The Crocodile's Last Embrace (13 page)

A tackle box and a fishing pole lay on the ground, but there was no tent or any other articles of camp about. Neither was there any angler. “This doesn’t look right, boy,” she said to Biscuit. Jade eyed the truck and took a deep breath, steeling herself to look inside. Her reasoning told her that there was no body in the truck; otherwise the vultures and other scavengers would have been about. Still, she had to look.

She approached the truck and looked first in the bed, then in the cab. All she saw was a pith helmet lying on the ground by the front tire. Jade moved closer to the bank when, at twenty feet away, two warnings stopped her. For one, her left knee throbbed. For another, Biscuit hissed.

“What is it, boy?” she whispered. She took one more wary step towards the riverbank when the cheetah took hold of her leg in his mouth and stopped her in midstep. Caught off balance, Jade tumbled backwards. She landed hard on her rear, her finger jerking back on the trigger.

Her Winchester went off just as the river boiled up in one frenzied roll, and a huge, spectral gray and green crocodile surged out of the water. The bullet struck the side of his skull and ricocheted off. It hit the abandoned truck, shattering the windshield.

“Holy . . .” Jade muttered. She backpedaled, pushing herself farther from the shore before the eerie beast decided to come after her. Jade caught a brief glimpse of a blue-gray eye behind a massive jaw. Then she scrambled to her feet and ran back to her own truck, Biscuit leading the way.

As the croc slid into the water, there was little doubt in Jade’s mind as to what had happened to the missing fisherman.

—The Traveler

“TIE IT ON GOOD AND TIGHT,” said Blaney Percival, the colony’s chief game warden. “We don’t want the bait to slip off the line.”

It was Tuesday, and Jade was back at the site of the crocodile attack with an entire retinue. Mr. Percival was present, along with European constable Miller, Constable Singh and his camera, and Harry Hascombe. Two gun bearers attended the hunters, and trailing all of them was a reporter from the
East African Standard
. The only one missing besides a representative from the
Leader
was Biscuit. Jade had left him with Beverly.

Miller poked around the abandoned truck, Singh photographed the scene, and the reporter photographed the constables. Percival and Jade stood by Harry’s truck, putting together a line baited with a haunch of zebra, while Harry stood guard with his Holland & Holland .375 in hand. Nakuru, the big Nyamwezi man whom Jade knew from her trips to Mounts Marsabit and Kilimanjaro, carried Harry’s heavy rifle, a .416 Rigby.

Jade and Percival finished tying on the bait, and Percival’s gun bearer, Mukassa, whirled it over his head and released it to splash into the river. The other end of the rope was attached to a hand-cranked winch nailed to the bed of Harry’s truck. The winch was made with a handle on either side of the central spool so that two people could man it if needed. At present, only Jade stood beside it. They settled back to wait for the beast to take the bait.

“If he’s still in this area, he’ll go for that meat,” said Harry.

Percival picked up his .450 Rigby double rifle and chose a position with a clean line of fire to the shore. “It’s possible he’s gone on to the native village,” he suggested. “And you’re certain that this was a gray crocodile, Miss del Cameron?”

“I only saw his head, sir,” Jade replied. “It was a dull iron gray with a few green and white splotches near the right eye. And the eye was a cloudy blue.”

“I know that croc,” said Harry. “But when I last saw him five or six years ago, he was a lot farther south. He was a big fellow then, eleven or twelve feet. Ridges along his back were green and so were his legs. The rest of the beast was mostly gray with some patches of olive green. But as bizarre as that beast looked, there was something truly unnatural-looking about those eyes.”

“I thought albino animals had red eyes and more yellowed skin rather than gray or white,” said Jade.

“They do,” said Percival. “This brute’s not an albino. He’s an odd sort of freak, light overall with his mottled dark green ridges and that white spot behind the eye. I’ve seen a raven with one white wing before. That bird was always getting chased. Most animals mob the outlier, so it’s a wonder this croc survived infancy. Seems he’d have been easy to spot as a youngster by some hungry fish.”

“Piebald,” said Jade.

“Who’s bald?” asked Harry.

“No,
piebald
. It’s what we call horses with that sort of mottling.”

“Oh, right, piebald. Well, on this beast we call it ugly,” Harry replied.

Blaney nodded. “He was an ugly brute at that. I’ve seen him, too. And you’re right, Hascombe; he was a good-sized bull, then, at thirteen feet. Probably fourteen by now.”

“How do you know he’s a he?” asked Jade.

“When I saw him, he was making a mating bellow,” explained Percival.

“Ah. So what’s he doing up here?” asked Jade.

“Like as not, an even bigger or more experienced bull chased him out of his territory when he tried to mate with the females,” Harry said. “Possibly those same females don’t want to mate with him, since he looks different. Hard to say what motivates a croc beyond its stomach.”

“That is the truth,” said Percival. “They’ll take on anything from antelope to zebra, and I hate the ruddy lot of them. They take far too many natives, especially the women.”

“Interesting bit of lore there,” said Harry. “You’ll fancy this, Jade. Some tribes claim when a man or woman dies by another’s hand, the soul enters a croc and uses it to seek vengeance. That’s why so many native women still wash at the same spot where someone else was taken the day before. They assume that the victim had done someone wrong and, if their conscience is clear, no harm will come to them.”

A scratching noise caught their attention and, as one, they turned to see the reporter hunkered by the truck’s bonnet, scribbling away. “Just keep talking,” he said. “This will make wonderful copy.”

Harry raised his right arm as though to backhand the man. “Get off with you before you get in the way or get eaten.”

“I’m waiting to see the croc,” the man said. He patted a nearby camera. “Hope to get a shot of it when you’ve killed it. For once I’ll scoop that bloke at the
Leader.
He’s too much of a dandy to come out here for a story. Fancies himself a bit of a gentleman.”

“
You’ll
be shot if you don’t get out of the way. Bother the constables while you wait, not us,” said Harry. The reporter took the hint and joined Miller as he rooted under the seat for anything of note.

“Do they know who’s missing yet?” asked Percival. He kept his gaze on the river, as did Jade and Harry, watching for any sign: a slight ripple, a bump that could be a nostril.

Jade shook her head. “Not that I know. Surely someone back in town will recognize the vehicle if nothing else.” She studied the faint ruts behind the truck. “It looks as if there are two sets of tire tracks, but with most of them on the vegetation, there’s not much to compare. He might have driven back and forth for that matter.” She looked upriver to the falls and caught a glimpse of a rainbow breaking through the spray. “Hard to reconcile such beauty with this place of violent death.”

“There’s beauty and then there’s beauty,” said Harry with a sidelong look at Jade. She scowled and he quickly looked to the ground. “
Two
sets of tracks,” he said. “Then maybe he went back with someone else.”

“But why leave his vehicle here unless it was broken down?” She jerked her head towards Miller. “It started up fine for him.”

“That’s true enough,” said Harry. “Perhaps—”

“Shh,” broke in Percival in a whisper. “I saw a slight V-shaped ripple out to the right. Our friend might be about to take the bait. Get ready.”

He spared a brief glance for Jade, who positioned herself at the winch. The crank itself had notches, like a gear, and a ratchet that prevented the wheel from running the other way. Jade had donned leather gloves and took hold of the crank.

“Wind it in nice and slowly at first, miss. We want to lure him up out of the water for a clear shot.”

Jade started the crank, listening to the slow
tick-tick
as the ratchet bobbed up and over each of the wheel’s wooden notches. The rope line crept along.

“Have you ever shot a crocodile before, Hascombe?” Percival asked.

“Twice.”

“Did you kill any?”

“Once.”

Percival nodded. “The brainpan is a tiny target even in a big croc.”

“And the skull only gets thicker as they grow,” Harry added.

The constables stopped their investigation to watch. Miller slipped his sidearm from his holster and held it in front of him like a talisman to ward off evil. His hands trembled, and Jade wondered if he’d ever fired his weapon before. For all she knew, this might be his first look at a crocodile. Not that she’d seen many herself, and none this close.

“Easy, easy,” called Percival. “I think he just dove down. Reel it in a little faster.”

Jade turned the wheel at double the speed, listening to the ratchets
clack clack
. The rope came up dripping and smelling of fish and ripe organic mud. Bits of vegetation clung in spots.

Suddenly she felt the wheel resist her efforts, no matter how hard she pushed on the handle. “He’s taken the bait!” she called. “I can’t budge him.”

“Nakuru,” shouted Harry, “help Simba Jike.”

Nakuru, a large man, rested Harry’s heavy rifle against the front tire and took hold of the crank opposite Jade. Leaning his entire weight and considerable muscle into it, he forced his lever down as Jade pulled up on hers. The winch spindle jerked around a half turn and locked again. This time Jade felt the jolt reverberate through the truck.

“He’s going to drag the truck back!” she shouted. “Somebody shove some rocks behind the wheels.”

Mukassa and Constable Singh both raced around, gathering large stones and shoving them behind the rear tires. As soon as Jade and Nakuru felt the slightest release in tension, they turned the crank, managing one and a half revolutions before the handle again refused to budge.

Her biceps burned from exertion as she strained into the handle. The groaning of nails ripping through protesting wood sounded as though it came from her own limbs.

“He’s pulling the winch out of the truck!” Jade shouted.

“The bait’s coming up,” yelled Harry. “I can just see the knot we made for the one-foot marker. Nakuru, push!”

The African whom Harry trusted with his life as gun bearer threw himself at the winch with a bellow. Jade’s handle flew up at her, tossing her backwards. She hit the ground just as bait, line, and a monstrous mottled demon welled up out of the river.

The beast thrashed, sending spray high into the air. It obscured his head, the dingy water blending with his own washed-out colors.

“I can’t get a clear sight on him,” shouted Percival. “Reel him in. Get him on shore.”

Jade scrambled to her feet and did her utmost to assist Nakuru in turning the winch. The fore nails were exposed by an inch already, bent back from the pressure. They screeched again as the croc fought to retain his prize. From behind her, Jade heard the thrashing and felt droplets of water strike her back. She imagined the creature suddenly lunging towards her exposed back and prayed that Harry and Mr. Percival could get in a kill shot before that happened. She knew that they were closer to the beast than she was, but it didn’t make the fear any less real.

The wheel turned another half revolution.

“He’s nearly there,” yelled Percival. “Hascombe, have you got a shot?”

“Almost,” shouted Harry.

Suddenly the rope went slack and Jade knew that the reptile had come ashore. She turned and saw the unnatural-looking animal whose blotches of gray, white, and olive reminded her of a howitzer she’d seen painted in dazzle camouflage during the war. If such patterns were intended to disrupt the outline and confuse a predator, this one was living proof. Jade had a difficult time following the animal’s head outline and wondered if Harry was having a similar problem from his angle. The only obvious feature was the chunk of zebra haunch and rope still protruding from the partially open maw. A hiss like a hundred snakes issued from the beast’s throat.

“He’s going to kill us all!” screamed Miller. He fired three times, striking the bait twice and the croc’s jaw once.

“Get back, you idiot,” yelled Hascombe. “Jade, get in the truck!”

But the bullets had already served to further irritate the animal, and he jerked his massive head just as Harry and Percival fired. Their shots pierced the nose and the fleshy jowls, respectively. Percival fired again while Harry chambered another round. This shot struck the skull, but hit half an inch behind the brainpan.