He couldn’t help wonder that if one African species had developed the physical and behavioural morphology to cope with male dominance, perhaps it was now something they were observing in the pressured and vulnerable lion prides. Big cats were one of the most adaptive groups of mammals when it came to climate and behaviour. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before there started to be physical changes too. The big female that acted as alpha to the pride, or the Daughters of the Darkness as Jelani called them, could be the result of a simple and effective mutation. Or it could be something subtler. Lionesses already had close maternal instincts and bonds with the other females in their pride. It made them more effective hunters, as well as encouraged the sharing of responsibilities such as raising cubs. If there had been a dramatic increase in infanticide, it followed that only the biggest and most aggressive females and their progeny would be likely to survive. It was nature’s version of selective breeding. If a lack of available prey led to heightened tensions amongst prides, then the resulting escalating territory squabbles and attempted takeovers could change the hormonal balances of the lions themselves. Both circumstances could result in dramatic changes to the lion’s physiology over time.
Thomas brought his thoughts back to the present as the failing light began to give way to darkness. His eyes lifted skyward as he watched the uniquely African splendour of the unveiling of the night sky. Stars appeared in little flashes of light through the swirls of mauve, violet and indigo that became more and more intense as he stared. As he looked north, his gaze was drawn to one pinprick of light in particular, which he knew to be Regulus. It marked the great forepaw of the constellation Leo and was easily the brightest within it. To the ancient Greeks it had represented the Nemean lion, a beast whose golden fur was impervious to mortal weapons. Its claws were sharper than swords and capable of slicing through the armour of warriors. Only the hero Heracles was strong enough to vanquish it.
The lion had gone extinct in Greece and the southern reaches of Europe some 100 years B.C., and as he had discovered in Scotland, perhaps the cave lion and other more northerly suited species had lingered on even longer. What was clear from both mythology and history, including his own, was that lions and man had been pitted against each other for millennia. It was only in modern times, when the fight had slipped from one of supremacy and status to one of attrition, that the lions had found themselves on the back foot. Their range had slowly thinned, and populations retreated into east, central and southern Africa, and also to a tiny section of the Gir forest in India. In the combined seventeen nations of West Africa it was estimated only 400 lions remained, making them critically endangered there. Kenya had experienced a 60% drop in its lion population in a mere twenty years. And whereas countries like South Africa and Zambia reported an 11% increase in numbers, it was within fenced off reserves already filled to capacity and unable to accommodate further populations, or the natural spread of them. It was perhaps little wonder that a line had been clawed in the sand.
Thomas looked at his watch. The white gold casing of the Rolex Cosmograph Daytona glinted in the soft light of the newly risen moon. The lunar radiation illuminated the numerals in a cold, icy blue. In a few hours it would be the first of October. As he looked up at the full and looming disc, he couldn’t help smiling as he realised that if he had been in the Northern hemisphere, he would be under a hunter’s moon. Towards the end of the month both he and Catherine would celebrate birthdays. He ran a finger across the slate coloured dial of the watch, tracing the echo of the engraving on its back. He cracked a sour smile as he looked once more towards the gorge where Amanda’s ashes had been scattered.
Somewhere close by, a booming, hooting call sounded as a spotted eagle owl alighted from a nearby tree to begin its nightly hunt. As he concentrated on the sounds coming from all around, he thought he could pick up soft smacking noises and something large passing through the grass. Thomas decided he would risk moving slightly to take a closer look. He carefully and silently raised the rifle and switched on the scope. The grassland was suddenly illuminated in tones of hot white and cold grey. He swung the rifle left and easily picked out the bulky mass of a lone rhinoceros. He could see it was the rarer black rhino from the shape of its narrow mouth, and he watched as it used its prehensile upper lip to strip leaves from the branches of the tree it was under, a little way up the trail. Thomas felt the breeze pick up, and a few seconds later the rhino swivelled in his direction with an abrasive snort. Its oval shaped and hair tipped ears twisted and turned as its equally excellent senses of smell and hearing went on the alert, making up for its poor eyesight. With another snort the rhino turned tail, and a few seconds later was crashing noisily back into the timber of the thicket. Then he saw them.
Two flattish, white hot heads in the grass some three hundred feet away, still as statues and seemingly focused in his direction. They must have also come from the thicket he realised, perhaps following the rhino or more likely, the scent lure which was now wafting more strongly towards them. As Thomas slowed his breathing and tried to calm the thump of his heart in his chest, a third flash of body heat moved out from the thicket. He traced its path through the grass as he caught glimpses of the heat signature against the greyish black blades. It drew up between the other two and came to a halt. As he used his thumb to use the digital controls on the scope to sharpen the focus, he saw without doubt that they were three lionesses.
They moved forward together confidently, noses held high, ears pinned back and shoulders hunched. They cut through the grass in silent unison, slinking fifty feet closer as he watched through the scope. Thomas lined up on the central animal, which the other two seemed to be taking their lead from. He used the reticule to line up on the bridge of the animal’s nose. Now less than a hundred yards, it was almost a sure target. He took a deep exhale and began squeezing back the trigger.
He hesitated. Something didn’t feel right. He felt himself tensing, willing himself into stillness. Out of his peripheral vision he noticed how part of the branch next to him seemed to ripple and glisten in the moonlight. As his eyes darted from the scope to the branch, he realised he was looking at a long, serpentine body that ended in a blunt, coffin shaped head. Two unblinking beady eyes were trained on him and less than four feet away. It was a black mamba, and as he tried to gauge the length of its body back along the branch he realised four feet wasn’t far enough for a snake that measured over twice that.
Thomas knew the venom of the black mamba consisted of a number of neurotoxins, chief among which was dendrotoxin. Before effective antivenin had been developed, being bitten meant certain death. The effect was almost instant, starting with coughing and dizziness, parasthesia and profuse salivation and sweating. Stroke-like symptoms would indicate the progress of the venom, with people usually experiencing muscle collapse around the face, neck and lower legs within 45 minutes of being bitten, and most usually succumbing within 20. That meant he didn’t have enough time to make it back to camp if he was bitten, let alone administer antivenin. His heart rate would sky rocket before he finally went into neurogenic shock, and he would die either from cardiovascular collapse or respiratory failure. It usually took around eight hours, but he doubted the lions would wait for their meal that long.
There was nothing for it. Without hesitating, Thomas threw himself to the left, toppling from his seat on the branch and towards the ground. He saw the snake shoot forward, but then he was falling through the air and crashing into the ground with a thud that drove the breath from his body. As he took a great gasp and fought for air, he raised himself up onto his hands in a panic. The aggression of the black mamba was almost legendary, and stories of them chasing humans that had approached too close abounded. He cursed himself, knowing that was exactly what he had done. He hadn’t checked the tree properly and had put himself directly in the snake’s path. Whereas it would normally have fled, he had given the snake no quarter to do so by the time it happened upon him. Whereas some of the stories
of the black mamba’s truculence were no doubt exaggerated, he knew that once it was committed to a fight, it didn’t back down.
It came silent and fast, slipping through the lower branches and then uncoiling down the trunk of the tree with deliberate and calculated purpose. The snake dropped to the floor a few feet from him, and he immediately scrabbled back on his hands and kicked away with his feet. With a loud hiss of warning, the mamba rose up and began to gape, mimicking a cobra as they were known to do. It was then he remembered something in a sudden moment of clarity. For a moment, he thought it might have fallen out, but he could feel it against his ribs. The Anaconda was too bulky to risk a shot, and in the time it took him to aim, the snake would have made its strike. But he did have another gun which he’d almost forgotten about. It was a small, two shot derringer that he’d put in the right hand pocket of his safari vest on the first day they’d arrived in Kenya. Known as a snake slayer, this was exactly what it was meant for. Carefully and slowly, he held out his right hand and moved it away from his head. As intended, the snake followed the movement. Thomas drove his left hand inside the safari vest with all the speed he could muster, whipping out the gun and pulling the trigger instantly, only hesitating a moment before squeezing it a second time for good measure.
The snake was mid strike when its body was peppered by the first blast of shot. The second blast sent it flying backwards, as pellets half the size of a pea riddled its body and hammered it into the trunk before it dropped lifeless to the ground. Thomas looked up and groaned as he saw his rifle dangling by its strap from a branch still a good way up the tree. As he rolled onto his knees to get up, he started to feel the bruises and scrapes he’d accumulated in the fall, including a deep and painful gash on his right elbow.
He looked around carefully. The savannah was still and quiet. Without the night scope, he had no idea how much closer the lions had crept in the panic. He considered for a moment if he should call it quits and head for the safety of the Big Cat. That would leave him with only the Anaconda and considerably reduced his chances of taking out the lions successfully. He needed his rifle. He dusted himself off and took a few running steps towards the tree, making a scrabbling jump up into the lowest of its branches. He hoisted himself up and swung out to reach for the rifle a few feet away, when he heard a noise below him.
With his feet braced against the tree and both hands gripping separate branches, he glanced downwards, letting out a little gasp of shock at what greeted him. Golden eyes set in a pale tawny face looked up at him. The lioness’s fur looked almost white in the moonlight, but he could still distinguish the colours. The lioness let out a burp-like grunt and looked behind her, no doubt at her approaching comrades Thomas considered. He didn’t hesitate any longer, letting go of the branch he was holding with his right hand and leaning over to snatch at the rifle. He was distracted again by the sound of sharp claws as they shredded and splintered the bark.
Many assumed lions were not inclined towards climbing trees, and Thomas had often scoffed at them, wondering how many had sought refuge in the boughs of one only to hear the very sounds he was now. With each cautious and deliberate grapple of the trunk, the lioness’s weight sent tremors up into the branches. Now only a few feet from being able to haul herself into the flat fork where he had previously sat, Thomas reached for the gun again. This time a violent shake of the branch as the lioness shifted upwards again, tipped the strap from the clutches of the tree, and it fell into his open hand. But Thomas knew he didn’t have time to fire.
For the second time, Thomas jumped from the tree, managing to hit the ground with a roll, but still dropping the rifle and letting it clatter onto the stony earth below. As he tumbled upright, he pulled the Anaconda from inside his safari vest. Time seemed to stand still as two glowing coals of amber streaked out of the night towards him, and he noticed the white tufts of hair on the chin of the lioness as she rushed him. Thomas focused on them for a split second before pumping the trigger in an adrenaline fuelled panic. The three 44. magnum rounds found their mark and smashed through the lioness’s skull, splintering her jaw from below, exploding into the brain case and taking out her left eye. The lioness slumped to the floor, dragged by her momentum through the dirt, like a macabre baseball slide that ended only a foot from the outstretched barrel of Thomas’s revolver.
He jumped up and tried to sprint towards the car as he saw the second lion encroaching fast from the right. There was no sign of the third in the tree now behind him, but he knew it must be coming for him. He almost made it before a thumping swipe sent him tumbling sideways into the grass onto his back. He fought off the daze and panic that threatened to engulf him, and gripped the gun, swinging it over his chest as the stars above him were replaced with the rippling silhouette of the lioness. Thomas thrust his left arm upwards to meet the animal’s throat as he sent the three remaining rounds in the cylinder through her chest. Next moment, he was smothered by the intoxicating musk and 300lb mass of the dead lioness.
He managed to struggle free and went to stand, only to find himself dropping to his knees in a sudden spell of dizziness. His head spun as he tried to focus on the black form that was surging closer. He could see his rifle on the ground a few yards away, but knew he would never make it. As he felt the wet, sticky patch growing on his back, he guessed the lioness that had swatted him to the ground had managed to claw him, even through the leather safari vest. He closed his eyes, lifting his head towards the sky as his thoughts drifted towards Amanda’s gorge again before they settled on Catherine. He wondered if Jelani would know to tell her to scatter his own ashes there. He hoped so. I love you he thought as he pictured Catherine’s gleaming green eyes and soft curls of red hair. She was smiling, beaming at him and glowing in happiness.
It wasn’t a roar, more like the sound of rolling thunder. Guttural, challenging, and angry, the sound seemed to penetrate every fibre of his being. But it didn’t come from the lioness charging him. She had stopped short, frozen and gripped by fear just as he was. Both he and the lioness slowly turned their heads back up the trail, from where the sound had come from.
The moon was behind the hulking silhouette that stood statue like, poised and clearly looking in their direction. As it took a step closer, the lioness hesitated no longer and bolted past Thomas in the direction of the thicket. Thomas looked at his rifle a few yards away, then behind him at the Land Rover. Something told him that discretion over valour was his best chance. Mustering the last of his strength, he staggered to his feet. His vision was blurring a little, but he could see the thing was coming for him. He stumbled backwards, groping in the darkness for the nearest door handle. As his fingers found the open side of the truck bed, he used it for support, pulling himself along to the rear door. He never made it. His foot caught on the bulky rear tire and he crumpled to the ground. He let out a deep sigh and pulled himself into a sitting position. His feet were out in front of him and his back rested against the car. All his fight was spent and he was out of time. It was coming.
It stepped along the trail with a casual gait that eschewed confidence. It was in no hurry, it knew its prey was cornered. As it strutted closer, Thomas could start to make out its features. Shoulder muscles that moved like pumpjacks, a chiselled flat head embraced by a flowing cloak of a mane. It was a male lion, undoubtedly one of the pair that had eyes on the pride’s territory. It stepped into the moonlight and stopped, staring at him from a few yards away. It was without a doubt the most magnificent lion he had ever seen. The thick mane seemed jet black and covered the shoulders, and extended down towards the heavy set, rotund belly. Its flame coloured eyes flickered and glowed like torches in the darkness. It stood near enough five feet at the shoulder, and Thomas believed it would have easily measured over ten feet from nose to tail. It must have weighed all of 650lbs he guessed. The lion looked at him in disproving quiet. Looking at this animal he could see why they were called the king of beasts. Everything from its statuesque musculature to the d
omineering, imperious look it wore suggested regality. He felt almost surrendered to it. If he was going to be taken by a lion, this was the one.
It took a deliberate step towards him. The low rumbling growl came again, and it dropped its car engine sized head. Thomas felt no fear, just a sense of euphoric wonder as it came closer. Sometimes, when the body had been flooded by the full cocktail of flight or fight hormones and found itself still in a life threatening situation, it would go into shock and shut down. Thomas considered this might be what he was experiencing. The effect had two possible outcomes. If the lion proceeded to eat him, the level of shock would deteriorate into numbness and unconsciousness, hopefully meaning he wouldn’t feel much. Alternatively, as did occasionally happen, the lion might think he was dead and leave him alone.
The lion stood over his outstretched legs, its giant face a mere foot away from his own. It dropped its head again and took a long sniff of his scent. Thomas almost smiled as he saw the lion’s snout wrinkle in obvious disgust. Then he heard a muffled grunt from somewhere behind the lion. He couldn’t see its source as his entire field of vision was still filled with the animal before him. The lion turned away, stepping over his legs with deliberate care and walking off a few feet. That’s when Thomas saw the second one. It was almost the twin of the first, except it had dark chocolate and rust coloured strands woven rope-like into its flowing black mane. As the first lion joined it, they both turned and looked at him. Thomas could see why the grunt he’d heard had been muffled. The second male was carrying the limp body of a bush pig in its mouth. It issued the grunt again and began to walk off into the darkness. The first lion looked back at Thomas for a moment before following it. He watched as its whip like tail lifted high up over its body and flicked back again with casual indifference as it disappeared into the gloom.
The Daughters of the Darkness Page 25