Megalania

by Robert Forrester

  ‘Did you look for them?’ Kruger asked.

  ‘Course I did, chief. It was dark, but I scoured the whole area.’ Frank’s face had gone stiff, his eyes watching the Papuan warily, as if he feared the man might do something unpredictable. ‘I found signs of what may have been an accident.’

  Kruger stared hard at him. ‘Accident! What sort of accident?’

  Franks shrugged. ‘I dunno, but I found blood. And quite a bit of it.’ He lifted the peak of his cap and looked back to the helicopter. ‘Something went down, chief.’ He glared at the Papuan. ‘But whatever it was, this ‘un ain’t saying.’

  Kruger rounded on the Papuan, stepping close and peering right into his eyes, his face inches away. ‘Where the hell are my men?’

  The man backed away, his eyes still wide, his face taut. ‘Wawanar! Wawanar!’ he said.

  ‘What! What does that mean?’ Kruger grabbed him by the scruff of his sweat sodden shirt and shook him. ‘What happened? Tell me!’

  ‘Wawanar, wawanar,’ the man repeated, only this time quieter.

  Kruger released him and sighed. ‘Sit him down over there then go get Loudon. See if he can understand what this damned native is babbling about.’

  Franks nodded, pushed the frightened Papuan into a chair before scampering off to find their local overseer.

  As Kruger waited and watched the Papuan sat trembling and babbling incoherently, he picked up his glass and downed its contents before refilling it.

  Never, he thought, had he hated a country as much as he hated this place.

  Loudon was a short, squat local man who wore rounded spectacles and had a belly that hung well over his belt. Initially, he was hired as chief medic, but next to applying band-aids and dishing out malaria pills, he was useless at it. However, being educated and fluent in innumerable local tongues, Kruger gave him the job of overseer for all the local workers, hiring and firing them, as well as relaying the orders of the company men.

  Through him, Kruger already knew that the people of Papua New Guinea were among the most superstitious on Earth. Some if its people were positively medieval, and in rural areas it wasn’t uncommon for women to be stoned to death or burned at the stake for being witches.

  However, even Kruger was taken aback when Loudon translated what the Papuan worker had said.

  ‘Dragon! You have got to be kidding me,’ he said, pouring himself, Franks and Loudon a glass of bourbon.

  ‘That’s what he says,’ Loudon said, nodding appreciatively as Kruger handed him a glass. He peered over his spectacles at the Papuan who now sat rocking in a chair in the corner of Kruger’s office. ‘Of course, it is not a direct translation, but it’s the closest thing in the English language.’

  ‘Maybe it was a crocodile,’ Franks said. ‘They can grow pretty big.’

  Loudon shook his head. ‘I asked him that, but he was adamant.’

  ‘Dumb ass native probably wouldn’t know a gator if it bit him on the ass,’ Franks said.

  Loudon wobbled his head, half agreeing with him.

  ‘I have another my own theory,’ Franks said, wincing as he swigged a mouthful of whiskey. He glared at the Papuan. ‘Perhaps he did ‘em in.’

  Kruger squinted at the Papuan. He wasn’t a big man, none of them were, so couldn’t imagine him overpowering Taylor. Christ, he couldn’t imagine a prize-fighter getting the better of the old Texan, but if he caught him unawares ...

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Loudon said.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ Kruger asked, his eyes fixed on the squirming Papuan.

  ‘I’ve known Lawa for a long time. He may have his superstitions, but he is just a simple village boy and as obedient as a lapdog. No, I can’t believe he did that. Besides, you say there was no sign of Amson either.’

  ‘Who?’ Franks asked.

  ‘The other worker. He and Lawa were best friends.’

  ‘Means nuthin’. You ain’t been up there. There’s blood everywhere. It looks like a slaughterhouse.’

  ‘Yeah, well there is one way to find out,’ Kruger said, striding over to Lawa. ‘At first light tomorrow, we’re all going to take a look at that excavation site. You hear me, sonny?’

  Loudon translated, which sent the young Papuan into fits of panic.

  ‘See,’ Franks said. ‘He obviously has something to hide.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Loudon said, trying to placate the boy by patting him on his shoulder. ‘Whatever happened out there has him pretty shaken up.’

  ‘If I find out he had something to do with it, I’ll give him something to be shaken up about.’ Kruger turned to Franks. ‘Lock him in one of the equipment sheds. And tie him up.’

  Franks nodded and marched over to the Papuan, hauled him to his feet and frogmarched him out.

  Chapter 4

  Suzanna was up at first light. They all were. Nobody wanted to waste precious daylight when they had discoveries to make. Early morning was also the only time that the New Guinea temperature was tolerable. Yet, Suzanna didn’t intend to do any academic research that morning. Even after she had followed Campbell’s advice and slept on it, she awoke as livid as she was the night before.

  Whoever those miners were, they needed telling, and no amount of pleading from Campbell or the others would mollify her rage. Yes, she understood they probably had permits and permissions, but this entire area was protected, and if the authorities got wind of what was happening, especially if Suzanna tipped off the NWDO, she felt certain they could put an end to this rape of the ecosystem.

  However, she needed proof.

  ‘I know how you feel about these things, Suzanna, but I can’t let you go,’ Campbell said over breakfast. ‘I feel the same about it, I really do, but it is too dangerous.’

  ‘Sorry, Eric, but I’m going. If we don’t put a stop to it, who knows how much of this will be left in a few years.’ She waved her hand around the bush.

  Campbell sighed. He knew better than anyone how stubborn she was, and his face indicated he’d realised there was no changing her mind. ‘Fine, but you are not going alone.’

  ‘I’ll take Kange.’

  He coughed uncomfortably and glanced nervously at the guide as he sat cross-legged with the others on the ground. ‘I suggest at least one of us also accompany you.’

  Hendricks scowled at him. ‘You can count me out. I’m not wasting this opportunity by going wandering around the mountains to chastise some mining corporation—who probably won’t listen to a word you are saying, anyway.’

  ‘Then I’ll go,’ Campbell said.

  ‘No, one of us will go,’ Yates said, nodding to Samuels. ‘No point having both zoologists out of action.’

  Samuels held up his fist. ‘Rock, paper, scissors.’

  Yates nodded, and after a count of three, drew a rock to Samuels’ scissors. ‘I guess it’ll be me then.’

  ‘Well, make sure you take reasonable precautions,’ Campbell said. ‘Take the rifle with you, and the radio, and one of the GPS units, and make sure you have plenty of water.’

  ‘What if we need the rifle?’ Hendricks protested. ‘There could be bandits in the area.’

  ‘Then they are more likely to attack three people trekking alone in the mountains than they are the six of us,’ Campbell said. ‘Besides, I’m reasonably sure the tribes around here are friendly.’

  ‘And nobody would want anything to happen to your precious research student,’ Hendricks said, under her breath, which raised a snigger from Samuels.

  ‘Look, we’re wasting time,’ Suzanna said, clicking her fingers at Kange. ‘It could take hours to get there, and I’d rather not be trekking through the midday sun.’

  ‘I’ll get our kit,’ Yates said, nodding in agreement with her. He hesitated and looked back at Campbell. ‘Just in case we lose radio contact, you are not going to move camp, are you?’

  Campbell shook his head. ‘No, but just in case, make sure you know the coordinates of the helicopter rendezvous.’

  Y
ates nodded. ‘Sure, but the chopper isn’t due for another week, is it?’

  Campbell shook his head. ‘No, but you never know what might happen.’

  ‘Jesus, nothing is going to happen,’ insisted Suzanna, checking her digital camera. ‘We’ll be back by this evening.’

  ‘So what do you intend to do?’ Hendricks asked. ‘March in there and tell them to cease operations immediately? Do you honestly think they’ll listen to you?’

  ‘It could get nasty,’ Samuels said. ‘I imagine they have a lot at stake.’

  Suzanna shook her head. ‘I have no intention of them even knowing we are there. I just need evidence of what they are doing, that’s all.’

  ‘And if you are seen?’ Hendricks asked.

  Suzanna shrugged. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  Campbell looked positively apoplectic and tried one last time to plead with her to stay. ‘It is incredibly foolish. Anything could happen to you.’

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Relax, Eric, we’ll be fine, isn’t that right, Henry?’

  Yates didn’t look as assured as she sounded, but he nodded and flashed his pearly whites into an unconvincing brave smile. ‘I’ll look after her, Prof, I swear.’

  ‘And who’s going to look after you?’ Hendricks said, a sneer across her chapped lips.

  Taylor’s excavation site lay no more than a ten-minute hop in the helicopter from the main camp, but with the surrounding hills and dense foliage stretching the length and breadth of the valley, it was remote a place as possible to find.

  It had taken days to airlift in the equipment, reassemble it and begun carving up the ground, but Taylor had wasted no time.

  A patchwork of uprooted trees and churned up earth and rock ran up the centre of the valley. A small stream cut through the middle of it, which was one of the reason’s Kruger had chosen the site in the first place.

  Taylor had already created several sluice pools, a remarkable feat, considering there was just him, Jackson the young graduate, and two local workers, which was all Kruger could spare. No wonder Taylor looked like a zombie every night when he returned from the site. They’d achieved in a few days what most diggers would have taken weeks to accomplish.

  All this reinforced just how valuable Taylor was in Kruger’s mind. If something had happened to him, he, and the entire operation in Papua New Guinea were well and truly screwed.

  His eyes fixed on Lawa. The young local sat deathly still as the helicopter slowly descended, the down draft blowing the dust and sand below them into thick clouds, which they had to let settle before Kruger, Loudon, Franks and the frightened Papuan got out.

  With his neckerchief clamped over his mouth, Kruger stepped onto the dirt and surveyed the excavation site.

  The trommel and excavator sat motionless a little away from where Franks had put down. Rocks still lay on the conveyor, but all was still.

  He walked along the conveyor. A rifle lay upright against the control panel. He picked it up and checked the number of shells in the chamber. It hadn’t been fired. Whatever had happened, had taken Taylor by surprise.

  He then caught sight of some marks in the dirt. He squatted. Something, or someone, had been dragged across the ground. He then fixed his eyes on the excavator. The cabin door was open and a trail of blood led to a mass of flesh and fabric in the dust, a safety hardhat lying a few feet away.

  ‘Hey, chief, you better take a look at this,’ Franks shouted.

  Kruger stood, his joints creaking. ‘Yeah, what is it?’

  Franks didn’t answer. He, Loudon and the Papuan just stared at something in the dirt.

  Kruger fetched up next to Franks and pulled the Papuan out the way. On the ground at their feet, what appeared to be a boot, the type the company gave to all its workers, steel toe-capped and rubber soled. He removed his hat and crouched next to the object on the ground. Only then did he realise that whoever had lost the footwear had left their foot in it.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said, turning over the gory object. ‘What the hell ...’

  Lawa the Papuan gesticulated to a patch of dirt a few yards away and started yelling, pressing his hands together and pleading to Loudon.

  ‘What’s eating him?’ Franks asked.

  Kruger stood. On the ground, leading from the boot, were tracks. Footprints of some kind. Of what, Kruger didn’t know, but it was something big. He followed them. Between the impressions, red flecks dotted the ground. The further Kruger tracked the prints, the larger the flecks, until eventually, he arrived at a large patch of red dirt. The blistering sun had dried it, but it had obviously been created by a large amount of blood.

  But that wasn’t what Lawa had been pointing at.

  No, the round object near a line of long grass at the edge of the excavation site sitting like a stationary football was what had alarmed him. It wore a hardhat and stared back with the face of the Papuan’s best friend.

  For the first few hours following the stream, Suzanna and Yates chatted aimlessly. She actually found him quite interesting. The bronzed complexion and perfect teeth belied what was actually a pretty clever and interesting guy. Yates was from California, not Florida, but had moved to Miami following his graduation, partly because he wanted to be by the ocean (her suspicions about him being a surfer had proved correct) and he wanted to do his postgraduate studies in the Everglades.

  His path hadn’t been easy. He was the first in his family to attend college. Originally, he’d enrolled at medical school, dreaming of being a doctor, but it ended in disaster. The long hours and intense study resulted in him falling into the trap of taking pick-me-ups and sedatives. It wasn’t long before he was fully hooked and he slipped down the slope from prescription medicine to street drugs. Ultimately, he got kicked out, and as no other medical school would accept him, his life was in tatters.

  Two things turned him around. One, was his love for surfing, which he said was more spiritual than physical, helping him to extinguish his demons and kick his habit, and secondly, a drug therapist called Akiyama gave Yates a bonsai tree to help him focus on something besides his addictions. It worked. The young Yates tended the plant as if it were a newborn baby, and as a result became captivated by the natural world and by plants in general.

  The rest, so he had said, was history. He managed to land a college place to study botany, got his degree and was now a postgraduate student at the University of Florida.

  She started to relay her life story to him too as they followed Kange up the slopes of the valley. They had a little in common, both having grown up without a father, but compared to his life, her childhood in Adelaide had been pretty typical and boring. However, soon the heat and humidity and exhaustion from the hike made talking too much of a challenge. As such, they spent the last couple of hours in near silence, occasionally swapping weak smiles, occasionally lending a hand to each other as they traversed through the undergrowth and over the rocks and fallen logs and ditches.

  Soon Suzanna felt like collapsing, the walk and heat and sweating draining her of energy, but eventually Kange halted in front of them and stooped behind the long grass he’d spent the last half hour hacking his way through. He then unslung the rifle from his shoulder.

  Suzanna and Yates stared at each other, before both crept over, keeping their heads low.

  ‘What is it?’ she hissed.

  Kange said nothing but rested the rifle against his thigh and slowly parted the grass with his hands, as if opening a pair of drapes.

  It was as if he had pulled back a curtain to another world. Ahead there was nothing. No trees, no grass, no bushes, no vines, no buzzing insects or fluttering birds, no flowers, just a barren, desolate landscape, as if somebody had taken a giant plough to the valley, uprooting everything, even the rocks and boulders and leaving behind a furrowed, flattened land of dirt and dust and mulch.

  ‘Look what they have done,’ Suzanna said, far too loud for Yates and Kange, who both placed a finger to their lips
. Kange then prodded his finger towards the right.

  After craning her neck through the fronds of long grass, Suzanna caught glimpses of a large machine, which looked a bit like a mechanical dinosaur. Behind that sat a smaller, cylindrical machine, a conveyor belt, and standing away from all that was a helicopter with a gaggle of men beside it looking around the site.

  ‘Let’s make this quick,’ Yates whispered. He pointed to the left, away from the machinery and men, towards some stagnant pools shimmering in the heat haze, around which stood several oil drums. ‘I think that’s what’s polluting the stream. Give me your camera. I’ll go and take some shots, and then we can get out of here.’

  She removed the camera from her backpack but didn’t hand it over. ‘You wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  With Yates hissing protests behind, she clambered past him, and with a quick glance at the group of men, she broke cover and dashed to the pools.

  Yates had been right. She could see the stream running beyond the oil drums. Here, it wasn’t very wide, a couple of meters at most but the miners had dammed one end, forcing the water into their filthy pools, where a film of oil covered the surface.

  Keeping her head down, Suzanna wasted no time. She snapped away, taking shots of the oil barrels, the pools of polluted water and the dammed stream. She then realised that none of the pictures identified who the culprit was.

  She crept behind one of the barrels and peered over. While the mechanical dinosaur was covered in dust and dirt, the helicopter was clean and gleaming, and on the side, it had some sort of logo. She couldn’t see it properly, and even the weak zoom of her camera couldn’t focus on it, but she felt sure if she got close enough, the logo would reveal itself to contain the name of the depraved company responsible for such an environmental catastrophe.

  Despite Yates and Kange making wild gesticulations from their cover in the long grass, she edged around the barrels, and keeping stooped, crept towards the excavating machine.