily on a pile of fleshy mush to his right. As he looked, he spotted the torn strands of the tan military fatigues sticking to the broken, twisted stumps of bone, in a glue of blood, skin and pulp that was all that remained of one of the poachers. Thomas had to stop himself from gagging as it slowly dawned on him what he was looking at. He hesitated no longer, lifting his rifle high and letting off a shot that sent the vultures cart wheeling into the air with disgruntled screeches. Most lazily drifted into the nearby trees to wait for the men to leave, as they knew they would.
The Daughters of the Darkness Page 29
