Cryptid Island

by Gerry Griffiths

  “Hi, Miguel. I take it Jack is with you?” The professor clasped her hands together on the desktop.

  Jack leaned over from his seat so he could be seen by the camera aperture on the top of the computer, placing him in the frame with Miguel in the lower right hand corner of the screen. “Do we call you professor or Nora?”

  “Nora would be fine. I’m so glad you two decided to sign on to our little project.”

  “And what project is that?” Miguel repositioned the laptop so Jack didn’t have to stretch so far to be in the picture.

  “Well, at the moment, I’m not at liberty to go into details but I can say, it is something right up your alley.”

  “Yeah? And what is that?” Jack asked.

  “Preserving endangered species.”

  “So why are we here? In Tanzania?” Miguel inquired.

  “No, let me guess,” Jack said, thinking back to their website and the long list of endangered species near extinction in different regions all over the world. “Is it the black rhinoceros?”

  “No,” Nora replied. “You are there to find a mngwa.”

  Miguel let out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. They don’t exist.”

  “I have good reason to believe they do.”

  Jack was skeptic. He’d heard stories about the giant black leopard supposedly as tall as a zebra. Swahili fairy tales meant to frighten children.

  “I trust you inspected the tranquilizer guns provided?”

  “Yes, we’ve used these types before.” Jack knew the air rifles were equipped with .50 caliber darts meant for big game.

  “Each syringe is filled with Etorphine, the same opioid used to immobilize elephants,” Nora said. “That should be enough to paralyze the animal and give you ample time to get me a blood sample.”

  “Sounds more like a job for the Red Cross,” Miguel said with a smirk.

  “Sure you don’t want us to video tape it or get some cute pictures?” Jack grinned, trying not to laugh.

  “If you two don’t feel you are up to the task...”

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” Jack said, sensing they had crossed the line. “We have this covered.”

  “Very well, then. Your pilot will remain there until you are done.”

  Jack glanced out the passenger window. The sky on the horizon was already turning a purplish-pink. He looked back at the computer screen. “It’s almost dusk.”

  “I know.”

  “And you want us traipsing around in the dark looking for this thing?”

  “What better time? Remember, the mngwa is a nocturnal hunter.”

  “You really think we’re going find one, just like that?”

  “Yes, I do. Good luck.” Nora’s image disappeared as the screen went black.

  “This is nuts,” Jack said.

  “I’ll say. But as long as they’re willing to pay us the big bucks, who are we to argue?” Miguel closed up his laptop. He called to the pilot. “We’re through talking with the professor.”

  The pilot stepped from the cockpit. He went down the narrow aisle to the side hatch. He released the locking mechanism, pushed the door out and up, extending the bottom step of the stairs down to the ground.

  The outside heat blasted through the opening.

  “You might want to hurry it up.” The pilot wiped his brow.

  Jack buckled his gun belt. He took out his revolver. He flipped open the cylinder to make sure there were six cartridges. He snapped it shut, sliding the barrel back in the holster.

  Miguel slipped on his shoulder rig. He ejected the clip from the Desert Eagle to make sure it was full then slapped it back into the handle.

  They opened the two black cases, removing the tranquilizer guns, making sure to bring along the plastic box of darts. Each rifle had a gun-mounted 170 lumens spotlight on the underside of the barrel, eliminating the need for flashlights.

  Miguel went out first, stepping down to the dirt. Jack turned to the pilot before going down the stairs. “I guess you’re waiting here?”

  The pilot sat in a passenger seat, brandishing a military-style assault rifle. “Someone’s got to watch the plane.”

  ***

  Rather than go directly into the village, Jack and Miguel took a short hike along the base of the foothill while there was still light. If there was a predator, it would most likely come down from higher ground. They conducted a search even though they didn’t expect to find anything. There were no giant paw prints or large piles of scat or any evidence suggesting that a big cat had been prowling around the vicinity.

  “How’s your Swahili?” Jack asked Miguel as they crossed the clearing and approached the village made up of a dozen, round, mud-walled huts with rough-edge thatched roofs that looked like bad haircuts. In the center of the huts was a small pen of goats.

  “Better than your Spanish.”

  “See if I ever order you a margarita again.” Jack counted maybe twenty-five people clustered together in front of one of the huts. The village men were dressed in cast-me-down clothes: soiled T-shirts with famous brand names on the front, dirt-stained trousers, and sandals; the boys with similar-style shirts but wearing shorts. The women and the girls wore white headscarves, brightly colored cloaks, and white caftans.

  A tall man with a thick black beard—and bright red Coca-Cola T-shirt— stood at the front of the group: obviously the leader. Jack doubted if the man would be considered a chief or a shaman.

  Miguel handed his tranquilizer gun to Jack. He walked over to the leader of the village. Jack watched Miguel struggle through an introduction, gesturing with his hands, and pausing to think of the correct words in Swahili. At first the village leader seemed confused. After a few exchanges, the man understood what Miguel was trying to convey. They quickly cut through the communication barrier.

  The sun disappeared behind the hills. Nightfall crept over the village.

  Two men piled some wood, lighting a small bonfire near the huts away from the goats. The flames cast their shadows on the curved adobe walls.

  Miguel shook the tribal leader’s hand. He walked back over to Jack.

  “So what did he say when you told him why we’re here?” Jack handed Miguel back his dart gun.

  “He hopes we catch the evil spirit.”

  “You mean he actually believes there’s a mngwa?”

  “The villagers call it Nunda, Eater of People.”

  “And they’ve seen it?”

  “Not really. He said it comes in the night sometimes and steals their goats.”

  “That could be anything. A hyena or a lion.”

  “He said one of the goat herders went out searching for a stray but never came back.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So if he’s telling the truth, we’re talking about some kind of man-eater?” Even though Jack was dead set against putting down any animal, he knew when to draw the line, especially when it came to confronting a dangerous killer such as a rogue lion. “Nora never mentioned anything about a villager getting killed.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know.”

  Jack glanced down at his tranquillizer rifle. “Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like much of a weapon.”

  The only source of light came from the bonfire. The villagers were gathered around the flames, but not for its warmth. The fire was meant to scare off marauding predators.

  For two hours, Jack and Miguel paced the perimeter of the village.

  When it reached the third hour, they were tired even though they were supposed to be on high alert. Every crackle of the fire sounded like a snapping twig out in the surrounding darkness.

  All but a few villagers had retired to their huts. Soon, they too, went to their homes.

  “What time do you have?” Miguel asked Jack.

  Jack illuminated the blue dial on his wristwatch. “Just after eleven.”

  “What do you want to do? Everyone’s gone to sleep.”

  “Think there’s any c
offee on the plane?”

  “We’re giving up?”

  “No.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go see. I’d like to use the restroom onboard, splash some water on my face.”

  “Which way is it?” Jack turned and looked around.

  “The plane’s over there.” Miguel pointed at the lights shining out of the oval-shaped cabin windows, half the distance of a football field away.

  “As soon as we’ve recharged, we’ll come back.” Jack tucked his dart rifle under his arm, aiming the beam of light directly in front of him.

  Except for the lights on their guns and those from the plane, the night around them was pitch black.

  Jack couldn’t recall if there was a moon or if it was obscured behind the dark clouds blocking the stars.

  A menacing growl sounded behind them.

  “Did you hear that?” Jack spun around. He shined his light into the darkness but saw nothing.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The growl came from a different direction.

  “Damn, whatever that is, it sure is fast. I didn’t even hear it move,” Miguel gasped.

  “Or there’s two of them.”

  “No, that sounded like the same growl.”

  Jack got an eerie feeling. He turned to Miguel “Ever see the movie American Werewolf in London?”

  “Years ago.”

  “Remember the scene in the beginning when the two guys are walking through the moors in the middle of the night?”

  “You mean beware of the moon and stay on the path?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t this kind of remind you of that?” Jack said.

  Miguel shined his light about but the beam was too weak to see very far.

  “We better keep going.” Jack picked up the pace, afraid if they started running it’d only make them look like easy prey. He glanced over his shoulder. He saw a huge shape loping after them. “Shit, it’s coming. Run!”

  The men dashed across the dirt field, their lights bobbing up and down.

  Jack shined his light directly into the window where the pilot was sitting, reading a magazine. “Hey! Hey! Open the damn door!”

  The pilot squinted through the window. He opened the hatch, lowering the stairs to the ground.

  Jack heard footfalls closing so he aimed the muzzle of the tranquillizer gun over his shoulder. He fired blindly, hoping for a lucky shot.

  The giant panther came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the light shining down on the ground from the open hatchway. It was five feet tall at the shoulders. Jack figured it had to weigh four hundred pounds.

  The dart was sticking out of its chest.

  “Shouldn’t it be hitting the ground by now?” Jack stepped back toward the stairs. Miguel was nearly to the bottom step.

  The mngwa dipped its head, lowering into a crouch preparing to pounce.

  “Get down!” the pilot yelled standing in the open doorway. The muzzle flash of his assault rifle lit up the night. A long burst of bullets zinged over Jack and Miguel’s heads. Spent shells littered the passenger compartment floor. The pilot quickly ran out of bullets. “Get on the plane and close the hatch,” he yelled, dashing for the cockpit.

  Jack figured the mngwa was dead for sure. He looked at the spot where it had been standing. The big cat was gone. It had disappeared into thin air like a ghost.

  The plane’s twin engines started revolving the propellers.

  Miguel was halfway up the stairs when the plane started moving. “Jesus, he’s taking off and we haven’t even pulled up the stairs.”

  The mngwa leaped out of the blackness, landing on the stairs as Jack and Miguel dove onto the floor of the passenger compartment. The giant panther clung to the side of the plane, its sharp talons piercing the thin metal. It stuck its head inside, roaring at the two men.

  The Cessna ascended, its left wing dipping drastically due to the added weight of the mngwa, causing Jack and Miguel to cling to the seats or slide into the deadly jaws of the big cat. The engines sputtered. The aircraft was losing power...

  The mngwa’s mouth went slack. Its head drooped on its chest.

  “We’re going to crash!” Miguel yelled.

  “Help me push it off!”

  The two men placed their boots on the big cat’s chest. It took all of their strength to dislodge the animal’s curved claws. Jack yanked the dart out of the mngwa’s chest as it fell away, disappearing into the night sky.

  The pilot righted the plane. “Close the damn hatch!”

  Miguel got down on the floor. He pulled up the stairs while Jack reached up and brought down the upper part of the hatch. Once the door was closed, Jack drew down the lever bar. “Jesus, did that just happen?” He collapsed in a seat.

  “Won’t be terrorizing that village anymore.” Miguel sat down beside Jack.

  “Yeah, but if there’s one, there has to be more.”

  “Just be thankful she didn’t expect us to capture the thing alive.”

  Jack showed Miguel the dart with blood smeared on the needle. “She did say all she wanted was a blood sample, right?”

  Miguel grinned. “Then I’d say, mission accomplished.”

  17

  BURU

  Instead of returning to the Hawe Wildlife Preserve, the pilot flew to Dar es Salaam, landing at Julius Nyerere International Airport. A man in a black polo shirt with a WE emblem above the pocket was waiting for Jack and Miguel. He introduced himself simply as David. He was instructed to retrieve the blood sample for Professor Howard.

  Jack handed David the bagged dart with the mgnwa’s dried blood.

  “Are either of you carrying firearms?”

  “In our bags,” Jack said.

  “Then you’ll need to give them to me so I can clear airport security.”

  Jack and Miguel dug through their duffel bags. They relinquished their gun belts and weapons. David put them inside a small green travel bag he’d brought with him.

  “A shower and a good night’s sleep would be nice,” Jack said.

  “Already arranged.”

  Jack and Miguel followed David to a security door, which he opened with a swipe of a card. They went up a flight of stairs and through another door taking them into the main terminal.

  “Before I take you to your hotel, I suggest we pick up your tickets so tomorrow you’ll have your boarding passes. I’ve already cleared you with customs and the TSA.”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said.

  “This guy sure knows his way around,” Miguel whispered to Jack.

  David walked up to a KLM check-in counter. He exchanged greetings with the ticket agent, a striking African woman. She gave David a big smile like they were accustomed to doing business with each other. David placed the travel bag on a platform next to the agent’s counter.

  The agent bent down, affixing identification and airline tags to the luggage handle. She placed the bag on a moving conveyor belt taking it through two large plastic flaps in the wall where it disappeared.

  The woman handed Jack and Miguel their tickets.

  Jack noted the destination. “Dukuh International Airport. Where’s that?”

  “Jakarta. In Indonesia.”

  “My God,” Miguel said. “That’s got to be, what, five-thousand miles?”

  “A ten-hour flight,” the agent said.

  “Come, I have a car waiting to take us to your hotel.” David moved away from the counter, motioning for Jack and Miguel to follow him. “You’ll need to get plenty of rest. Your plane leaves tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp.”

  Jack sighed as Miguel let out a groan.

  ***

  The next day proved to be hellishly longer than they anticipated, even after enduring the 10-hour flight to Jakarta and the advanced four-hour time difference because they had to change airlines and catch a chartered flight on Aviastar for the rest of the 1,100-mile leg of the trip to Namrole Airport on the island of Buru.

  An hour before they landed, Miguel received a notificat
ion on ChatLine from Nora on his laptop.

  Again, the professor was sitting behind her desk. This time she had an apologetic look on her face. “I want to thank you both for getting me the mgnwa blood sample.”

  “You already have it?” Jack said surprisingly, leaning in so Nora could see him.

  “Oh, yes. I understand it was rather a horrifying experience.”

  “You might say that,” Miguel said.

  “Thank God neither of you were hurt.”

  “Just doing our jobs,” Jack said.

  “So, what are we after this time?” Miguel asked, getting down to business.

  Nora showed them an illustration of a giant prehistoric-looking lizard. “This is an artist’s rendition of a Buru.”

  “Looks like a Komodo dragon,” Jack said.

  “Yes, but the Buru is much larger.”

  “How large?” Miguel asked.

  “They’re believed to be over fifteen feet long.”

  “You said believed. It this another one of your cryptids?”

  “That’s right. When you land, I’ve arranged for a guide to meet you at the airport. And I must warn you, if the Buru is anything like the Komodo...”

  “I know, don’t stick our heads in their mouths?” Jack joked.

  “Not funny, Jack. One bite and their saliva will cause your flesh to rot.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Good luck, and please, be careful.” Nora faded to black, ending the chat.

  ***

  Where the Tanzania savanna had been arid and intolerably hot, the climate on Buru was sweltering and insufferably humid as they stepped from the plane down the truck-mounted passenger stairs onto the shimmering tarmac.

  Jack and Miguel went inside to baggage claim where their duffle bags and the green travel bag containing their guns were waiting on a luggage turnstile.

  An Indonesian man with a shaved head was waiting for them at the curbside pickup area. He wore a black tank top to display his heritage tattoos covering both arms and his upper chest. He stood next to a battered high-suspension Toyota truck with a rusted roll bar behind the cab. Oversized tires extended out of the wheel wells.

  “Hello. I am Panut. Your guide.”

  “Hi, there,” Jack replied.