The Daughters of the Darkness

by Luke Phillips

  Instantly, everyone went on alert. Other calls joined the first, seemingly from all sides of the camp. Thomas, Catherine and Jericho jumped to their feet, snatching up their rifles.

  “Don’t you hate being right all the time?” Thomas cussed to Jericho under his breath.

  “This might be the first time I don’t celebrate it,” the Irishman nodded.

  Jelani rushed out of the kitchen tent, clutching his own shotgun. He rushed off down the trail towards the staff camp. Every minute or so, another roar floated up into the night, each time sounding a little closer than before.

  “They’re hunting us like they hunt baboons,” Catherine exclaimed in realisation as she half brought up her rifle.

  Thomas looked at her quizzically, readying his gun in the same manner.

  “They’ve surrounded us, and now they’re trying to induce a panic,” she explained. “Baboons usually sleep on cliff faces or high in trees. One group of lions will start roaring and tearing through the bush nearby, hoping to drive or push the baboons towards a second group lying in wait.”

  Thomas and Jericho instinctively turned in the only direction from which they were yet to hear any roars; the main road that led into camp and straight ahead of them. There was no noise now. Even the crickets and cicadas had stopped their song at the approach of the lions. Thomas reached for the thermal imager and flicked it on as he peered through the viewfinder.

  The landscape was suddenly painted in ashen tones of grey, black and white. The high-tech gadget automatically focused as he swung past Jericho, his hot face glowing white and his features etched in grey. Thomas made sure he didn’t look at the fire, to avoid the lens flaring as he pointed it into the darkness and towards the road that led into camp. The magnification was so good that he could see insects rising from the grass. He scanned back and forth, probing the tall scrub.

  It was a flick of a tail that caught his eye first. It glowed just slightly hotter than the surrounding wisps of grass. As he trained his gaze downwards, he saw them. Three lionesses hunkered down onto the ground about a hundred and fifty yards away. Through the monotone viewer they looked like statues, the detail of their faces lost and their eye sockets seeming empty and soulless.

  “They’re right in front of us,” Thomas whispered. “Three in the long grass on the right-hand side of the track, no more than two hundred yards away. When they come, we’ll have about seven seconds at the most to drop them, be ready.”

  Another burst of unsettling grunts and coughs rose up from the tree line behind the camp. Thomas checked through the thermal imager again and then looked back to Jericho and Catherine, making sure they were covering the right area and direction. Catherine had dropped to one knee, and he could see that the look of cold hard determination he’d seen on the range had returned. She shouldered the rifle and looked down the sights with an unblinking stare. Jericho had anchored himself into the ground with a rigid stance, ready to bring the thunder of the big nitro express. Thomas dropped the imager and slipped the Holland & Holland from his shoulder. Without the aid of the thermal imager, his vision was limited to about forty yards, and only then with the help of the fire.

  Thomas knew that the lionesses would be edging closer. They would want to make the charge over as short a distance as possible, but were hampered by the light of the flames, and the open ground on the other side of the road and towards the camp. They expected the other lions to drive them in their direction, or at least distract them. A lioness on the hunt was the epitome of stealth, and they relied on getting close to their prey to make an ambush. They couldn’t chase prey down over long distances.

  A savage roar and the blast of a shotgun from the trail behind surprised them, and each jerked their head backwards at the sound. Thomas winced, knowing at once the lionesses were coming for them.

  “Front,” he yelled, not sure how many of their precious seconds had passed.

  He caught the three wakes of the lionesses moving through the grass towards them, just before their tawny heads burst from the cover. They stayed low to the ground, their backs arched and hunched as they rippled closer. The guns seemed to fire in unison. Thomas watched the lioness barrelling towards him trip and plant into the dirt, and he instantly swung the barrel to the right to cover Catherine. Her lioness somersaulted backwards as her kneeling and close range shot sent a shell spiralling through its top jaw and into the brain. Sheer momentum sent the lioness flying backwards, as if it had been struck by a prize fighter. Thomas saw Jericho’s lioness had gone down too. But as Jericho lowered his gun, a streak of amber hued muscle sprung at him from the grass. Jericho dropped to his knee instantly and let the charge from the second barrel finish the job. The ensuing silence was only broken as both Thomas and Catherine drew back their bolts to feed new rounds into the chambers of their rifles.

  Instinctively, the three of them edged closer together. Back to back, they began to creep towards the centre of the kopje, where they would get the most light from the fire and be able to cover the angles better. They stopped about half way across the track that led to the staff camp. With a loud bark and thunderous growl, Rhodes the boerboel joined them, standing guard at Jericho’s side. Thomas searched for Saka, and caught a glimpse of her eye shine as she looked out at them from the relative safety beneath Jericho’s Jeep.

  They could hear people shouting further down the track towards the staff camp. Thomas brought up the thermal imager to get a better view. There was a flash of hot white against the dull grey scrub as another lioness bolted from the trees and bounded across the path before disappearing into the brush again. As he scanned around, he caught glimpses of heat signatures as they streaked through the undergrowth. They seemed to be everywhere. He panned back round, only to meet the stony glare of a lioness, as it padded out of the grass by the entrance road.

  Before he could drop the imager and raise his rifle, a blur of movement appeared from the right. Long slashing teeth raked the lioness’s flank, making it spin round in surprise as it braced for the spring. But the attacker was too swift, disappearing into the darkness. The lioness seemed wild and maddened, roaring savagely and swiping at the empty air with her paw. What sounded like a ripple of excited bird calls floated up out of the grass, and Thomas immediately knew who the attacker was. African hunting dogs in packs were formidable aggressors, and he had heard many reports of them taking on lions. Saka was doing the same, but Thomas knew she wouldn’t fare well on her own, even if aided by her natural agility.

  Saka burst from the grass at full speed on the lioness’s blind side, ducking quickly to land a second slashing bite to the underbelly. The lion spun again, a cuff of the paw just missing Saka’s tail as she loped to a halt, this time standing her ground and facing the lion. Thomas was ready though, and had dropped the thermal imager. As the lioness turned her head towards Saka, a flicker of light from the fire brought her form out of the shadows. Thomas squeezed the trigger of the rifle. The crack echoed around the open area of the kopje. As the bullet smashed through her nervous system, the lioness leapt up in a violent spasm, hitting the ground as she rolled violently, biting at her own paws in shock and rage before slumping onto her side.

  Thomas moved quickly, chambering another round with a quick draw of the bolt as he dashed to cover the lioness, in case the first shot hadn’t done the job. He let out a laboured sigh of relief as he saw the thick stream of blood seeping from her nostrils, and the pink stained saliva bubbling over her crooked and open lower jaw. The rippled skin of the lioness’s snout and her lifeless amber eyes were frozen in a death snarl. Saka moved in and began to tear at the flank she had opened, but Thomas called her away. Both his head and hers swivelled as another roar, and more shouting, erupted from behind them.

  The high pitched, blood curdling scream that lifted up into the darkness was full of pain and despair. It was the unmistakable sound of the acceptance of death. Thomas knew instantly that somebody had been taken. He and Catherine ran forward, as Jericho covered t
hem from behind, Rhodes still by his side. They found Jelani, Keelson and the others half way along the track. Jelani was kneeling, as one of his men stood guard with the shotgun and another held a torch. Thomas followed its beam to the tracks crossing the path diagonally, perfectly intercepting the bare footprints of a man as he had sprinted towards the main camp. It was morbidly ironic that the instinct to run for his life had been what had ended it. Fleeing from the light and safety of the others in the staff compound had sealed his fate.

  “It was Tambo,” Jelani sighed. “He was most scared of lions. The roars were too much for him. He was probably trying to make it to the guns.”

  Some way off, a sickening crack echoed through the trees towards them. As they listened, they could hear muttered, rumbling growls and the soft squelching and tearing of flesh. Another crunch sounded. The lions had not hesitated to begin their meal. Jericho emptied both barrels in the direction the sounds were coming from as Thomas scoured the brush for any heat signature with the thermal imager. But the trees and scrub were too thick, and only a deepening line of shadows loomed back at him through the viewer.

  A roar that sounded like it came from the kopje pierced the night, followed by another from the direction where they had gathered to watch Kanu Sultan. More roars from behind and in front of them rumbled at them. The lions were on the move again, closing in. They now knew for sure there was meat to be had here. Thomas spun as he heard the deep, heavy grunting of a lioness, as she passed close by through the trees behind them. The sound was almost warthog like, and one they made when excited or agitated. Each guttural exhale came as the feet thumped into the ground, as if the noise was being knocked from the body by the impact. He thought he saw a quick blink of amber-reflecting eyes for a moment, but they were soon lost to the darkness. He peered through the lens of the Thermoteknix binoculars again and took a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. Hot flashes and quivers of white broke the monotone grey and black forest surrounding them as the lions weaved through the brush.

  Thomas took out the Anaconda from its holster and passed it to Jelani.

  “Give it to one of the men, we’re going to need as many guns as possible,” he ordered.

  Jelani nodded as Catherine also took her revolver out and gave it over. Jelani gave one to Mansa and the other to one of his trackers, a man named Chane. Most of the men were now sheltering in the tents, with only Jelani, Mansa and Chane staying with them. Mason, Karni and Keelson were close by, filming them from the open door of a tent. All was quiet, with even the insects having stopped their nocturne symphony.

  A raged and penetrating roar thundered into the night. It sounded like the earth itself had opened up and cried out in savage anger. It was so loud that Catherine flinched, and Mansa nearly dropped the revolver he was holding. It was guttural, savage and authoritive. Thomas was in no doubt it was the animal Jelani referred to as the queen. As if to confirm his thinking, her loyal subjects began to call out in responsive moaning roars of their own. They could hear them all around, but they seemed to be moving off rather than edging closer. A quick peek through the thermal imager confirmed they were no longer surrounded. A few minutes later, the roars of the lions were much further away and distant.

  “They’re gone?” Jelani asked.

  “It would seem so,” Thomas replied. “It’s still not safe to recover Tambo’s body though. We’ll do it at first light.”

  Jelani nodded silently as he handed back the Anaconda.

  “Everyone stays in their tents, without exception,” Jericho addressed everyone in a loud and booming voice. “There’ll be two-man watches at both ends of camp. It’s going to be a long night, but we’ll get through it. Tomorrow we’ll fortify things a little more. Get some sleep.”

  Jelani spoke with Chane and a few others as he organised the guarding duties for the rest of the night. Thomas, Catherine and Jericho began to walk back up towards their own tents.

  “I’ll take the first watch our end,” Jericho shrugged. “Join me for the rest of our nightcap?”

  “I think I need it,” Thomas growled.

  “I don’t think I could manage it,” Catherine said shakily.

  Thomas looked over at her. She seemed a little pale and drained, her hardened exterior crumbling quickly. He nodded to Jericho as the Irishman headed towards the chairs and the fire pit. Thomas put his arm around Catherine and walked back to the tent with her. As they entered, she kicked off her sandals, stripped off her holster and outer layers, right down to her panties and a vest top, before flopping onto the bed. As Thomas put a hand on her back he could feel she was trembling, but not from fear, from sheer exhaustion.

  “Go be a bwana with Jericho,” she murmured, her eyes already closed.

  Thomas smiled appreciatively as he leaned over and kissed her neck.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “ngh-kay,” she mumbled into her pillow.

  Thomas picked up the holster and her gun, and placed it on the table beside the bed on her side. He made sure the door to the tent was secured before he slipped into the kitchen marquee. It didn’t take him long to find the wooden box he was looking for, put away for safe keeping on his orders by Mansa. He opened it and took out the bottle of Lagavulin thirty-seven-year-old whisky. He grabbed a pair of glass tumblers and walked out to the kopje to join Jericho. He found the Irishman cleaning and reloading his formidable Merkel nitro express rifle. The DP-12 shotgun he’d used to dispatch the crocodiles leant against his chair too. Rhodes, the big boerboel, laid the other side of the fire, looking out into the dark.

  “A dram for your thoughts,” Thomas offered as he pulled out the cork stopper of the peat coloured glass bottle.

  “A cigar for yours,” Jericho replied, offering one of two from a leather case he drew from his shooting vest pocket.

  The cigars were Partagas Lusitania Gran Reserva Cosechas. They were made of only the very finest leaves cultivated from the Vuelta Abajo, Cuba’s premier tobacco region. Even then, the leaves making up the fillers, wrappers and binders were all aged for at least five years. Thomas took one of the near eight-inch-long, torpedo shaped bundles. He used the silver cigar punch Jericho handed him to cut through the crisp outer skin at the end, and leaned forward to light it on a glowing ember in the bottom of the fire pit. They both supped at the whisky and let wisps of smoke from their cigars drift up into the African night sky.

  “That last roar, that sound like a lion to you?” Jericho quizzed Thomas finally.

  “There was something about it, wasn’t there?” Thomas agreed. “It reminded me of a tiger. That angry, rant like snarl they have.”

  “Bloody loud too,” Jericho lamented. “This female, this queen. She’s a strange one. You ever heard a pride called off a hunt like that?”

  “Is that what happened?” Thomas queried, raising an eyebrow.

  “Seemed like it for sure,” Jericho shrugged.

  “No,” sighed Thomas, “I haven’t,” agreeing begrudgingly.

  They both sat in silence again as they smoked and drank into the night, deep in thought.

  ~

  She lay hunched in the shadows, hidden below the thick and twisted branches of the thorn bushes a few feet from the soft sided dwellings the men used. Over an hour had passed and the bush was quiet. Some thirty feet away, she could smell the acrid burning of the tobacco in the strange glowing thing that dangled from the sleeping guard’s lip. A fitful snore sent it tumbling to the ground where it fizzed out of ignition. His partner had not returned since she had started watching. It was time.

  She flipped her paws over, dragging herself through the scrub on the velvet silence of her upturned fur, rather than risk the scrabble of leathery pads on the hard-baked ground. She paused at the edge of the scrub, now only a head length from the beige coloured canvas that separated her from the sleeping men inside. Her ears swivelled, as she centred in on the deep inhales and exhales that came from within. One set seemed closer than the others. The world around he
r was illuminated in an internal twilight of purple and sepia tones. She could easily see the loose flap of unsecured canvas, unlike the other panels of the dwelling. She inched out a little further, checking her surroundings constantly.

  Finally assured, she pressed her nose under the loose flap. The strong sweet scent of the men inside was intoxicating now. She braced, raising herself up and making the opening larger. She surveyed the inside of the tent with casual curiosity. Her noiseless feet took her past the nearest man. He smelled of the earth and not unlike an old, abandoned termite mound. The second man she found smelt of fermented fruit, the taint thick on his breath. She ignored them both. She stared at the third. She held her head above his, his exposed body lying away from her towards the front opening, still secured as it was. She licked her muzzle, glancing once at the other men beyond him, before twisting her head to the side and casually sending her five and a half inch fangs through his temples. Her victim made no sound as she lifted his torso effortlessly from the ground. She dragged him back the way she had come, slipping through the hole she had made. Once clear of the tent, she adjusted her hold on the body, lifting it in her jaws as she carried it off into the scrub. The thorns of the whistling acacias stroked her fur like a grooming brush, but tore the clothing of the dead man and pierced and tore at the flesh beneath. She stood a moment as she watched several tawny bodies approach. They followed the trail she had laid down to the tent. They entered one by one as she did, each emerging straddling the man they had silently plucked, having made their slumber eternal. The lionesses slunk back to the shadows to consume their meals in peace. Only when she knew she was alone again did she settle in a clearing and begin to eat her own prize.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The night slipped away assassin-like, as the dawn arrived in its wake. The thin rays of light were not yet strong enough to bring warmth to the silent camp. Catherine reached across the bed, pulling herself closer to Thomas. She tugged at the still crisp French linen and began to tunnel deeper into the bedspread for warmth and comfort. Thomas did not stir, still deep in sleep thanks to the whisky.