Primeval Waters

by William Burke

  She saw a flash on Batista’s yacht, followed by a rocket contrail and the roar of an RPG round. But the rocket missed the yacht—going high and to port.

  She said, “That fat bastard couldn’t hit—”

  The RPG round detonated thirty feet overhead, showering the deck with hundreds of steel balls and incendiary pellets. The queen felt a ball brush harmlessly through her hair; it continued on, sheering the head off the man behind her. The explosive impact swept another crewman off the deck, leaving behind a wide crimson smear. Incendiary pellets seared through the wooden deck, igniting anything flammable.

  But what really angered Queen Caveira was that her boat was losing speed. She knelt down over a bleeding man, shoved her rifle into his lap and yelled, “Keep firing!”

  Remarkably, he found the strength to do it.

  Stepping over more wounded men, she stormed into the pilothouse, yelling, “Why are you—” before nearly slipping on the blood-soaked floor. The cabin walls were peppered with shrapnel. Her screaming helmsman lay in a fetal position, fingerless hands clutching at the remains of his face.

  The queen yelled, “Get out of my way, you lazy shit,” and kicked him aside. Grabbing the controls, she gunned the engine, bearing down on Batista. She’d ram the pig if that’s what it took.

  #

  Batista loaded his last RPG round. The red stripe indicated it was set to detonate at four hundred yards—dangerously close. The queen’s flagship was now on a collision course, gaining speed. Batista locked the round in and fired.

  The RPG round detonated at twenty feet over the deck, just to starboard. This time, the engine of the queen’s flagship belched black smoke, followed by flames.

  #

  The queen saw another flash on Batista’s upper deck. The second rocket contrail soared over her flagship, detonating in midair, twenty yards off the stern. The explosion was followed by a chorus of screams.

  The boat lurched, engine sputtering, until it was dead in the water.

  The queen screamed, “No!” slamming her hands against the wheel.

  A haze of black smoke filled the cabin. Despite the cacophony of grinding metal and agonized screams, a soft, familiar sound caught her attention. Cursing under her breath, she slid open the door to her private cabin. The whimpering monkey leapt onto her shoulder, hugging her neck.

  The queen stroked its fur, whispering, “It’s okay, little one.”

  Grabbing a fire extinguisher, she strode out onto the blood-slicked main deck. Picking her way through the dying men, she followed the drifting black smoke to the engine compartment. The hatch cover had been blasted off, the deck around it scored by shrapnel. She emptied the fire extinguisher down into the hatch. The dissipating smoke revealed an engine damaged beyond repair.

  She heaved the extinguisher over the side and stared down at the bloodstained deck. Her volcanic rage ignited her brain’s network of chemically imbalanced, misfiring synapses, leading her to one conclusion—it was all the American’s fault. His destruction of Boiúna had cursed the operation. His sacrifice must also have been insincere, delivering poison seed that weakened the snake god. To resurrect Boiúna, she must sacrifice that which the American held dearest—his child.

  She stroked the monkey perched on her shoulder, whispering, “We still have work to do.”

  #

  Santos radioed Batista, asking, “Sir, her engine’s burning. Should we finish ’em off?”

  Keying his walkie talkie, Batista said, “She’s a wounded animal, and that makes her even more dangerous. We can’t afford any more losses, so just get us out of here.” He trained his binoculars on the river, assessing his situation.

  His fast trawler was burning on the water. Most of the tender boats were capsized or burning, and another of his precious gunboats had been destroyed by the snake. The monstrous snake was dead, but any men who’d fallen into the river had become fodder for the huge piranhas. No point crying over them.

  On the plus side he still had one intact gunboat, his landing vessel and its cargo, along with a thirty-foot tender. Aside from some small arms damage, his own yacht was intact.

  Hans climbed up to the fly deck, a blood-soaked rag pressed to his forehead.

  Batista glanced over at him, asking, “The equipment?”

  “The laser torch and other gear came through undamaged.”

  Batista said, “Good, then we’re still in business,” and went back to scanning the battle scene.

  Hans wanted to say, It’s just a cut, I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking. But he settled for, “I’ll be below.”

  Batista chuckled, his eyes still pressed to the binoculars.

  Hans paused, asking, “Something amusing?”

  Batista laughed again, declaring, “Cheer up, Hans, the battle is won.”

  Batista ran a quick tally of the opposing side’s wreckage. The queen’s infamous Red Flag Fleet had been reduced to just her crippled flagship and two go-fast boats.

  Batista said, “So much for the Queen of Skulls. She’ll be lucky if her own men don’t skin her alive.” He keyed his walkie talkie, ordering, “All boats rally to me. The barrier is clear and we’ve got work to do. Good work, Santos, we shut that bitch down for good.”

  Santos came on the radio. “Sir, the American woman and the kid got away. I think that bastard we kidnapped grabbed them. You want me to hunt ’em down?”

  “No, let the Morte Tinto have them. They’ll be some cannibal’s dinner within a day. Gather up all survivors and get ready to move on.”

  But Batista secretly wondered if that was true. He’d certainly underestimated the planetary geologist, dismissing him as some television pretty boy with an advanced degree. Maybe there was more to the man.

  Then he shrugged those thoughts off, muttering, “Nothing could survive out there.”

  #

  Queen Caveira stood at the bow of her flagship, eyes riveted to the horizon. The remains of Batista’s flotilla were moving downriver again, slowly vanishing into the haze of black smoke left by burning vessels. She robotically stroked the monkey perched on her shoulder, soothing her nerves.

  A pirate stood ten paces back, silently awaiting an audience. He coughed once, trying to get her attention. The monkey turned to him, baring its canines.

  Without looking back, the queen asked, “What is it?”

  “Queen, we only have ten able-bodied men, twelve wounded and two operating boats, but one of them is only a four-man.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment. Hours earlier, her Red Flag Fleet had been fifty pirates strong, feared by all who traveled the river. Now her crew was reduced to less than half of that, and most of them were wounded who’d die within a day.

  After a lingering silence, the pirate asked, “Your orders?”

  She turned to him, her face a smeared mass of ceremonial makeup, blood and soot. “Have the larger go-fast tow us to the riverbank. Then load the wounded aboard it and send it to the nearest dock with a doctor. Any man who can still fight stays. Send the smaller boat up ahead to scout for that American bastard and report to me.” She went back to studying the river, but by that point, Batista’s boats were long gone.

  The pirate backed away slowly, leaving the queen alone with her private thoughts and beloved monkey.

  #

  Micah was pulling supplies from the deflated dinghy when something caught his eye. He called out to Catalina, “Hey, check this out!”

  Catalina and Faye came over. Micah gestured for them to stay hidden and pointed to the river.

  Batista’s yacht, a gunboat, the cargo carrier and a tender were passing by.

  Catalina said, “Jesus, after all that he’s still pressing on?”

  “Yup, he’s just like his idol, Aguirre.”

  “A who?”

  “Aguirre was the conquistador who navigated the Amazon back in the fifteen hundreds.”

  “That’s kind of impressive.”

  “Except he was a murdering psychopath, obsessed with f
inding El Dorado. We’re talking a textbook narcissist who slaughtered entire tribes and even christened himself the King of Tierra Firme.”

  “How’d that work out for him?”

  “The King of Spain had him cut in half and thrown in the river.”

  “Ouch!”

  “That meteorite is Batista’s El Dorado, and he’ll find it, no matter how many people die along the way.”

  Catalina shook her head. “A rich man who only dreams of getting richer. Kind of pathetic.”

  “Batista doesn’t care about being rich. He wants to be a king and make the world kneel before him.”

  Catalina smiled down at Faye and said, “Well, we’re a couple of simple gals who’d settle for a hot shower and something to eat.”

  Reaching into the dinghy, Micah said, “I can provide exactly one of those,” while deftly slicing the Megapiranha’s head off.

  Faye asked, “Yuck, are we going to eat that?”

  “They were gonna eat us, so fair’s fair. Besides, piranhas are delicious.”

  Catalina asked, “Is it wise to eat the monster prehistoric fish that shouldn’t even exist?”

  Micah gutted the fish and said, “If you’d prefer, I can dig up some grub worms to fry.”

  “Fish it is.”

  Micah dug through the raft’s emergency kit and found a bottle of salt tablets. Using a rock he ground the tablets down to powdered salt, smeared it on the piranha and set the fish aside. “That’ll keep it from turning for an hour or so. You know, one perk of the Amazon is that food’s usually within reach.” He walked about twenty feet into the brush and returned with an armload of red fruit, covered in spiky green leaves. “It’s pitahava, better known as dragon fruit.”

  Eyeing the weird fruit, Catalina said, “I think I saw those once in a scary downtown grocery store.”

  “It’s good stuff, tastes kind of like a mango.” He tore one open, handing out slices. “The juice is the closest thing to safe drinking water we’re gonna find for a while.”

  Catalina bit into it, suddenly realizing how dehydrated she was. “I bet piranha with a side of dragon fruit would cost a fortune in some swanky restaurant.” After swallowing another piece of fruit, she asked, “So, what’re we doing after dinner?”

  “Dinner’s to go. We need to move away from the river, stay out of sight, and find shelter before sundown to recharge our batteries. After that, well, I haven’t figured that part out yet.” Micah grabbed some downed branches and pointed to some nearby brush. “Grab some more branches, anything big and leafy will work.” Then he dragged the shredded dinghy up the bank and began covering it.

  Dragging some branches over, Catalina asked, “If Batista’s gone, who are we hiding this from?”

  “The pirates.”

  “You mean like yo-ho-ho pirates?”

  “Yup. Believe it or not she was the pirate queen.”

  “Look at you, hanging out with royalty. Did you have tea?”

  “No, she’s more of an ‘off with their heads’ kinda queen.”

  Catalina said, “You’re just full of surprises.” Then she added her branches to the camouflage.

  “Yeah, and they’ve joined the growing list of stuff that wants to kill us.”

  “Fantastic.” Catalina dragged a final pile of branches over to the dinghy. “Did you have to grab the fluorescent orange one?”

  “There weren’t a lot of color options.” Stepping back, he said, “That oughta do it. Those pirates just got their ass handed to them, so maybe they’ll be too busy licking their wounds to care about us anymore.”

  The male howler monkey crouching in the trees let out another deafening shriek.

  Catalina looked up, shouting, “Would you shut the fuck up!”

  The monkey just howled again, which Faye found hilarious.

  Catalina smiled, relieved to hear the little girl laughing again. She thought for a moment and said, “Oh, there’s also a tribe in this area that ain’t exactly friendly.”

  Micah nodded. “Yeah, the Red Death. I got the lowdown from my pirate pals.”

  “Do you think they’re also on that ‘wants to kill us’ list?”

  Micah glanced over at Faye, intently prying open another dragon fruit, and gestured for Catalina to follow him. He led her a few feet into the rainforest where two posts had been jammed into the mud—each topped with a red-painted human skull.

  Micah said, “I think we better avoid the locals. Let’s move out.”

  Gathering what supplies they had, the trio marched into the rainforest.

  As soon as they departed, the emboldened monkeys climbed down from the trees. Howler monkeys are among the few animals able to see in full color. The combination of trichromatic vision and their insatiable curiosity drew them to the bright orange dinghy like a magnet. The carefully laid out camouflage was quickly scattered across the ground and the shredded boat dragged close to the riverbank.

  Within minutes, Queen Caveira’s scout spotted the dinghy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  One of the queen’s go-fast boats towed her flagship to a muddy bank where it was tied off. The other remaining go-fast headed out in search of the Americans.

  Rooting through the still smoking engine compartment, Queen Caveira concluded that the motor wasn’t salvageable and the boat was taking on water. In a few hours her beloved flagship would be a sunken wreck.

  She climbed up onto the deck, wiping her greasy hands on her tattered jacket. The monkey hopped onto her shoulder and rooted through her pocket.

  She whispered, “Sorry, little one, there’s nothing left to steal.”

  Looking down, she surveyed her remaining crew. All were hollow eyed, their clothes caked with blood.

  “Listen to me!”

  Even the wounded stopped moaning out of respect.

  “I want half of you loading the wounded into the go-fast. The rest root through my ship to pull anything salvageable.”

  The pirates set to work loading the wounded men. Queen Caveira knew most would succumb to their injuries before reaching a doctor, but they were her crew, her family.

  The sound of an approaching engine sent the men scrambling for their weapons.

  Queen Caveira shouted, “It’s just our scout, get back to work!”

  The go-fast boat pulled alongside the flagship.

  The pilot said, “I saw your inflatable washed up on shore about a klick downriver. It was all torn up.”

  “Anyone with it?”

  The pirates all clustered around her, listening intently.

  “No, but I found three sets of footprints leading into the jungle. A man, another, smaller set, so probably a woman and a kid.”

  Queen Caveira thought, The bastard’s still alive, and bellowed, “Umberto!”

  A pirate named Javier announced, “He’s dead.”

  The queen nodded solemnly. “A good man, and a fine executive officer. He’ll be missed. Javier, you’re now my executive officer.”

  Javier snapped to attention, shouting, “Yes, Queen!”

  “Take three men to where he found my boat and follow the Americans’ trail from there. They have a child with them, so they can’t be moving very fast.”

  Javier asked, “And if we find them?”

  “I want the American and the child alive.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Kill her, but do it quickly.”

  Javier nodded, looking disappointed. The queen’s rules against rape had always been a sore point for him.

  Queen Caveira continued, “Leave a trail so we can follow you. Once the wounded are away, we’ll join the hunt. Now get moving. The rest of you, back to work!”

  Javier and three other men piled into the overloaded boat and set out.

  Queen Caveira slipped a hand into her pocket, massaging the pool ball-sized emerald. The jewel would fetch her enough to retire from raiding fishing boats and stealing pigs. Yet, for a fleeting moment, she pondered tossing it in the river. Personal greed had
been the sin that wooed her into letting the American live. A mistake that led to Boiúna’s downfall. Now all that mattered was setting things right.

  For Boiúna to be resurrected the American and his child must die.

  #

  Micah, Catalina and Faye trudged through the thick brush. Despite gnawing on the dragon fruit, the inside of Micah’s mouth still felt like a cotton field. He could only imagine how exhausted Faye must be.

  He spotted a rough trail ahead and declared, “Perfect.”

  Catalina looked down at the hoof prints in the mud, asking, “What’re we looking at?”

  “It’s a tapir trail.”

  “Is that like a deer or something?”

  Faye jumped in, stating, “Tapirs are giant wild pigs.”

  Mussing her hair, Micah said, “Smart girl. Now tell me why that’s good?”

  After pondering it for a moment, Faye said, “Because tapirs will lead to water.”

  “And?”

  Faye grew excited. “Because Jaguars are afraid of tapirs, so they’ll stay away from the trail!”

  “Bingo.”

  Catalina asked, “What about the Red Death?”

  “Even people out here don’t like running into tapirs. If you ever meet one, you’ll find out why.”

  Faye added, “They’re mean and weigh like six hundred pounds.”

  Catalina asked, “Aren’t there any cute, fluffy bunnies out here?”

  Micah bent down to Faye and said, “Honey, grab some of those dry sticks over there, we’re gonna need ’em.”

  Faye said, “I get it, kindling!” and began scooping up dry twigs.

  Once she was clear, Catalina whispered, “I know she’s putting on a good show, but I don’t think she’ll be able to go on much longer.”

  “I know, I know. I just want to get an hour between us and the river. After that we’ll fry up the fish and rest for a—” Micah stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locked on the trail ahead.

  The mysterious old man stood about fifty feet away, staring back at him.

  Micah pointed and whispered, “Do you see him?”

  Catalina squinted hard. “See who?”