The Daughters of the Darkness

by Luke Phillips

  Their heads broke the water together, and both swivelled to see if they could see the crocodiles. The three animals were now logging, lying stationary in the water as they observed them. Thomas and Catherine let themselves drift along the river a little way, but the crocodiles followed, carried along with them by the river. Thomas was the first to notice they were edging closer. The reptiles guided themselves towards their prey with tiny undulations of the tips of their tails, homing in as they regarded Thomas and Catherine with unblinking celadon eyes. Thomas signalled to Catherine as they ducked under again.

  Thomas knew that crocodiles could not focus very clearly underwater. Their eyes were protected by deployable nictitating membranes that acted like natural goggles. But although the thick lens of the nictitates did allow some vision submerged, it was considerably restricted compared to their excellent eyesight above water. Most species preferred to ambush prey from close by, lying in wait at the edge of a pool as animals came to drink. But rules always had exceptions, and he knew Niles were highly capable fish hunters, which meant they could hunt underwater if they wanted to. It was Thomas and Catherine’s rough shape and size that made the crocodiles both hesitant and interested in them at the same time. It was more than possible they thought he and Catherine were strange and unusual crocodiles.

  Thomas dove under again, fighting his impulse to swim away as hard as he could. The energetic splashing that would entail would definitely bring the crocodiles in. Catherine joined him, sticking close, but unable to hold her breath for quite as long this time. It was as Catherine moved up again to the surface that he saw the smears of blood that stained her clothing, at the same time reminding him of his own scratches and scrapes. The crocodiles were not going to give up their interest in them. He knew the olfactory lobes of the Niles were especially large, giving them not only an exceptional sense of smell but also the processing power to separate a scent from a conglomerate of source and track it down, such as with blood in the water. Fairly impressive for a brain the size of a golf ball Thomas thought.

  Another thought crept into his mind as they surfaced again. Whether the crocodiles thought they were of the same species or not, the blood was a problem. Blood told other animals around you that you were weak, perhaps even vulnerable. And crocodiles were cannibals. Smaller, lone animals often wound up the meals of larger, more dominant ones. As he glanced back, he could see the crocodiles were growing bolder, closing the distance between them. Crocodiles were excellent problem solvers. They watched and learnt the behaviour of their prey. A crocodile might lie in wait at a village waterhole for several weeks, watching the women wade in to collect the water. Once they had the schedule down, so went the victim. The three crocodiles were clearly now anticipating Thomas and Catherine’s regular trips to the surface and using the opportunity to slip within striking distance.

  Just as he began to panic, he heard shouts from downstream. He turned to see Jericho, Jelani and several men standing at the edge of a river crossing. Jericho’s Jeep stood in about a foot of water as he leaned up against it.

  “Crocs,” Thomas shouted, pointing upriver to the approaching reptiles.

  Jericho’s jovial smile was replaced by a look of stricken sternness. He reached through the open window of the car and pulled out a black, pistol gripped shotgun. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie. As Jericho began to wade towards them, Thomas dove and pushed Catherine ahead of him, towards the protection of the others, and spinning around as he sensed the movement of water behind him. The crocodile shot toward him like a torpedo, but his sudden movement surprised it and it broke off the charge. It lurched to its right, after the trail of bubbles left in Catherine’s wake. He got a good look at the thirty or so teeth on the left-hand side of the croc’s mouth, set in its fixed characteristic smile. It almost seemed smug as it gazed at him from the corner of its eye, sweeping past him in a lazy and confident glide. Thomas pulled the big Colt revolver free from the holster, and used both hands to aim it squarely at the side of the reptile’s head, less than two feet from him. There was an explosion of bubbles from the barrel, followed by a sudden jerk and thrashing from the crocodile. The twelve-foot reptile rolled in the water, spewing gore and blood from its eye socket as it thrashed wildly. Its movements stopped as it began to sink, and convulsions gripped its limbs.

  Thomas almost dropped his gun as he found himself grabbed from behind. He first thought one of the other crocodiles had flanked him, but he realised he’d already had far too long to think about it as he was dragged from the water by Jelani and one of his men. He was about to let out a sigh of relief, when the elongated, triangular green head of the second crocodile burst from the water, jaws agape, and filled with gleaming white teeth as it rocketed towards him. He found himself stunned and disorientated, as the top of its head exploded in a crimson spray of foam and flesh. His ears were left ringing as the dead reptile slumped into the mud in front of him. Jericho stepped up on his left, not hesitating to send another charge into the wrecked skull of the croc, obliterating it like a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon.

  “Christ Jericho, you don’t do subtle do you,” Thomas exclaimed, as the Irishman dragged him to his feet.

  “This is the DP-12 double-barrelled pump action shotgun,” Jericho grinned. “It’s machined from a single piece of aircraft grade aluminium. I like to keep it handy for close encounters with poachers, but I made an exception for my new luggage here.”

  Thomas watched the third croc appear a little way upriver, heading back alone to its slip with fast, methodical beats of its tail. He glanced over at Catherine, who he noticed was trembling. He leaned up against the tailgate of the Jeep with her as they were brought a blanket.

  “It’s just the cold,” Catherine whispered meekly.

  She was almost as white as her drenched T-shirt. All her hardness and survival instincts had evaporated within the embrace of their safe surroundings.

  “And the adrenaline,” Thomas added. “I’m pretty sure I’d have died a couple of times today if it wasn’t for you keeping a cool head.”

  “It looks like you nearly did anyway,” Jericho exclaimed, nodding at Thomas’s bloodstained forehead and Catherine’s various scrapes. “What the hell happened to the two of you?”

  “Oh you know,” Thomas shrugged with a flippant grin. “Buffalo, man-eating lions, waterfalls, crocodiles. The usual.”

  “In that case you look grand,” Jericho replied with a wink.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The camp became a hive of activity over the next few hours. Jelani organised trailers for the Big Cat and the Warthog, as well as the film crew’s Toyota, in order to retrieve the stricken ATVs, the lions, and the added windfall of the buffalo Thomas had shot. Each vehicle was filled with men from the camp, as both protection in case the lions returned and through excited curiosity. Kelly, Mason and Karni filmed and recorded Thomas as he led Jericho, Jelani and a few of the men into the cave system to retrieve the rifles. They found the two dead lionesses at the entrance of the tunnel that led to the waterfall, shoved aside but unmolested by the rest of the pride. The men chattered nervously as they stretchered the corpses back out into the sunlight, where they were immediately joined by the others. Whoops and cheers went up followed by happy shouts and claps. Jericho gave Thomas a congratulatory slap on the back whilst he tried to ignore the camera.

  “Maybe next time take a radio,” Kelly suggested, sidling up to Thomas amongst the throngs of men. “Or even better, your film crew.”

  “It was just meant to be a reconnaissance trip, but obviously, things didn’t quite go to plan,” Thomas replied defensively, “but you’re right. I didn’t think things through. I still wouldn’t have brought you though,” he smirked.

  “Two’s company huh,” Kelly replied. “Just how is Catherine coping with all this and you being the centre of attention again?”

  “Wow Kelly, you can take the girl out of the tabloids but not the tabloids out of the girl, is that
it?” Thomas accused her. “I thought we’d moved on from that?”

  “I meant it genuinely and off the record,” replied Keelson, clearly a little hurt and taken back by his remark. “I know I’m struggling to keep my head straight with everything that has happened so far, and I’m your producer. I’ve been on the front line numerous times before. Catherine hasn’t.”

  “Sorry, I know you’re right,” Thomas said with a sigh. “But I did get hit in the head today in my defence, and it’s been a long one. You can film us going over our plans and take as many shots of the dead lions as you want. The villagers are bound to visit the camp to see them too. They won’t believe we’ve killed two of them.”

  “You’ve killed two of them you mean,” Kelly corrected with a smile as she turned and walked away.

  As he’d predicted, news of the two dead lionesses spread quickly. By the time they rolled back into camp, a large crowd had gathered. Villagers from miles around had trekked to see the bodies of the two man-eaters. As Jelani and his men laid their corpses gently onto the ground, Thomas felt a slight pang of remorse. He didn’t take a life lightly, any life, and if it wasn’t for the bloody entry wounds of his bullets, he could have been forgiven for thinking the two females were sleeping peacefully. Maybe they are in a way he thought.

  Jelani had to keep the crowd back, as many of those who had come were relatives of victims of the pride. They were looking to take souvenirs from the bodies, as was their tradition. For others, they believed that great magic was contained in the teeth and claws of the two demons that lay before them, and wearing them in the form of a necklace or charm would give them great power. Keelson, Mason and Karni were kept busy with taking stock footage as the crowds came and went. Then, tired and irritable, as well as a little disgusted by the lack of respect and feeling dismissive of the superstitious clamouring, Thomas took out the Colt from the holster and fired a deafening shot into the air. Silence fell upon the camp as all eyes, frozen and wide in shock, turned towards him.

  “Show’s over,” Thomas grunted.

  Catherine emerged from the tent at the sound of the gunshot, and he suddenly realised it was the first time he had seen her since they’d returned from the cave. She had clearly washed and changed. She wore a sea green V-neck T-shirt that matched her eyes and made them glisten in the light of the early evening sun. As she shimmied over to him, he felt his boiling blood cool and his heartbeat drop a little. She pressed against him, running the back of her index finger down the bare skin between his collar bone and the top of his chest.

  “You’re exhausted, and you smell. Go do something about it,” she whispered.

  Thomas let out a deep sigh.

  “Sorry folks, I promise I won’t shoot any of you,” he called out. A few of the gathered villagers laughed, albeit nervously.

  Jericho walked over to him and casually took the gun and holster from him.

  “Just to be sure,” he winked assuredly.

  Thomas shuffled off to the nearest bath hut, stripping off as soon as he was inside. He noticed the fresh towels Mansa had left in a pile on the table the other side of the woven screen. He switched the water on and stepped in without waiting for it to heat up. The shower was bracing, but not uncomfortable after sitting stored in tanks all day. It refreshed his senses, and he felt his knotted muscles begin to soften and untie as the water grew warmer. He let the beads hammer against his skin for a while, before he reached for the bottle of Trumper’s shower gel from his wash bag. He cleaned himself carefully, paying extra attention to his cuts and bruises.

  His shower over, he tip-toed carefully back to the tent wrapped in one of the towels, thankful that the crowd had dissipated and the camp was relatively quiet and clear again. As he entered, he found Catherine waiting for him, sitting on the bed with an open first aid kit.

  “Lie down on the bed,” she commanded softly with a purr.

  “Absolutely,” he grinned, letting the towel slip.

  “Cold, was it?” Catherine remarked, raising one eyebrow.

  He laughed as she deftly flipped him over onto his front. She climbed onto the bed, pinning his legs between hers as she did so. She dragged the first aid kit over to her and began to clean the cuts with rubbing alcohol. When she was happy they had been disinfected, she got up off the bed. Thomas sat up as she dressed the wound on the side of his head properly. She fussed over him in silence until she was satisfied.

  “All done,” she smiled. “I’ve already done mine.”

  “Oh, I was quite looking forward to returning the favour,” Thomas exclaimed with a grin.

  “Yep, you’re fine,” Catherine laughed with a shake of her head. “Needed to be done though. There are things in the water here other than crocodiles, and just as dangerous in some cases.”

  “I know,” Thomas nodded.

  “Come on, dinner’s nearly ready and Jericho wants to swap war stories so he can look good in front of Kelly.”

  “Heaven help her,” Thomas replied.

  He grabbed a clean shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. He dressed quickly and slipped on some sandals before walking out to join the others. He was pleased to see Kelly and Mason had joined them too.

  “Where’s Karni?” Thomas enquired.

  “Still finishing the editing and sound tweaks from today’s footage,” Kelly explained.

  The group had dragged their chairs from the table to sit around the fire pit. A pile of logs cracked and fizzed as a warm breeze fed the flames. As Thomas found a place to sit, Mansa appeared, carrying a tray of pink cocktails.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you have a choice of watermelon margaritas or a non-alcoholic pomegranate Mojito. Enjoy your sundowners,” Mansa informed them politely, offering the tray round with a little bow.

  Thomas took a margarita, taking a refreshing sip and savouring the taste of the salt-encrusted lip of the glass and the splash of lime that held it there. He noticed Catherine take the non-alcoholic option. She sat quietly, sipping on the red coloured straw deep in thought. His own were interrupted by Jericho’s enthusiastic chinking of his glass.

  “Cheers my old Bwana, two down, lots more to go,” he grinned.

  “Down the hatch my friend,” Thomas replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring some of that awful Irish stuff you call whiskey.”

  “I did,” Jericho laughed with a cocky tilt of the head. “We’ll get to that after dinner.”

  After Mansa served hors d’oeuvres of snapper crudo with chilli and sesame seeds, the conversation soon turned back to the man-eaters. Kelly seemed keen to get the original story of the Tsavo lions on camera, and Jericho obliged her willingly. Thomas watched Catherine quietly as the Irishman began to regale the group with the tale of Colonel John Henry Patterson, and the war he waged on the two male lions known as the Tsavo man-eaters.

  “It was in March 1898 that good old John Henry rocked up in Tsavo to build a bridge as part of the great Uganda railroad,” Jericho began. “He should have maybe taken note that the name means slaughter in the language of the Akamba people, as shortly after he arrived, so did a pair of man-eating lions. When the first lot of coolies went missing, being the obedient imperialist he was, he simply put it down to the natives misbehaving. But three weeks in, one of his jemadar, a Sikh, was plucked from his tent one night and dragged off.”

  “What’s a jemadar?” Keelson asked.

  Thomas noticed Mason had casually set up the camera on a tripod the other side of them, purposefully capturing the group through the flickering flames they were gathered around. He leaned back out of shot and let Jericho continue with his story.

  “Well, John Henry was a British Army Officer, originally stationed in India. And many of his workers were Indians. A jemadar was a rank within the British Indian Army. They assisted British Commanders and were often in charge of troops. J. H used them in the same way to keep order in the work camps,” Jericho explained. “But as the good colonel tracked the paw prints of the lion and the drag marks of the unfo
rtunate Sikh’s legs, he discovered the first of many strange behaviours the man-eaters adopted. This lion stopped several times with his still live victim to lick off the skin and drink the blood.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” Catherine interjected, sitting forward.

  “To be fair, it’s what Patterson states in his account,” Thomas remarked in Jericho’s defence. “And he later found at least two bodies that had missing skin, with the flesh left dry as if it had been sucked.”

  “Anyway,” Jericho continued. “When they found the unfortunate first victim, his body had been torn to pieces, literally ripped apart. That’s when they discovered a second lion was involved. At this point, our hero took up his favourite unsuccessful method of hunting man-eaters; sitting in a tree with a goat tied beneath it. He realised shortly after midnight, as a terrifying scream pierced the night and abruptly stopped, that our two boys had no interest in goats.”

  Jericho finished his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, before carrying on with the story.

  “Now, the lions weren’t exactly hardened killers yet. Their next appearance was a slightly comical one. They burst into the tent of a Greek trader, grabbed his mattress and ripped it out from under him, carrying it off into the night without harming a hair on his head. One of them also tripped over the ropes of Patterson’s own tent. It all sound’s amusing to us, but the workers in the camp had another explanation. They believed the lions to be possessed by the spirits of two angry chieftains who had not yet grown used to their new bodies. The natives named them The Ghost and The Darkness.”