He woke some hours later, startled and sitting bolt upright in the bed. Catherine stirred beside him, dozily coming round. He leapt up, grabbing a pair of shorts from the chair and pulling them on as he dashed for the tent door. Pulling it open, he stepped outside. Everything seemed quiet, but he spun on his heels as he heard rushed footsteps coming along the path. In the dim glow of the moonlight, he could just make out Jelani’s outline as he came closer. Thomas took a few quick strides from the tent, walking out onto the kopje. Then he heard it. It was very distant, but it was unmistakably the sound of a car horn. He also thought he could make out what sounded like shouts and metallic bangs at the edge of his hearing.
“Sounds like trouble,” stated Jelani as he joined them.
Suddenly, a red explosive streak rocketed into the night sky to the north, beyond the trees. The signal flare spluttered before bathing them with a pinkish glow as it fizzled on its way back down to the ground.
“Looks like it too,” sighed Thomas.
He turned and quickly ran back to the tent. He dressed and hurried out again, surprised to find himself closely followed by Catherine. She had managed to pull on some clothes, but was still in a daze from their rude awakening.
“What’s going on?” she stammered.
“A signal flare just went up. Looks like someone needs help, and it’s most likely to be the crew,” he explained.
“Do you think it’s the lions?” she asked.
“I’m hoping it’s more like engine trouble, but we won’t know until we get there,” he said. “I would suggest you stay here, but that’s not going to happen, is it?”
“Not now I’m awake it’s not,” she stated flatly.
“Okay Annie,” he sighed, “let’s go get our guns.”
Thomas threw the keys of the Big Cat to Jelani. He scurried away towards where they had parked the vehicles earlier. At the gun rack, Thomas picked up the Holland & Holland .465 rifle and slipped on the shoulder holster for the big Colt revolver. As Catherine went to pick up her rifle, Thomas passed her the Purdey 12 bore instead.
“You’re riding shotgun,” he said, also passing her a box of shells.
Jelani roared into the compound behind the wheel of the Big Cat, pulling up beside them.
“Are you carrying?” Thomas asked.
“I wasn’t going to walk up that path on my own,” shrugged Jelani, lifting his own shotgun from the front passenger seat.
Thomas walked to the back with Catherine, dropping the pick up’s tail gate. He climbed up and turned around to help Catherine clamber into the truck bed beside him. They stood together, holding onto the light rig over the top of the cabin. He looked at her, amused to see she was smiling as Jelani turned the car around fast, gunning the engine and out onto the trail.
“I can’t help it, it’s exciting,” she laughed, making Thomas laugh too.
Jelani swung the car off the trail into the long grass. Thomas guessed he was cutting across to another road, where the crew or whoever fired the flare must be approaching from. The car bucked as it hit small rocks and holes in its path, forcing Thomas and Catherine to hold on tightly as the Big Cat forced its way through the grassland. Thomas caught a glimpse of a dik dik in the spotlights, a tiny species of antelope that disappeared quickly back into the inky blackness around them. Suddenly, the car turned with a jolt and he saw they were back on a trail, one that led north west and into the trees and scrub. Jelani gunned the throttle and the supercharger kicked in a moment later, the big tyres biting into the trail with renewed purpose.
Thomas looked to the East, back towards the camp. The darkness behind was changing hue, turning indigo and violet with the coming dawn. It had been a short night it seemed, and he still felt tired. He turned back to the trail ahead. He could hear the honking car horn much more clearly now, and raised voices. But above them he heard something else, a sound that made him reach for the rifle and clip a five-cartridge magazine into it. The reverberating bellow sounded again, and Thomas raised the gun, pointing it over the top of the cabin roof and up the trail. His eyes began to search for movement on either side of the track.
As they thundered round a bend, they all saw the headlights of the car up ahead. As they drew closer, the powerful lamps of the Big Cat’s spotting rig bathed the haggard crew and Kelly Keelson in penetrating light. They were all perched on top of the luggage rack of the battered Land Cruiser’s roof. Thomas couldn’t help letting out a chuckle. As he gazed over the vehicle, he saw the cause of their predicament. The front driver’s side tire had been torn from the rim, ripped almost in two. A series of gashes and dents along the doors and panels on the same side of the car revealed the full extent of the assault.
“Where is it?” Thomas cried out to Keelson.
“Back in the brush, behind the car,” she yelled back. “It’s big.”
“They’re never small,” Thomas replied, but under his breath.
“What?” Catherine asked.
With a belching roar, the thickly knotted elephant grass to their right exploded in a blur of movement. A glancing blow was delivered to the rear end of the crippled Land Cruiser as the enormous animal turned and ran alongside the vehicle. Thomas marvelled at its size. Startled by the glare of the Big Cat’s spotlights, the bull hippopotamus trundled to a stop. Its broad muzzle and over developed jowl quivered as testosterone pumped through its veins. It half opened its mouth, a sign of uncertainty. This new intruder had caught it off guard. Thomas watched closely. If it opened its mouth fully towards them, it would be a sign of submission. Keelson was right though, it was big. Standing over five and a half feet at the shoulder and weighing what Thomas estimated to be 4,000 lbs, it was old too. He knew that male hippos never stopped growing, only reaching that kind of size after a long and successful life of dominating their patch of river. It was unusual for a male to be so territorial on land and at night, but perhaps his size gave him confidence. As if sensing Thomas’s line of thought, the big bull shot forward like a juggernaut, its head down and tilted towards the car. Thomas lifted his rifle and fired a shot into the air, which had the desired effect of deflecting its charge back into the long grass.
“A fine way to be welcomed,” mused Kelly as she began to climb down from the roof.
Before Thomas could warn her, the hippo appeared out of the gloom like a freight train emerging from a tunnel, thundering head on towards the Land Cruiser. Thomas raised his rifle again, but didn’t have time to put a bead on the bull before it smashed into the vehicle’s side. He watched in despair as Keelson lost her grip and was thrown several feet into the elephant grass. As she scrabbled to her feet, the hippo dashed left again with a shake of its head. As it passed, it hooked the bull bars of the crippled Toyota with its lower right tusk and ripped them away from the car with ease. Thomas heard it grating along the ground as the hippo plunged back into the grass.
“Behind us,” Catherine yelled as it appeared again, crossing the track before entering the thick scrub on the other side.
“It’s coming for you Kelly,” Thomas warned, raising his rifle.
He tried to follow the path of the bull, closing his eyes for a moment to allow his hearing to tune in to its grunts and the smashing of the brush as it bulldozed through. He raised the gun, only to pause as another sound distracted him. It was the scream of a high revving car engine making its way down the track at speed. As Thomas opened his eyes, he saw it had caught the attention of the bull as well. It swerved away from Keelson and into the path of the oncoming vehicle, its bright lights now visible through the swathes of elephant grass it was ploughing through. The driver was clearly coming straight for them, possibly after hearing the shot he’d fired, Thomas considered.
The bull was in full charge, and opened its mouth in a giant four-foot gape that revealed the pair of two-foot long, tusk-like canines in its lower jaw, as well as the enlarged, knife sized incisors above and below. The car kept coming though, altering its course to meet the hippo head on. Just at
the last moment, the driver hit the brakes, slowing down but still sliding towards the bull over the long grass with the momentum. The hippo bellowed before it smashed into the front of the car, its teeth locking over the top and bottom of the impressive bull bars at the front of the vehicle. Now bathed in the dazzling light from the other car’s array, Thomas only saw a silhouette as it popped up over the roof line of the jeep, but he caught the glint of the heavy rifle the stranger carried. The hunter stood over the hippo, separated by only a few feet of twisting and grinding metal as the bull thrashed and bucked in a test of strength. A moment later, a flash and a roar erupted from the end of the barrel and the bull slumped to the floor. There was a sudden silence.
“And may the good Lord take a liking to you too,” said a voice with an Irish accent out of the dark.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the early light of the dawn, Thomas inspected the damage to the Warthog, Jericho’s own customised Jeep Wrangler JK8 pick-up. It had come through its encounter with the bull hippo remarkably unscathed, with only a few scratches to its black powder-coated bull bars, their unique design and size lending the car its nickname. The gun-metal grey paintwork made the flashes of red from the exposed shock absorbers and the interior stand out. The car sat high, lifted on huge black wheels encased in heavy duty all-terrain tyres, just as on the Big Cat. He let out a satisfied sigh as he turned his head, listening to the raucous bellows of the hippos down in the river gorge.
Jelani’s men had been quick to make their way out to where the bull had been killed, butchering and cleaning it there in the field before bringing the good meat back to camp. The size of the old bull meant that at least for the time being, there would be no shortage of meat for them all. It relieved some of the pressure and conflict he felt about having to fill the larder. He walked out onto the kopje and sat down in one of the wooden chairs. He stretched out his feet, resting his tired and aching muscles.
At the sound of clinking glass and footsteps crossing the kopje towards him, he opened them again. Jericho O’Connell regarded him with a mischievous glance as he fell into the chair next to him, passing over a bottle of Kenyan Tusker lager. The bottle was cold, still covered in a crisp sweat of condensation. Jericho had already taken the tops off and Thomas took a long swig.
“Jelani tells me that old bull had been a pain in the neck for some time,” Jericho grinned, “it sounds like the younger males are pleased to find him gone.”
“Indeed, probably can’t believe their luck with all the ladies suddenly at their disposal,” Thomas mused.
“Ah, it’ll do the herd good to have some new young blood take over. Those old bulls too often turn into calf killers don’t you know.”
“Aye,” Thomas smirked, mimicking Jericho’s accent and opening one eye again.
He knew Jericho was right. Older hippo bulls only became more aggressive and less tolerant as they aged. They patrolled the swamps, rivers and grasslands on a constant short fuse. Their territorial instinct and urge to control and mate with their captive bands of females often lead to the slaughter of calves, even their own, just to bring a female back into heat. It didn’t always work out so well for the male though. The bulls had strict rules of engagement that they adhered to, always attacking head on in a show of brute strength and size. The females had no need to do this, and Thomas had observed them on several occasions attacking from the side, successfully driving off males and saving their infant in the process. Alas however, he had also seen calves killed in the jaws of determined bulls too. Hippo society was one of Africa’s most brutal.
“You’ll be glad to know that I’m your official game guide, so I’ll be filling in the paperwork for the big fella, and anything your good self actually gets round to shooting,” Jericho smirked back.
“It is good to see you Jericho,” Thomas said, sitting up and slapping the man’s knee.
Jericho hadn’t seemed to have aged much over the last seven years. His blonde hair fell in thick strands around the side of his face and his blue eyes shone with charm and mischief. His skin was a little weather worn, but still managed to be caramel coloured despite the relenting attention of the sun. Thomas couldn’t recall ever seeing him without a strap of thick stubble covering the lower part of his face, and today was no exception. As he stood up, Thomas saw a flash of Jericho’s toned midriff beneath his shooting vest. Jericho was very well built, pretty much the same height as Thomas but much more muscular.
“Have some decency to put some clothes on will you, you’ll show me up,” Thomas sighed, also standing up.
“That’s gonna happen whether I’m dressed or not,” Jericho smirked.
Thomas and Jericho walked over to the dining table and chairs sitting on the outcrop. There was a cool breeze, and they supped at the beers in tired silence. After a little while, they heard Catherine and Kelly making their way over to them, chatting as they walked.
“Jericho O’Connell, meet Catherine Tyler my fiancée and Kelly Keelson, our producer,” Thomas said, introducing them.
“Some boys have all the luck, don’t they?” Jericho smiled as he reached out his hand.
“Mainly bad in his case,” laughed Catherine. “Thanks for the timely arrival last night if this one has forgotten to say,” she continued, ruffling Thomas’s hair fondly as she stood behind him.
“No need. I was actually following the car because I thought they might be poachers. I’ve had some trouble with a rather well organised crew recently, and I didn’t recognise the car. I kept my distance until I heard the shot, but didn’t know quite what you’d stumbled into until I caught up. I only realised it was you when I heard Jelani laughing, probably at the sight of Thomas in his pyjamas no doubt.”
“Still, thank you,” Kelly offered quietly.
“Good morning,” beamed Mansa as he arrived at the table, carrying a large tray piled high with plates of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon and sweet smelling ‘chapo’ flatbreads. There was also a large cafetiere of coffee, adding to the rich aromas surrounding the breakfast table.
“Mansa, could you arrange for my two to be fed, they’ll soon get up once they smell breakfast,” Jericho asked.
“Certainly,” Mansa answered with a courteous bow, “although Saka has already helped with some of our surplus.”
“You brought them?” Thomas exclaimed with some excitement.
Jericho grinned, then put his thumb and index finger of his right hand into his mouth and gave a loud, sharp whistle. There was an instant reply of a booming bark as a large, tan, short-furred dog appeared in the open doorway of Jericho’s tent. It had a muscular and regal appearance, with dark coloured ears and a black muzzle and nose. It sauntered over, wagging its thick, stout tail as it came. Catherine recognised it as a mastiff type, but wasn’t sure what breed the impressive dog was. The dog trotted straight past Jericho and up to Catherine, placing its great head in her hands.
“Well he likes you,” laughed Jericho, “this is Rhodes. He’s a Boerboel, a South African mastiff.”
“He’s lovely,” beamed Catherine, making a fuss of the big dog.
“And here comes the other one,” Jericho smiled.
Thomas saw her saunter out from behind the kitchen, gulping down a scrap of meat as she did. She froze as she saw the table of people ahead of her, bobbing her head in uncertainty. Then her amber coloured eyes locked on his. She gave a quick yelp then let out a babbling yikker as she lurched towards him.
“Is that what I think it is?” Catherine gasped.
“If you think it’s a scrawny looking thief and a pain in me ass, then yes,” Jericho sighed.
“You have an African hunting dog as a pet?” Catherine asked.
“You can blame yer man for that,” Jericho sniggered.
The lithe, thin canine covered the ground quickly, her long legs making short work of the distance. She barged past Jericho and rammed her head into Thomas’s chest with a powerful butt. She continued to squeal and yammer as she rubbed the sides of h
er head along his welcoming arms and shoulders. Her movements and behaviour seemed more cat-like to Catherine.
“You can stroke her, she’s fine with it,” Thomas said quietly to Catherine.
Catherine reached out, running her fingers through the coarse, scraggy fur. The hide was covered in inkblot shaped blotches of white, yellow, black and brown. Catherine reached up and began to scratch the dog behind its huge, bat-like ears. The animal instantly sat down and leaned into her, enjoying the sensation so much that one of its hind legs began to hammer against the ground.
“She’s remarkable,” said Catherine.
“Her name is Saka,” Thomas replied. “It means hunter in Swahili.”
“She’s also one of the rarest mammals in Africa,” Catherine exclaimed.
“True,” admitted Thomas, “but it’s not what you think. Her mother abandoned the den after a rock python entered it and ate Saka’s siblings. She was only three weeks old, but she scrambled out, presumably over the snake whilst it had its mouth full. But it was too late. I found her by the side of the road, fending off a honey badger. I did track back to the den, but the snake was still curled up inside, digesting her brothers and sisters, and the pack was long gone.”
“Oh,” Catherine said apologetically.
“She’s also donated three litters of pups to captive breeding programs here in Kenya,” Jericho added, “so she’s played her part. East and West Tsavo are one the last few places you can find them in the wild in East Africa. She’s also pretty handy to have about the camp. She still hates snakes, and will catch and kill any she can.”
The Daughters of the Darkness Page 8