Sophia looked down. They raced by her legs like speeding bullets grazing her skin with their scaly bodies. She looked more surprised than afraid.
Jack watched the synchronized shoal disappear behind a patch reef. He looked further out. Asha and Maria were standing in waist-high water.
Amin walked up to Jack. “Let’s go over to the women.”
Miguel hoisted Sophia up onto his shoulders. He waded out with Amin and Jack.
“It is best to shuffle your feet in the sand.”
“Why’s that?” Jack asked Amin.
“So you do not step on them.”
“Step on what?”
“You will see.”
Maria cried out.
Saucer-like creatures were circling Asha. She stood motionless with her hand extended under the water, holding a sardine. A stingray hovered over her hand for a moment then swam off having eaten the offering.
Jack counted twenty of them. The sea animals undulated gracefully through the water in wave-like motions, some flapping their wing-like fins like birds in flight.
A stingray rested on Asha’s outstretched arms. She looked like an animal trainer performing in an aquatic amusement park.
“Aren’t they venomous?” Miguel asked Amin.
“They are tame if not threatened. That is why you must slide your feet on the sandy bottom. If you step on one hiding in the sand it will sting you.”
The stingrays glided through the water, propelling themselves with their pectoral fins, the claspers and pelvic fins controlling their short tails; each spine equipped with a venomous stinger barb.
Amin looked at Jack. “My wife thinks she is a mermaid.”
“I can see that. Think she’d mind if I had a go?”
“She would be delighted.”
Jack waded over to Asha, making sure to drag his feet through the sand.
“Ah, Jack. Would you like to feed my friends?”
“Show me what to do.”
Asha handed Jack a sardine. “Hold it up by the tail.”
A four-foot wide stingray went straight for Jack’s hand as soon as he put it under the water. He felt a tug on the sardine as the stingray grabbed it in its mouth. The batoid swam off, joining the circling procession for another turn at a treat.
Jack and Asha took turns feeding the fish. Soon the plastic bag was empty. Asha tucked it in the waistband of her swimsuit.
The fever of stingrays lingered for a few minutes then went off in search of food in deeper waters.
***
The airport shuttle bus was waiting for them when they got back to the house. They threw on some clothes. Jack and Miguel carried out the already packed bags, stowing them in the back of the bus. They took a moment to say goodbye to Amin and Asha, everyone hugging before climbing into the shuttle.
“So where will you be going from here?” Amin asked Jack.
“Madagascar.”
25
VOROMPATRA
Jack and Miguel didn’t know what was worse, hiking through the sweltering jungles of Indonesia or scrambling in the Madagascan underbrush. Every time they thought they were on a path, scraggily branches would block their way forcing them to use their machetes to carve a trail.
Jack’s arm was growing tired from swinging the heavy blade. “I wonder why Nora didn’t provide us with a guide?” He took off his baseball cap to wipe his forehead with his arm.
“Probably felt we would do just as well with a GPS tracker.” Miguel looked down at the colored screen on his handheld device. The satellite readings had been accurate under the open sky but spotty traveling under the thick canopy.
Jack saw a conspiracy of ring-tailed lemurs observing him and Miguel from the overhead branches with mild interest like bored spectators watching a passing parade. A green gecko racing headfirst down the side of a tree paused suddenly to watch them slicing their way through the jungle. Everywhere Jack turned there was some type of creature monitoring their every move. Even the bothersome gnats got in on the act.
“What do you say we take a little break?” Jack cleaved his machete into the trunk of tree for safekeeping.
“Fine by me.” Miguel sat on a log to consult his GPS tracker.
Jack plopped down beside his friend. “So you think this thing really exists or is she sending us on a wild goose chase?”
“If she is, we’re after one hell’uva big goose. The vorompatra is supposed to be twice the size of an ostrich. Nora says it could weigh up to a thousand pounds. Probably why it’s called the Elephant Bird. Be happy she only wants an egg.”
“Which makes us a couple of egg-stealing weasels.” Jack stood deciding to shove on. He pulled his machete out of the tree.
“We get lucky this could be a big payday for us and our website.”
They continued through the thickets. The going got a little easier as the vegetation began to thin out. Soon they reached an open area overgrown with high grass.
Something cracked under Jack’s boot. He lifted his foot. He bent down and picked up a piece of eggshell the size of a cracked dinner plate.
Miguel glanced down at the remnants. “Hopefully there’s more where that came from.”
They began searching through the grass.
Jack was the first to find an intact egg. He picked it up to show Miguel. It was bigger than a football. “Thing’s heavy. Must weigh fifteen, twenty pounds.”
“That’s one big omelet.” Miguel opened the rucksack slung over his shoulder.
Jack was about to put the egg in when he heard something big stampeding through the grass. He looked behind him. Nora hadn’t been kidding. The bird was enormous; at least twelve feet tall. It was covered with coarse, gray feathers, resembling an ostrich but with a fuller body and no wings. The powerful red legs were thick as flagpoles with three-toed feet.
The vorompatra inflated its long neck, bellowing an awking sound meant to scare them off as it charged through the grass.
Jack tucked the egg under his arm. He dashed back into the brush.
The giant bird sprinted after Jack, its stride surpassing his with remarkable speed.
Running parallel to his friend, Miguel yelled out, “Throw it to me.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder. The bird was almost upon him. He did a lateral pass to Miguel.
Miguel curled his arms for a soft catch, almost stumbling so as not to drop the fragile egg.
The vorompatra veered after Miguel.
They found themselves back in the thickets, rushing through dense briars. Sharp thorns tore at their faces and arms, ripping their clothes. Jack lashed out with his machete, blazing a path. He glanced over at Miguel. His friend was on his hands and knees crawling through a small opening, rolling the egg on the ground in front of him.
The massive ratite crashed into the impenetrable barrier. It squawked with alarm when large thorns jabbed into its chest and tore at its legs. The more it struggled to get at Miguel, the more it found itself ensnared by the merciless thicket. Finally, the bird gave up, backing out of the entanglement. Its heavy feet stomped back toward the grassland.
Jack chopped his way through the overgrowth until he came out into a small patch where Miguel was waiting, sitting on the ground with the egg. Like Jack, his face and arms were scratched up and bleeding.
“You look like hell.”
“At least we got the egg.” Miguel reached down to pat the egg.
The egg was gone.
“What the hell? Where’d it go?”
Jack heard something moving behind a tree. He rushed over, spotting what looked like a reddish-brown short-furred cougar with an elongated body like a mongoose. The fossa was six-foot long from its nose to the tip of its tail, weighing at least fifty pounds. It used its front paws to roll the egg along on the ground like a soccer player.
Jack and Miguel raced after the egg-stealer.
The chase didn’t last long.
The egg got away from the fossa and went tumbling down an incline. The whit
e spheroid rolled over the edge of a drop-off, disappearing into a ravine choked with overgrown prickly-thorn spinose plants.
The fossa scampered up into a tree.
Jack stared down at the impassable foliage below. “No way am I going down there.” He glanced over at the razor-thin slashes on Miguel’s face and arms. He looked like a victim of the Chinese slow torture, lingchi, known as the death by a thousand cuts.
“Guess Nora’s going to have to find something else on the menu for us to find.”
26
MYSTERY WOMAN
Jack stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He studied his abrasions in the mirror over the bathroom sink. He didn’t look as horrifying as when they had returned to the waterfront hotel. Most of the cuts had been superficial, and once thoroughly rinsed, were nothing but trifle scratches. He applied antiseptic ointment to prevent infections. One cut on his forehead above his right eye required a butterfly bandage.
His clothes were stacked neatly on the toilet seat cover. He pulled on his briefs, and stepped into his jeans. He put on a long-sleeved cotton shirt to cover his lacerated arms. He stepped out of the bathroom and sat down on a chair by the window overlooking the parking lot and the large harbor of moored fishing boats and cargo ships.
Miguel sat at a small table with his laptop. He had already cleaned up; his damp raven black hair combed straight back dripping on the back of his collar. He looked up from the computer screen. “The Wi-Fi here is for the shits. I can’t get on the Internet.”
“You can try her later. Let’s go get something to eat.” Jack slipped on his socks.
“Sounds good.” Miguel closed up his laptop. He got up from the table, taking his computer.
“You’re bringing that along?” Jack finished lacing up his boots and stood.
“I’m not leaving it here.”
They locked the room and took the stairs, as the elevator was out of order. If Jack were to evaluate the hotel, he would probably give it a two-star rating. The inside of the building needed repainting and a good cleaning. Every time Jack saw a room service tray outside a hotel door to be picked up, he’d spot cockroaches feeding on bits of food left on the plates. Miguel joked their piss-poor accommodations was a reflection of their inability to meet Nora’s quota.
Jack hoped their next assignment—if there was another assignment—was realistically attainable.
Leaving the hotel, they headed over to the boardwalk stretching along the marina with cannery warehouses, tackle shops, seafood restaurants, and waterfront bars. Each time Jack stopped to review a menu posted outside a restaurant, Miguel would shake his head and pull him away.
Finally, Miguel pointed to a sign—Free Wi-Fi—posted on the front of a door leading into a bar.
Jack looked up at the neon sign over the door. “Dead Man’s Tavern. Somehow that doesn’t sound too inviting.”
“Come on. I’m sure they have food.” Miguel opened the door and stepped inside.
Jack had been in his share of seedy bars, this one being no exception; the gloomy room, the fishy air reeking of stale beer and sweat from bodies toiling the docks. Ship helm wheels along with old nautical gauges and mooring ropes hung on the walls. The bar counter extended down one side of the room, a scuffed picture of a half-naked woman wrapped in a flag painted on the front. Shelves of alcohol bottles lined the back wall glinting under the sparse ceiling lights. A bartender with a long braided beard and a tattoo sleeve on his right arm was filling a beer glass from the tap.
Four men sat at the bar on wooden stools. Their backs were turned, hunched over the bar top. From their clothes they looked like fishermen or maritime sailors.
Six round tables with wooden armrest chairs took up most of the floor.
A woman was sitting at a table in the shadows at the back of the room.
Miguel handed the laptop to Jack. “Go grab us a table.”
Besides the bartender, the four at the bar, and the woman, Jack saw no other patrons in the place. “See if they have fish and chips.”
“You’ll be lucky to get peanuts and pretzels.”
Jack sauntered to the rear of the bar. He could feel the soles of his boots sticking to the floor. He didn’t want to seem presumptuous by walking up to the woman so he sat at the table next to hers. He put the laptop on the table.
She gave him a sideways glance and stared back down at her drink.
“So what’s that you’re drinking?”
The woman looked at Jack and scoffed, “What happened to you?”
“What?” He saw her eyes roving his face. “Bad razor.”
“Didn’t know you guys shaved your foreheads.”
“I got a little carried away.”
Miguel came up to the table, carrying two glass steins by the handles and a pitcher of beer. He sat down across from Jack. “They don’t have a kitchen.”
“Not even peanuts?”
Miguel shook his head and began filling the steins.
“Don’t tell me you two share the same razor.”
Jack turned to the woman. “No, it’s more like an occupational hazard.”
“Vanilla rum.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You asked me what I was drinking. Vanilla rum.”
“Can I buy you another?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Miguel looked at Jack. He gave his friend a sly grin. “You certainly don’t want to get a reputation for disappointing women.”
“Oh, you mean like Nora?”
“You entertain the lady. I’ll go get her drink.” Miguel took a swallow of his beer. He got up and went back to the bar.
“So what’s this hazardous occupation of yours?” The woman slid her chair closer to Jack’s table.
Jack didn’t answer right away.
“I doubt you’re a lion tamer.”
“You would be right.”
“I can’t imagine you being a cat fancier.”
“I’m more a dog person.”
Miguel came back with the woman’s drink. He smiled, placing the glass in front of her. He sat down with Jack.
“Thank you.” The woman took a sip of the rum.
Jack looked over at Miguel. “She wants to know what we do for a living.”
“Tell her.”
“Seriously?”
“Why not?”
Jack smiled at the woman. “Well, if you must know, we’re cryptid hunters.”
“You’re what?” The woman burst into laughter nearly knocking over her glass.
“No, we are.” Jack didn’t know if he should be offended but then he, too, started laughing.
“So what, you guys go traipsing through the woods looking for Bigfoot?”
“Well, we haven’t quite done that yet.”
Miguel opened his laptop. “Here, I’ll show you our blog page. The bartender gave me the Wi-Fi password.”
The woman picked up her drink. She moved from her table to sit next to Miguel so she could see the computer screen.
Jack scooted his chair next to the woman. His heart began to race as he looked at her beautiful face in the glow of the screen. Green eyes, freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, auburn hair tucked in a tightly weaved ponytail. She seemed genuinely interested in watching Miguel flick from one website to another. Jack saw her expression change when Miguel opened an email from Nora and the Wilde Enterprises logo popped up. She leaned back in her chair.
“Oh, boy. Nora just beeped us on ChatLine.” Miguel turned the computer slightly so Jack could see the screen.
Professor Howard appeared on the monitor. She seemed excited. “Thank God I was able to get hold of you. I need you to stop what you’re doing as I have a new assignment for you.”
Jack saw the relieved look on Miguel’s face.
“You will be going to an uncharted island.”
“Where?” Jack asked.
Nora read the coordinates from a printout on her desk. Miguel jotted the in
formation down on a notepad.
“What’s so special about this island?”
“Watch.” A small image popped up of a barren volcanic island surrounded by ocean in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. They watched for two minutes as the bleak brown landmass gradually changed in color to various shades of green.
“How long did that take? Five-ten years?”
“No, Jack. It’s not Timelapse Satellite Imagery. That was real time. This was recorded a few weeks ago.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“I believe it’s a cryptid event like nothing we have ever seen before.”
Jack saw a speck next to the island. “What’s that off the shore?”
“A shipwreck.”
That piqued the woman’s interest. She leaned forward to get a peek at the screen.
“Who’s that woman with you?” Nora asked.
The woman sat back in her chair. She looked at Jack, shaking her head.
“Our waitress.” Jack playacted and looked over his shoulder. “It’s okay. She left.”
“So when do we leave?” Miguel asked.
“Tonight. There’s a small freight ship at Pier 5: the Dark Horizon. Good luck to you both and keep me posted.” Nora’s image faded.
“Of course we’re leaving tonight,” Miguel said in a weary tone.
Jack glanced over at the bar. A sinister-looking man looked in his direction and slid off his stool. A long, white scar extended from his forehead intersecting the patch covering his right eye all the way down his face to his chin like a blade had savagely cleaved him. He started walking towards their table. Jack noticed a circular tattoo on his upper arm that looked like a Mayan medallion with a skull face in the center. He also saw a thin-bladed knife glinting in the man’s hand. “Miguel, we got trouble.”
The woman saw the man approaching. She stood, kicking back her chair. “Tarik, no!”
“You know this guy?” Jack asked.
Miguel closed up his laptop. “He better not be after my computer.”
Jack watched the woman go up to Tarik. He could hear her whispering but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Tarik didn’t seem too interested in what she had to say and tried to brush past her. She put her hand on his chest, stopping him. She said something in a sterner voice. Whatever it was, it was enough to convince him to back off.
Cryptid Island Page 10