Megalania

by Robert Forrester

  Using it as cover, she focussed on the helicopter and the conversing men before it.

  She had to wait for them to move before she could focus in on the logo, but when they did, she saw through her viewfinder the words, Alvaston Mining Corporation.

  ‘Bingo,’ she said to herself as she took some shots.

  Deciding a few pictures of the men by the helicopter wouldn’t be a bad thing, she skirted further around the machine and managed get some profile images of the men talking. When she finished, she turned to run back to Yates and Kange, only to come face to face with a man wearing a baseball cap. He had a rifle clutched in his hands, the barrel pointing directly at her.

  Chapter 5

  It really is a marvellous place, Campbell thought, studying a tiny chameleon that sat atop his finger in perfect miniature, its eyes swirling around.

  However, he couldn’t relax for worrying about Suzanna.

  She was stubborn, rash and impetuous. Yes, he shared her concerns for the environment. He’d spent his entire life campaigning for better conservation by debating, writing papers, trying to convince people of the need to protect the environment. Yet she seemed to think that she could steamroll people into submission. The world didn’t work that way. When there was money to be made, Mother Nature took a back seat, not only for businesses and corporations, but also governments. No matter how many decrees and promises the Papuan government had made to the UN, Campbell knew that the almighty dollar took precedence.

  But what could he have done, he wondered, checking his watch for the umpteenth time and trying to reach her on the radio. He got nothing but static. Not surprising considering they were heading into the hills. Besides, even if she answered, it would make no difference. He knew Suzanna. He could beg her, plead with her, even threaten her, but when she got an idea into her head, nothing would stop her.

  Perhaps she was more trouble than she was worth, he knew whatever the outcome, he’d forgive her, protect her as best he could.

  He knew what the others said back at Whipsnade, that he had a thing for her, but it wasn’t true. His feelings for her were purely platonic. He admired her spirit and enjoyed her enthusiasm, which rekindled his passion for the natural world, a passion a lifetime of academic knocks had all but destroyed.

  None of the others shared his concern for her safety, or that of Yates. Hendricks and Samuels stood in the centre of the camp, examining some rare fronds, while the three guides sat playing cards, obligatory cigarettes hanging from their lips.

  Everybody was hot, sweat streaming from their faces, khaki shirts sodden, so Campbell suggested they rest for an hour, get some shade and rehydrate.

  Begrudgingly, the two botanists agreed and the three of them sat under the tarpaulin of their kitchen-cum-dining area, drinking bottled water.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine, professor,’ Samuels said, after spotting him check his watch again. ‘Yates has his head screwed on. He’ll look out for her.’

  ‘If you ask me,’ Hendricks said. ‘She was the wrong person for this assignment. Now, I like Suzanna, really I do, but she is far too immature. This is meant to be a research expedition.’

  ‘She is just passionate,’ Campbell said.

  ‘Aren’t we all? But there is a big difference between campaigning and using research and data to prove your point, and running off like Lara Croft and trying to take on the world.’

  Samuels sniggered at the reference, although Campbell had no idea to whom she was referring.

  ‘When they come back, I’ll have a word with her. Try to rein her in a little,’ he promised, causing Hendricks to raise a sceptical eyebrow at him.

  They continued chatting for a moment, until some shouting caused them all to turn round.

  Two of the guides were peering through the surrounding grass and undergrowth, calling.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Campbell asked. ‘Where’s Sam-Sam?’

  One of the guides pointed to the bush and said something none of them understood until he mimed unzipping his flies.

  ‘Guess he’s wandered off to take a leak,’ Samuels said.

  ‘When was this?’ Campbell asked, standing up and tapping his watch to ensure they understood.

  A flash of fingers told him the missing guide had wandered off ten minutes ago.

  ‘Shall we go and look for him?’ Samuels said.

  ‘What, and risk us all getting lost?’ Hendricks said. ‘They’re the guides. It’s their job to ensure they know where we are not the other way around.’

  ‘We can’t just leave him to wander the jungle alone,’ Campbell said.

  ‘The bush isn’t that dense around here. It’s more like scrubland,’ Hendricks insisted, dabbing the back of her neck with a handful of water. ‘I’m sure he’ll find his own way back, eventually.’

  Campbell conceded with a sigh that she was right. Besides, he realised, it was far too hot to go wandering aimlessly around looking for their missing guide. If he didn’t turn up in an hour or two, then they’d go and search.

  Unfortunately, the guides had other ideas, both of whom started to venture through the bracken and ferns to look for their colleague.

  ‘Stop them!’ Hendricks shouted. ‘If they all wander off, we’ll never be able to get our stuff back to the pickup point.’

  ‘Your humanitarian concern is touching,’ Campbell said. However, he acknowledged she had a point. ‘Wait!’ he shouted, getting up from the table, extending his arms and trying to sidle in front of the two guides as they attempted to thrash through the bush. ‘Please, wait.’

  The two Papuans protested, pushing him aside, but Campbell patted the air in front of them. ‘Wait, wait!’

  They continued to protest and Campbell decided he needed to compromise, so he raised one finger into the air. ‘Just one of you go. One!’

  The two Papuans looked at each other, conferred, and then agreed which among them should go look for Sam-Sam. The other, begrudgingly strode back into camp with Campbell.

  This displeased Hendricks, who stropped around the camp, claiming that Campbell had doomed them all and a row started with her shouting at him, Campbell insisting he had no choice, while Samuels tried to mediate, but was getting nowhere.

  Until the shrill scream sounded, silencing the entire camp.

  Franks shoved the young woman in front of Kruger and Loudon standing by the chopper. She stumbled to her knees and as Kruger looked at her sweaty face, he was intrigued. She was the first white woman he had seen in months, which caused his loins to stir slightly, but her face was hardly becoming, containing nothing but belligerence and anger.

  ‘Get your hands off me!’ she bellowed.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Kruger demanded to know, as she got to her feet and brushed the dust from her knees. ‘And what the hell are you doing in my excavation site.’

  She stuck out her jaw and thrust her finger under his chin. ‘Are you in charge here?’

  Kruger was bemused. He looked at Franks, who cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘She was by the excavator, taking pictures.’ He tossed Kruger a camera.

  He studied it, scrolling through the images. ‘What the ... why were you taking pictures?’

  ‘Evidence,’ she said defiantly.

  Kruger leaned close to her. She smelled pretty bad, all sweat and jungle stench, but despite that, and despite her dishevelled appearance, she was quite attractive, fine bone structure, hair that would have fell to her shoulders if the sweat hadn’t plastered it to her neck and face, and a small button nose. She was young though, early twenties. Far too young for him.

  ‘Evidence! Of what?’

  ‘For the catastrophic environmental damage you have caused.’ She thrust her fingernail at the sluice pools. ‘You’ve killed every living thing in that stream. God knows how many rare species it contained.’

  Kruger laughed loudly and slapped his thigh. Unbelievable. He was used to environmentalists. Everybody in the mining industry was. They’d had continuous battles wit
h Greenpeace and other groups, but he never expected to encounter some lunatic activist out here.

  Her eyes bulged with contempt at his reaction and her face went red. ‘We’ll see how funny you find it when I report you to the Papuan authorities.’

  He laughed some more, and just when he thought she’d slap him, he dropped his smile and leaned close to her. ‘What are you--British?’

  ‘Australian, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

  ‘Well you ain’t in Melbourne now, missy. Have you been to Port Moresby? Half the people there walk around in bare feet. Do you think anybody in this sweatbox of a country cares about the bush? I have visas that allow me to do what the hell I like out here, and you and whatever wacked out environmental group you belong to can’t do a damned thing about it—’

  His attention was drawn to Lawa. The Papuan, who had been sat huddled by the helicopter, either still traumatized by what had happened to his best friend, or suffering guilt, suddenly, got to his feet and pointed at the bushes, jibber jabbering something.

  Kruger turned to Loudon.

  ‘He says there are more people in the long grass,’ Loudon said.

  Kruger fixed his eyes back on the young woman. ‘Friends of yours?’

  She didn’t say anything, but her eyes couldn’t help but glance to where Lawa pointed.

  Kruger nodded to Franks who strode over to the long grass, cocked his rifle in a menacing way and then shouted. ‘Ya’ll better show yourselves, otherwise I’m gonna start shooting.’

  For a long second, nothing happened, and then slowly, a pair of arms appeared and a tall kid in khaki shirt, knee-length shorts and Miami Dolphins cap stepped out.

  A second later, a local-looking man appeared clutching a rifle.

  ‘You better drop that, sonny,’ Franks shouted, levelling his gun at the armed Papuan.

  Loudon trotted over and bellowed some native words.

  The Papuan glanced at him, glanced at the tall skinny kid, and then set his eyes on the woman before Kruger.

  She nodded. ‘Do as they say, Kange.’

  The Papuan placed the gun on the ground, raised his hands and followed the skinny kid towards Kruger, while Franks scooped up their rifle.

  ‘Glad you could join us,’ Kruger said, as the two newcomers fetched up beside the young woman and swapped anxious glances with her. ‘Right, I want your names and an explanation as to what you are doing out here.’

  They conferred with their eyes for a second, the young woman obviously carrying seniority because the tall kid didn’t speak until she nodded approval.

  ‘My name is Dr Henry Yates,’ he said, his accent clearly American, all nasally and annoying. ‘This is my colleague Dr Suzanna Howard, and this is our guide, Kange.’

  ‘Well, Dr Henry Yates. May I ask what the hell you are doing skulking around my excavation site? Do you belong to Greenpeace or some other crackpot organization?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’re researchers. Here on an expedition to look for new species.’

  ‘Or were trying to,’ Suzanna added. ‘If your callousness hadn’t killed half the wildlife in the area.’

  ‘I take it there are more of you?’ Kruger asked.

  Neither Yates nor Suzanna said anything.

  Kruger sniffed a laugh. ‘No matter. You took an awful risk coming here. There’s no help for two-hundred miles.’

  Yates shifted uncomfortably but Suzanna was not cowed so easily. ‘You don’t scare us.’

  Kruger laughed. ‘Yep, you got guts, missy, gotta hand it to you.’

  ‘What you gonna do with em, chief?’ Franks asked.

  Kruger eyed the two Westerners carefully. They looked harmless enough, despite all of the young woman’s spit and fury. Besides, he reasoned, Alvaston had tens of millions invested in Papua New Guinea, so no matter what stink the environmentalist caused, the government were hardly likely to kick the miners out of the country.

  ‘I’m going to let them go,’ he said, after consideration.

  ‘Chief!’ Franks’ eyes narrowed. ‘If they go showing that film off to the media, we could end up with a right headache. We’ve got enough problems as it is.’

  Kruger tossed the camera up and down in his hands. Franks had a point. The press could be a real hassle when they wanted to be, always keen to side with the environmentalists, but with no camera, there’d be no story.

  ‘Oh, they’re not having this back,’ he said, pocketing it.

  Suzanna went to grab it, but Loudon, who’d remained quiet, grabbed her from behind, causing her to wriggle and squirm and protest with several choice words, but Loudon pulled her tight to his rotund body, arm around her neck, subduing her.

  Yates protested, but Franks levelled his gun at him, and after several seconds, when the young woman had calmed down, Kruger nodded for Loudon to release his grip.

  ‘If I’m to let you go,’ he said, ‘I do have one condition.’

  ‘Who are you to make conditions?’ Suzanna snapped, as Loudon let her go and got a baleful stare for his trouble.

  Kruger spat on the ground and spoke his next words through gritted teeth. ‘People go missing in these parts all the time, missy. Perhaps you ought to remember that.’

  ‘You can’t threaten us,’ she said, albeit a little quieter and with less venom behind her words.

  ‘Perhaps we should hear what he has to say,’ Yates said.

  ‘There speaks the voice of reason,’ Kruger said. ‘Perhaps you should listen to your friend, Dr Howard.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘You say you are researchers. Does that mean you are wildlife experts?’

  ‘I’m a botanist,’ Yates said. ‘But she’s a zoologist.’

  Kruger looked down his nose at her. ‘Is that right? I take it then, you know the sorts of animals that live around these parts?’

  ‘As well as anybody, but this is unchartered territory full of new species, which makes what you are doing even more reprehensible.’

  He held up his hand. ‘I’m not interested in your opinions. What I want to know is if you can identify what made those tracks.’

  He pointed to the prints that went from the conveyor across the excavation site to the long grass.

  Suzanna squinted and shielded her hand from the sun as she walked over. ‘They look crocodilian,’ she said, stooping over and examining the ground. ‘These are the front feet, and this looks like the sweeping motion of a tail.’

  What she was pointing at looked to Kruger like the s-shape of a sidewinder. ‘So it is a crocodile then,’ he said, glancing at Franks, whose head turned left and right nervously.

  ‘No,’ she said standing upright and scratching her head. ‘I said they look like it, but the only croc big enough to make these marks is the saltwater, and they are only found near the coast.’ She stooped again and examined the ground more closely. ‘And the claw marks are not right.’

  Kruger squinted at her. ‘How so?’

  ‘A croc’s digits are more apart. Like this!’ She spread her fingers to show what she meant. ‘And the rear feet normally point backwards slightly, these are more forward facing.’

  ‘Then what made them?’ Kruger asked, studying the footprints more carefully. They looked a bit like human hands to him, only bigger.

  She rubbed at her chin. ‘I really don’t know,’ she said scouting along the trail. She froze and slowly stood upright, her finger slowly pointing to the end of the trail. ‘Is ... is that ...’

  ‘Jesus,’ gasped Yates, noticing the human head, around which flies buzzed as it decomposed in the heat. ‘What the hell happened here?’

  ‘That’s what we’re just trying to figure out,’ Kruger said. ‘If it wasn’t a croc, what was it?’

  For the first time since he encountered her, the young Australian woman fell quiet and she’d gone pale.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘I ... don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what could have done that.’


  ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s still out there somewhere, so you folks better take care when you head back.’

  Suzanna and Yates swapped glances.

  ‘Give them back their rifle,’ Kruger said.

  Reluctantly, Franks handed their guide back his gun. Kruger then circled his finger at him, so Franks scurried off to start the chopper. After Loudon and Lawa piled in, Kruger jabbed his finger at the two researchers as he set foot on the helicopter ski.

  ‘Keep off my excavation sites,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you’ll have more to worry about than rogue crocodiles.’

  Chapter 6

  They all ran through the bush in the direction of the guide’s scream. This is foolhardy, Campbell suddenly realised. They no longer had a rifle, and he halted and pulled back Samuels and Hendricks as the other guide raced ahead.

  ‘We need to be careful.’

  Samuels nodded, and as a younger man, he showed his palm to Campbell and Hendricks and tentatively followed the guide, eventually disappearing in the undergrowth, as Campbell and Hendricks stood panting.

  Several long seconds passed, but eventually, Samuels shouted through the thickets. ‘Here, quick, look!’

  After a quick glance to one another, Hendricks and Campbell dashed through the undergrowth, eventually fetching up in a small clearing, where Samuels and the guide stood staring at something in the guide’s hand.

  ‘This is all we found,’ Samuels said, showing Campbell and Hendricks what the guide was holding. A hat. ‘He says it belongs to Sam-Sam, but there is no sign of the other guide.’

  The guide shouted for his colleagues, but other than the flutter of some startled birds taking flight overhead, his cries went unanswered.

  ‘They can’t both have just vanished,’ Hendricks said.

  ‘I suggest we get back to camp,’ Campbell said, looking around nervously. ‘I think we should call an end to this expedition and alert the authorities. Enrico, use the satellite phone and call the helicopter, ask him to wait for us at the pick-up point. If we leave in the next couple of hours, we can make it there before nightfall. I’ll try to reach Suzanna and Henry on the radio and get them back as soon as possible.’