The Daughters of the Darkness

by Luke Phillips

  Thomas stepped into the waist high grass and began to forge a path through, heading straight for the tree in the distance. Saka slipped from his left to his right and back again, always ahead. When she flushed a pair of yellow-throated sandgrouse, she paid them no attention but kept going, her keen eyesight drawn to something else. Thomas followed her upward gaze and frowned as he saw the black silhouettes hanging in the sky a little way off. The vultures were already gathering above where Karni’s body probably lay he realised. As a dedicated opportunist, Saka knew that vultures meant a carcass, and the possibility of a far greater windfall than the two escaping birds offered. Her instincts would help guide him to Kelly and the others.

  The straw like tufts of Bermuda grass gave way to an area that had been flattened and pushed down. He could see the tracks of a wide and heavy vehicle had gouged a trail heading east and he presumed it had been the one he’d heard racing off earlier. The trail was only a few yards from the flat topped acacia tree, and Thomas quickly set about scaling the trunk, carefully avoiding the bite of the thorns as he did so. Close to the top, he found a convenient fork in a branch that offered a reasonable seat. He secured and steadied himself before slipping the rifle from his shoulder and bringing it up to look through the scope. He found the white backed vultures in the sky as they began to gradually drop lower, and shifted his gaze to the hillside below them. There he spotted the stranded Toyota with Kelly and the others inside. He pulled the radio from his pack.

  “Come in production crew, this is Walker, have you in sight, over,” he said, using the Motorola’s hands free feature.

  “This is production crew, where are you Thomas?” Kelly’s voice rang out from the speaker.

  An electronic beep signalled the channel was clear and he spoke again, switching on the same feature on his handset.

  “I’m in the same tree your friend was. I’m guessing he was monitoring local radio channels and heard your call for help, and decided his work was done for the day. I have a pretty perfect view of you from here.”

  “We still have some unwanted company. I don’t recommend you turn up just yet.”

  Thomas looked back through the scope of the rifle. With both eyes open he studied the distant spec that was the truck and reached up with his right hand, adjusting the windage and elevation screws on the Leica scope. Once happy, he panned right and found an off-white blob sticking up out of the grass. It was the head of a lioness. He watched as it slowly stood up and moved towards the truck. It jumped up onto the bonnet and then made another bound onto the roof. It began to take deep, inquisitive sniffs around where Thomas guessed the sunroof was. The big lioness paused, as if its attention had been drawn by something. He presumed it now had an even clearer view of the truck’s occupants. It began to swat at the glass panel, clawing at the edges. Then it started to place its weight on it, pounding on the roof with crashing force. Thomas guessed she carried about 280lbs, and wasn’t sure how much of a beating the glass could take.

  “Thomas, if you’re in a position to let off a few shots, we won’t complain. It looks like she wants in,” Kelly’s voice rang out from the radio.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Thomas replied. “You’re not exactly fifty yards away though.”

  He watched the lioness through the scope, keeping both eyes open as he did so. He let out a long exhale as he began to work back from the truck and the lioness. At one third and two thirds back he stopped completely and watched the movement of the grass in order to gauge the strength and direction of the air currents. There was a slight crosswind, from his east to his west, and no more than about five miles per hour in strength. But over the distance, that was enough to throw his shot off by near enough four feet. He adjusted the windage screw again and settled the scope on the distant truck and its unwanted passenger.

  Next, he slid back the bolt of the Holland & Holland rifle and ejected the magazine of ammunition. He placed it in the direct sunlight exposed on the branch beside him, and left it there. He knew he needed all the help he could get over the distance, and warming the bullets would have a small effect on the propellant within each of the 3.5-inch-long rounds, giving them a faster burn and a slight increase in reach. It would take nearly three seconds for the bullet to reach its target while travelling through the air at 2,375 feet per second. That gave the lioness plenty of time to move, or for the bullet to be thrown off course by a change in the wind.

  “You may want to duck down below the windows to be on the safer side,” Thomas instructed Kelly and others.

  He began to slow his breathing down, all the time watching the lioness through the scope. She was hunkered down and determinedly clawing and swatting at the sunroof. She had her back to him and was slightly side on. He decided the best bet was to aim for an entry point just above the ribs and below the left shoulder. That would give him a solid body shot, reducing the chance of a miss, but at the same time offering a potential kill shot.

  He checked the magazine and cartridges within were suitably warm to the touch before refitting it into the receiver underneath the rifle. He took three deep breaths, each time slowing the exhale in between. He remembered the old shooting saying of ‘aim small, miss small’ and focused with unblinking tenacity on a tawny coloured spot on the lioness’s flank, a little below her muscle-clad left scapula. He squeezed the trigger, smoothly drawing it all the way back to the finishing position, even as the rifle kicked and released the projectile with a whip like crack of explosive force. He didn’t blink, watching through the scope for any tell-tale indications of the miss he expected. Instead, the lion jumped straight up into the air and came crashing down, rolling off the windscreen and slumping into a heap by the side of the car. He’d hit on target, the bullet blasting its way through muscle, bone and sinew into the chest cavity, destroying the lungs and heart with the shrapnel and what was left of the expanded, misshapen bullet after impact.

  The other two lions were up on their feet in an instant, and Thomas moved the gun slightly to focus on the nearest. It was then he heard the unmistakable sound of a V8 engine equipped with a supercharger. He sat up and looked round. The Big Cat was coming hard and fast along the trail from the opposite direction. By the time he looked back round, the remaining two lionesses had slipped off into the grass and were nowhere to be seen.

  Thomas quickly scrambled down the tree, slinging his pack and the rifle over his shoulder. At a quick pace, it would take him about fifteen minutes to reach them, which was probably faster and easier than waiting for them to come to him. Saka surged ahead as before, as they headed into the savannah grass, which now came up to his chest. It was light and easily brushed aside, giving way to his touch almost immediately. The ground was only gently sloped and he had no trouble making way, but he was glad to hear the sound of a second car engine as Jelani and some of his men arrived behind the stricken Toyota, having come from the direction of the village instead. He was just wondering if they had possibly seen the lionesses leave, when he was struck by the same earthy, musky smell he had detected in the den. Saka appeared by his side, her ears flattened as she emitted a low warning growl. He had presumed the lions had fled into the nearby cover of the scrub and trees of the hillside. It was only now he realised they had instead entered the long grass, probably making their way to the thicket. They were coming his way.

  Thomas had just enough time to drop the rifle and reach behind his head for the pistol grip of the shotgun from the pocket of his rucksack, dropping to one knee as he did so. The savage, guttural, brawling roar let him know they were coming for him. Saka was watching dead ahead and Thomas saw the grass shaking violently as something quick and heavy thundered towards them. He pumped the gun and pulled the trigger, a violent blast exploding from the end of the barrel just as the grass parted and the straw coloured lioness sprang at him. She smacked into the ground in front of him, the bloodied right side of her face and missing part of her skull hidden from view below her crumpled corpse.

  Saka in
stantly changed position, circling Thomas and coming up on his left side. He stayed knelt, listening to the moaning roar that echoed from thirty feet away. It was the long, drawn call that lions used to communicate with each other. She was searching for her partner, less sure and certain in the quiet following the gunshot.

  “I’m still here. She’s not,” Thomas spat, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched the encompassing greenery for a trace of movement.

  Seconds passed like minutes until he heard the lioness’s call again, but now from further away and behind him. He didn’t dare move until her third call sounded out over the grassland, even more distant and forlorn sounding. Thomas took a moment to put the gun away, but pulled his revolver from his shooting vest as he stood up and began to fight his way through what remained of the grass ahead of him. After several excruciating minutes, he emerged a little way down the hill from the Big Cat and where the others had gathered round Kelly and Mason. He saw Catherine comforting Kelly, who was clutching her and sobbing into her shoulder. As their eyes met, Thomas felt his heart break a little as he read the pain Catherine was gripped by. Saka yawned, a canine indication of unease and tension. She dropped her head as she jumped into the truck bed of the Big Cat, where Karni’s body lay, wrapped in blankets Jelani and the others had brought. She let out a whimpering squeak before dropping her head onto her paws. Thomas wondered if she realised she had survived her brush with the lions while Karni had not, that life and death sat side by side on the bottom of the truck; the very embodiment of the struggle he was here to face, and the same one Patterson had faced before him. He felt a sickening feeling in his gut. As yet, in just over a century, nothing had really changed. Something would have to.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jericho entered the town borders of Usangi with a dry throat and a sweat soaked back. He trundled through the dirt streets, slowed and stalled by the bustles and throngs of people flitting among the busy market stands. They carried goods ranging from garish coloured knock-off clothing to enormous bunches of lime green plantains. The town itself was the same mix of modernity and tradition. The northern border of the town was marked by a grand church, sitting cathedral-like in a position of self-importance. Its colonial columns and closed, white painted double doors were ignored by the locals, who favoured the smaller evangelical offering housed in a simple, elongated building made of wood on the other side of town. In amidst the two were shanty streets of smooth-walled clay huts with domed, thatched roofs, and simple timber cabins with sloping corrugated ones. The joint primary and secondary school was a much more modern looking structure, and rose up to the west over the single-storey buildings.

  Having navigated the market, he turned onto Main Street. It reminded Jericho of something out of an old cowboy film. A number of plain terraced stores lined the road, some made of breeze blocks, caked together with sand coloured and muddied natural cement; others adding to the western feel with their dusty wooden verandas and low porch roofs. Jericho pulled in to the side of the road, next to the only two-storey building on the street, its powder blue facade stretching around the corner of Main Street and into a sleepy access road. It was a hotel, cafe and general store all in one. He was surprised that the Warthog was not the only car outside the establishment. Parked out front was a white Dodge Ram Rebel 4x4 truck, sporting blacked out wheel arches and bumpers. The chromed light rig and 18 inch wheels seemed a little out of place for a back water town on the Tanzania border, where the vast majority of vehicles were older models of Land Rover Defender and Toyota Land Cruiser. Someone new was in town and they had cash to burn.

  Jericho got out of the car and left the windows open. Rhodes got up from the passenger foot well and lumbered up onto the seat, panting happily as he looked out onto the town. Jericho rough housed with him a little in play, getting a good natured, bellowing bark from the big dog before he left him to guard the car as he headed into the store.

  He passed through the saloon doors in the corner entrance, painted in the same blue as the outside, and paused for a moment to look around. To his right, were a number of plastic tables and chairs that served as the cafe. To his left was a long, oak decked bar, lined with empty stools with torn red vinyl seats. An elderly Tanzanian was behind the bar, wearing a dirty white T-shirt and an equally drab and dusty black cotton waistcoat. Jericho nodded in his direction. He was planning to stop at the bar, but thought it best to get what he’d come for first. He headed towards the rear half of the building, where he could see the backs of high aluminium shelf towers lining the cafe area. This passed as a supply store for the hunting outfits operating in the area, and he sauntered his way over.

  He turned down the first aisle, ignoring the crude wire snares, poisons and traps that were illegally sold to the local farmers. He paused for a moment in the second isle, admiring some of the handmade machetes and knives, adorned with carved handles made from the horns of kudu, oryx and eland. One smaller blade was simply set in a polished piece of warthog ivory. Jericho often used the same material as natural night sights on his guns, as it did not yellow and fade like other types. As he passed into the third aisle, he found what he was looking for. The shelves were filled with various types of lures. Some were intended to call in predators and prey through mimicry of various calls. Most of these were electronic, and Jericho couldn’t help smile, knowing these were only bought by the westerners. Most of the local guides were well practiced in mimicking the local wildlife, and more than capable of calling them in without electronic help.

  The scent lures were next, and he was surprised to find a large number of small 2oz bottles of lion attractant. Jericho knew a store like this would only lay down such a supply if there was a demand. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was down to just one regular customer perhaps. He checked his wallet, wondering how much to get. Although the national currency was officially the Tanzanian shilling, trade was still best done in the good old U.S dollar, and the higher the bill value, the better the exchange rate. Jericho fingered a crisp $50 bill and scooped up three of the bottles.

  As he turned the corner of the aisle and headed towards the counter at the back, he was startled by a stunning, young blonde woman ahead of him. She was dressed in a tight fitting desert camouflage tee, with a deep plunging neckline that seemed sculpted round the teasing glimpse of her ample cleavage it allowed. As she bent down to pick up a hunting field guide on a lower shelf, he couldn’t help but admire her skinny waist and what he imagined were long, silky legs wrapped in equally tight fitting cargo pants. But she had a taught, muscular stance too. As she stood up and turned, she spotted him and flashed him a brilliant, perfect smile. Her blue eyes sparkled at him, and he could pick up a trace of jasmine wafting from her loose hair, that fell over her shoulders and reached towards her breasts on either side, Amazonian like. American thought Jericho, no longer left in doubt to whom the Dodge truck belonged. It was only then that he noticed the bald, heavily set man in a sand coloured safari shirt, watching him from behind. Jericho guessed the man was her guide and quickly went back to ignoring him.

  Jericho guessed the blonde was in her early twenties at most, and watched as she moved to the counter and began talking to the Tanzanian clerk about an electronic predator call device on the shelf. He raised an eyebrow as he watched her hand over $500 without even attempting to haggle, but then realised there was something familiar about her. She turned back towards him, holding the device, which looked like a portable stereo system drabbed in camouflage. As she noticed the bottles of scent lure he was holding, she paused.

  “You predator hunting too?” she asked in a deep, Southern drawl of an accent. Texan, Jericho guessed.

  “Aye. How bout yourself?” Jericho nodded.

  “I’m going for my first wild lion,” she answered with a flirtatious smile.

  “Forgive me for asking, but I know you, don’t I?”

  “I’m Tiffany Lee Amberson,” she smiled again, flicking her hair back as she did so. “I’m a cheerlea
der for the Laredo Lions, but if you’re a hunter, you may have seen my YouTube channel. I’m Game Girl.”

  “Of course you are,” Jericho said, raising an eyebrow.

  He had indeed seen her online videos. They depicted her hunting alligators in Louisiana and taking on smaller predators like foxes and bobcats in her native Texas. Although he didn’t doubt that she knew how to shoot, her preference for firing from close quarters on pre-baited animals made him think a lion was a little out of her league.

  “The cats round here aren’t the friendliest of sorts,” Jericho warned her, glancing at the guide again. “Anyone shooting down range at them is okay as far as I’m concerned, but don’t take it on lightly. These things make your mountain lions look like kittens and they mean business. They’re bona fide man-eaters too.”

  “Good thing I’m not a man then,” Tiffany exclaimed with a wry smile.

  “That I can see,” Jericho flirted.

  “She’s in safe hands,” snapped the bald man from behind.

  “Pity,” Jericho replied under his breath.

  He was pretty sure Tiffany had heard him. She went to slip past, brushing up against his chest ever so slightly, but hard enough so he felt the weight of hers against him.

  “There’s probably not another bar for miles, so if you’re going to buy a girl a drink, there’s no time like the present,” she whispered.

  “Well I’m going to buy me one, you’re welcome to come too darlin,” Jericho grinned.

  After paying for the bottles of scent lure and checking on Rhodes, Jericho headed back into the bar. The afternoon sun was already swelteringly hot, and he was in no rush to get back into the Jeep to take on the long trail back to Anga ya Amani. He was glad to see that in the interim, Tiffany had lost her escort and was sitting at the bar alone waiting for him. He sauntered up beside her and ordered two King Oryx Dark lagers. The older Tanzanian in the waistcoat he had spied earlier, served them, pouring the black, tawny headed drinks into dusty glasses he took down from the shelf behind him. Jericho took a long drawl from his. It tasted like toast, coffee, liquorice and molasses all at the same time.