Death Hulk

by Matthew Sprange

  Hague was caught a little off guard. "Eh? Ah, yes, Mr Corbin," he said, recovering quickly. "But that was some time ago and nowhere near this place." In truth, he had spent part of his childhood in South Africa while his father had run a merchant's agency there and while he had picked up some of the native tongue, he was well aware that the speech varied from tribe to tribe.

  "You are the best we have, Mr Hague, and if we encounter any natives we may save a great deal of time if we trade with them."

  "Right you are, Sir."

  Corbin stared hard at the assembled parties. "Remember what I said about the natives. They may prove to be of great benefit to us. However, keep in mind the only experience they may have had with white men could be with the slave ships of the Americas. So, mind your manners as they may appear less than receptive. Only respond in kind if they prove outwardly hostile. Any questions?"

  A few sailors shook their heads, which Corbin took to mean that at least a few of his warnings had hit home. He was on a strict timetable from Captain Havelock, who had remained on the Whirlwind to oversee the repairs. Having been given a list of requirements - ranging from a good stock of wood, replenishing that used for repairing the hull, to necessities such as fresh water, food and appropriate wood to be used for brushes - Corbin had split the men on the beach into three separate parties, tasking each with searching for just one of these goods. He was to lead a fourth group with Hague, in the hope of encountering natives and trading with them. With any luck, a little diplomacy would reap more rewards than the entire crew scouring for supplies.

  "Very well, then. Off you go and good luck!"

  Striking off in four different directions, the landing crew of the Whirlwind entered the tree line running along the shore and disappeared from sight.

  Leading the way for his party of six, including two marines, Bryant hacked at all plant life within reach of his broad knife as he struggled to get past a particularly thick knot of branches. He had only been leading his group for little more than twenty minutes and already he felt exhausted. Wiping his brow with the back of his arm, he glanced around.

  Though they had seen no wildlife, strange calls that may have come from birds or something else best not imagined, constantly rang out. The shrubs and trees were nothing like he had seen before and he noticed their leaves tended to be thick and rubbery to the touch, though here and there a very exotically coloured flower poked its elaborate petals out of the verdant mass as it strained for just a portion of the sunlight trickling through the canopy. The very air lent an ominous feel to the area, especially for men used to serving on board a ship that, while retaining its own specific odours, at lest felt the breeze once in a while. Here, it felt as if the wind never penetrated the trees, and as a result, the air was thick, cloying and very damp.

  "This ain't no work for a sailor," said Murphy, and though he wished the small man would stop griping, Bryant could not help but agree. He had never imagined anything like this when he had signed up.

  "Be just our bleedin' luck to run into damn natives," said Jessop. "Bad move from the Cap'n, not issuin' us with guns. What are we goin' to beat an attack off with? Sticks?" he asked, twirling a particularly heavy branch that Bryant had cut down earlier.

  "I doubt he was wild about the idea of giving you a firearm, Jessop," replied Bryant, without breaking his stride.

  "You'll be glad of a decent gun if we get ambushed," said Jessop, his eyes beginning to scout out the surrounding shrubs.

  "You're beginnin' to worry me now," said Murphy nervously and his eyes too began to dart from left to right as he watched the vegetation. "Anyway, them marines 'ave got guns. If they see any... I saw somethin' move!" he suddenly exclaimed.

  As one, they froze, casting anxious looks about them. Bryant was the first to stir from the spell and shook his head. "You're just jumpy, Murphy, calm down. There's nothing here but us."

  "Probably just a pig or something, Murphy," said Brooks, not entirely convinced by his own words.

  "Pig?" Jessop asked, his attention caught by the prospect of fresh meat.

  "There ain't no pigs in Africa," said Bryant wearily. "Only where civilised folk settle. They have other animals here - buffalo, I think."

  "What's a buffalo?" Brooks asked.

  "Like a cow. But bigger. I think Hague would know."

  "Yeah, an' of course, Corbin takes the one man who knows somethin' about the area for 'imself," said Jessop.

  "Officer's privilege." If Bryant had the time or strength to shrug, he would have. He stopped and turned round to face his party. "Look, we ain't going to get attacked, there are no natives here and no pigs. Let's just find clean water, as we were told by the nice Lieutenant, and then we can be out of here. Agreed?"

  Even Jessop nodded at the wisdom of this. By now they were all wet through, hot and feeling miserable, each longing for the familiar comforts of the Whirlwind.

  "Right," said Bryant with some finality. "We'll go a little further and then you'll have to take over here, Jessop."

  "Why me?" an irritated Jessop said.

  "Because I am getting tired, and for all your faults, you are as strong as anyone else here."

  Jessop grunted, perhaps unsure of whether he should carry on complaining or accept Bryant's words as a complement. As one, they started walking again but stopped almost immediately when a low, base growl echoed among the nearby trees. Murphy began to ask what the sound was but Bryant urgently waved him to keep quiet. None of them moved as they began to look around once more. It was Brooks that spotted it first.

  "Up there," he said in a whisper, pointing to a spot among the branches of a tree just a few yards ahead of them. Bryant cocked his head and squinted as he tried to peer through the leaves and saw a flash of dull yellow. Moving very slowly, he shifted a nearby branch aside and looked into a pair of blinking golden eyes, narrowing as they considered the new arrivals. Stretched languidly along a thick branch just a few yards off the ground was a lithe-looking cat, its fur dappled with dozens of dark coloured spots. They watched its powerful hind muscles tense as it bared two inch long fangs and spat at them. It was clearly at least as large as a sizeable dog and seemed a lot more powerful.

  "Gods, it's a lion!" Murphy said, beginning to shake in fear.

  "Ain't a lion," said Bryant. "They live on plains."

  "So what is it?" Brooks asked. "Is it dangerous?"

  Bryant was at something of a loss. "Some kind of cat. Probably wont attack if we just go round it."

  "I can eat cat," said Jessop with confidence as he strode past Bryant, brandishing his stick. Ignoring the warnings of the other members of the party, he jabbed upwards at the animal, trying to dislodge it from its perch.

  At first, the cat simply tried to swat his stick away but it began to hiss violently when Jessop connected hard with its flank. It sprang to its feet and leered down at him, teeth bared just a yard away from his head. Thinking that perhaps there might not have been as much meat on the cat as he had first thought, Jessop turned and skipped back to the safety in numbers of the rest of the party.

  Tensing for a split second, the cat launched itself with amazing speed at the man's back. Acting purely out of instinct, Bryant lashed out with his knife but only drew a thin line of blood down the cat's ribs.

  Moving with a surprising agility for his size, Jessop had already retreated behind the marines, who now found themselves staring into the piercing eyes of the large cat as it crouched, tensing itself for a leap. The nearest marine struggled to unlimber his musket, fiddling at his belt for the ammunition pouch. With a ripple of honed muscles, the cat threw itself forwards, claws digging into the man's shoulders as fangs sunk into the side of his face and neck. The man screamed at an unbelievably high pitch and fell backwards, pinned under the weight of the animal. Screams turned to a gargle as the cat tightened its grip on his neck and rear claws started raking at his stomach, tearing apart the red uniform to stain it with a darker flow of blood.

  The second
marine, hesitating only a second as he watched the demise of his squad-mate, dismissed any thought of firing his musket and instead reversed it, swinging the butt of the weapon against the shoulder of the cat. It was a weak and hurried blow, which skittered off the creature's hide with no appreciable effect.

  By this time, Bryant had recovered enough to step forward and slash with his knife across the cat's haunches, leaving a deep, bleeding cut. The cat released the dead marine and spun around, spitting as it bared its fangs once again. Bryant locked eyes with the animal and saw that it was gauging him carefully, looking for an opening through which to spring and take him down. Shuddering, Bryant crouched, ready to try beating the cat's reflexes by rolling to one side when it leapt.

  He was spared the attack by the marine who, yelling with a primal fury he had managed to find deep within, set about the cat with the butt of his musket. The cat shrunk downwards, trying to escape the blows as he swung and jabbed with the weapon. Seeing the animal otherwise distracted, Jessop jumped back into the fight, hammering away with his heavy stick about the cat's head, knocking it insensible almost immediately. As soon as the animal began to move sluggishly under the repeated attacks, Bryant built up the nerve to approach it once more, burying his knife into the cat's neck. He was rewarded with a brief spray of blood, then the cat fell limply across the legs of the dead marine.

  Brooks and Murphy crept back from where they had retreated, staring curiously at the animal, its fur now matted with both its own blood and that of the marine. Bryant, Jessop and the remaining marine looked at one another in some relief, the latter two at first beginning to smile and then laughing nervously.

  For his part, Bryant was just angry. "You satisfied now, Jessop?" he demanded. "Is the filling of your belly worth the life of a man?"

  Jessop started to shrug but then turned to face the last marine. "Hey, sorry 'bout your mate an' all."

  The marine cast a glance at his fallen squad mate. "He knew the risks. Anyway, I won't miss 'im."

  Glancing back at Bryant, Jessop had something of a look of triumph. "You see?" he said. "Could 'ave 'appened to any of us. An' now we 'ave what we came for - fresh meat!"

  Opening his mouth to argue further, Bryant thought better of it, realising that there was no way to get through to the man. He sighed.

  "Have it your way. Let's get this animal strung up to a branch. Jessop, you'll help Brooks carry it back."

  Frowning, Jessop looked as if he were about to argue the point but the look in Bryant's eyes made him think that here, alone with Bryant's friends, might not be the safest place to complain. Shrugging dismissively, he began looking for a suitable branch from which the cat could be hung and carried.

  Even though four marines and twice as many sailors surrounded him, Corbin still felt distinctly uncomfortable as he watched the dark-skinned natives gather in the clearing. It soon became clear they outnumbered his party by at least four to one and though he might have the advantage of swords and firearms on his side, Corbin did not fancy taking chances with this many armed natives who were, literally, just a spear's throw away.

  Whereas the other parties had been sent at oblique angles from the beach into the tree line, Corbin had led his party directly through it and they had chanced upon a trail within minutes. Deciding that it was created by natives rather than animals, Corbin had given orders for them to follow the path. It had not been long before they realised that they were not alone among the thick vegetation as they saw shadows flitting from tree to tree beyond the trail, and, having arrived at the clearing, Hague suggested they wait where they were for the arrival of their hidden escort.

  The arrival of the first black face at the edge of the clearing had set all their pulses racing but a slow feeling of dread began to spread throughout the party as more and more dark figures stepped out of the trees. Each brandished a primitive looking spear and was clothed only in a short loincloth with a variety of bones and beads hanging from their necks or woven into their black hair. Corbin was left in no doubt that these people would prove to be utterly lethal if provoked and he could not decide if their expressions were a reflection of mere curiosity or... hunger?

  Later on, Corbin would reflect on how well Hague had handled himself during the encounter. Showing no outward sign of fear, the Lieutenant had stepped forward and raised his arms in greeting. He began speaking in a strange tongue that seemed impossibly fast to Corbin.

  One by one, the natives overcame any hesitation they had, though they did not relax their grip on their weapons. Three started talking to Hague and the conversation became increasingly animated. After a short time, Hague stopped talking, apparently considering what to say next. After he felt the silence had persisted just a little too long, Corbin slowly stepped up to Hague's side.

  "Well, you certainly seem to have mastered the tongue, Mr Hague," he said.

  "Ah, yes Sir. Unfortunately, we are talking two different languages," he admitted. "Let me try again."

  Turning back to the natives he restarted his negotiations, though Corbin could not help but notice that far fewer words were being used, replaced instead by a lot of gesturing and finger pointing. After a while, it seemed as though some progress had been made, especially when the hand movements pointed to various items the party was carrying and Hague had made motions that indicated eating and drinking. The three natives directly opposite them suddenly seemed to get quite excited and kept gesturing towards the marines that accompanied the sailors. It took Hague a few seconds to work out what it was they were after. Reluctantly, he turned back to Corbin.

  "Ah, it seems they want guns."

  "Guns? They know what guns are?" Corbin was a little confused. "They know how to use them?"

  "These people may have a simpler way of life, Mr Corbin, but they have seen the white man before and are well aware of what guns can do. What do I say?"

  Corbin thought for a moment. "Well, what do we get in return?" he asked.

  Looking a little apologetic, Hague grimaced slightly. "I am not entirely sure, Sir. I've tried explaining what we need and where we want the goods brought. I think we'll get what we are after and it will be brought to the beach. Frankly, I would rather start haggling within sight of the ship than in this clearing."

  "That is a very fair point," Corbin conceded. He sighed. "Well, we can spare the guns, and if they get us what we need, I can't say that we will make landfall here again. Might even give those damned slavers something to think twice about."

  "My thoughts exactly, Sir," said Hague, smiling with some satisfaction.

  "Very well. Make the arrangements, Mr Hague, then we can leave this place."

  Becoming anxious to leave the clearing, and the natives, far behind, Corbin watched Hague conclude his business with some impatience. A small commotion from the men behind him made Corbin turn around to see what the disturbance was, keen not to have anything alarm the natives now they were closing a deal. He saw a marine, not part of his detail and clearly out of breath, being interrogated by a few of the sailors.

  Taking care not to make any sudden movements that could over-excite their hosts, Corbin nodded to the natives and walked back through his own men to see what the commotion was about. One of his sailors, sensing the presence of an officer, turned round and raised a curled finger to his forehead in salute.

  "Beggin' your pardon, Sir," he said. "This marine's just come from the brush party. Says they found somethin' you really need to see. Won't say what."

  Corbin looked expectantly at the marine who had begun to recover his breath, though not his composure. "Well?" he asked.

  "Complements of Mr Kennedy, Sir," said the marine. "He told me to find you and to not mention what he had seen." The man did not seem apologetic at all in his evasiveness and he cast a meaningful glance at the sailors in Corbin's party. The Lieutenant quickly picked up on his meaning but was puzzled.

  "Okay, stand easy man." Corbin said. "We'll make sure Lieutenant Hague has finished here and is making hi
s way back to the beach. Then I will join Mr Kennedy."

  The stench filled the air around the trail, a powerful, sickly smell that overpowered that of the vegetation or the sweat of the men present. On the rough soil lay five bloody patches, ripped clothing and raw flesh scattered around them, the odd bone poking up to gleam white among the sodden mess. A discarded musket and tattered red uniform identified one of the patches as having once belonged to one of the ship's marines.

  Kennedy rubbed his short beard as he took in the scene. "Bad business, this."

  "Who else has seen this?" Corbin asked.

  "As soon as my men came across it, I told 'em to get back to the beach. I then sent the marine to find you."

  Corbin found himself at something of a loss. "What happened here?" he said, finally.

  "Never seen anythin' like it, Sir," said Kennedy. "It's like they 'ave just been ripped apart. Some kind of animal, it must be." He shook his head, unable to imagine what kind of beast could do this. "I have 'eard of attacks by creatures in Africa before, Sir, but nothin' like this. Nothin'."

  "Can you arrange for them to be buried?" Corbin asked.

  Kennedy replied at first with a bitter laugh. "Well, I can cover what's left, Sir. Not much to be done beyond that."

  "Okay, Mr Kennedy. Do your best."

  A sharp crack marked the arrival of something large passing through the vegetation, causing them all to spin round. His nerves on edge, the single marine cocked his musket and brought it to bear down the trail.

  "Whoa," said Murphy, holding up a hand and smiling. "We're friendly!" His eyes then tracked down to the bloody patches and stinking flesh on the trail in front of him, opening wide as he began to realise what they probably were. Corbin noticed four other men behind him, carrying heavy loads. He hurried to stand in front of them but was too late, for they were soon all gawking at their dead shipmates.