BESERK! Page 15

  Minutes later they were airborne high above the rainforest.

  Hours later they released the mosasaur back into the river. The first run was successful they had flown all the way into Congo and back.

  The second test run was to be held a week later.

  Chapter 8: The Behemoth

  A week later the Y-36 hovered over Nbokele camp as Cathy and Gerald hurried to be airlifted into it. Once again, over the Ybankazi it flew, the river’s brown water sparkling beside the dark green rainforest.

  Gerald sat harnessed to the doorway armed with the tranquilizer. Cathy sat in the cock-pit with Jerkins monitoring the whereabouts of the reptile.

  An hour later a yellow dash appeared on the screen. She gently nudged Jerkins who nodded in acknowledgment.

  It grew longer as she watched silently. She watched it rising from the bed, reading the depth from the screen. Turning, she watched Gerald; the man had his sights on the river surface.

  Silently she unbuckled herself and arose, from her boot she unsheathed a foot long hunting knife. She looked at the screen they were nearly over the reptile. With the knife held firmly in her grasp she moved carefully towards Gerald.

  The river below began to grow a shadow; Gerald knew the animal was rising. Why hadn’t Cathy alerted him? He turned; Cathy was over him with the knife rising in the air. In a moment he realized, she would kill him and throw him in the river to the mosasaur. Make it look like an accident; wipe out all the evidence.....

  His senses screamed. Kill the bitch! He turned his bulky tranquilizer on her. She realized, in panic, the weapon held enough of the drug to kill her instantly.

  He had not brought up his rifle far enough when Jerkins tilted the craft. Gerald lost his balanced and slipped over the edge.

  Cathy quick in reflex grabbed a handrail and clung on to it.

  Gerald stumbled over the edge and fell into space. But for a few feet, to his surprise and relief, he felt a tug, the harness held him. He was suspended high in the air.

  The shadow took a serpentine shape in the river beneath him.

  He gritted his teeth yelling curses at the duo. He was being towed by the craft over the river. Cathy’s head appeared over the doorway. “Good bye Mr. Belfour,” she yelled over the sound of the wind.

  Gerald raised his rifle to blow her head, but she quickly retreated. He knew what she was doing, cutting the harness. He could feel the vibrations through the harness.

  Below, he saw the pair of yellow eyes watch hungrily at him. He struggled, shouting and pleading. It would be better if they would simply shoot him than kill him in such a way. The nightmares surged out releasing panic in him.

  He screamed like a possessed man when the harness was severed from the craft.

  The behemoth reared out his jaws from the river and bellowed triumphantly as if to mock him. Still screaming, Gerald watched in terror the huge pinkish maw lined with razor sharp teeth that opened below him. In a few seconds the teeth would serrate him as easily as an electric saw through bacon.

  In complete desperation he tossed his body out of the way. Landing with a hard bump on the reptile’s snout, he tumbled all over its back to hit the water. He was hardly aware of the long gash on his arm from one of the reptile’s lethal teeth.

  He instantly began to swim towards the bank. The reptile in frenzy bellowed and turned, the warm blood in its jaws excited it. From above Cathy watched in fear and fascination, the huge reptile pursue its prey. Its cave-like jaws were opened, river water flowing through it as it gained swiftly on Gerald.

  All of a sudden a dull scream broke out from the forest. Gerald looked up to see Bubu. He rushed out with an eight foot lance in his hands, akin to a medieval dragon-slayer. Plunging into the river, he jabbed the lance into the mosasaur muscular snout. The reptile reared more stunned than in pain. It was a skin wound.

  Cathy watching from above swore violently as he tried again to jab it. She tore the pistol holstered from Jerkins’ hip and trained it on Bubu.

  Gerald till now was mainly concerned with his own safety, barely realizing the peril Bubu was in. Then he heard the shots. Two shots hit the water the third hit Bubu on his shoulder, he dropped the lance.

  The angered dinosaur grabbed the wrist-thick lance between its jaws and crushed it like a toothpick. Then it grabbed Bubu head first and reared up with its struggling prey, like a victorious athlete. Gerald turned to see the behemoth toss the half severed torso of Bubu in the river like mulch.

  Fear turned to anger. Hatred to vengeance. This was the brave man who had sacrificed his life. This was the cursed beast that had killed his brother. He had to kill the damned beast. He had to avenge Bubu and Joef’s death. Then he realized the tranquilizer still hung around his chest.

  The behemoth swam towards him. Its huge crocodilian head out of the water its serrated-askew teeth still blood stained—Bubu’s blood. It was a sight enough to strike fear in any man’s heart but Gerald stood in composure, rifle ready. He would take the bastard in his eye. It was the most vulnerable spot. From a close distance the projectile could be lethal. It would shatter the eye, penetrate the brain and kill the beast agonizingly.

  Above the Y-36 orbited, he look up at it occupants and smiled wickedly. The mere smile told her his intent.

  “Nooo....,” she screamed and leveled the pistol.

  The beast reared, several meters above the river surface as if to frighten the puny Gerald. But he stayed calm. From above Cathy set off a wild round of shots. Bullets rained around him like hailstones but he stood his ground.

  He let the beast come close… close enough. Then aimed at the eye and pressed the trigger. The tranquilizer shattered the eye and an ugly bellow resounded from the reptile. It fell into river as if to soothe its damaged eye and disappeared within seconds.

  Gerald whooped a cry of joy and victory. Cathy’s face turned ugly and vicious. She let go another round of shells on Gerald. It was only then two hit him in the chest. The rifle slipped from his hand and he fell into the river, blood gushing from his bullet holes, he seemed to be smiling.

  “Bastard!” She screamed with disgust and flung the empty weapon earthwards. She saw him weakly crawl to the shallows and rest. He was too weak to climb on to the bank.

  She swore harshly she would kill the son of the bitch with her bare hands. Make him pay for killing her baby. Then she saw him crawling again. Once again she swore savagely.

  All of a sudden the waters behind Gerald seemed to boil. A huge jaw soared out from under it. The mosasaur maddened with pain grabbed the half dying man shaking him violently.

  Above Cathy began to sob in relief as Jerkins piloted the Y-36 towards the camp.

  x x x

  The Nbokele camp was aghast with the news of Bubu and Gerald’s death. It hit Louis the worse; this was his second son’s death. He stood with unspeakable shock and turned around, beginning to totter to his hut. But, not before giving Cathy a look of disgust. He clearly blamed her for his son’s death.

  The Bkangalasis mourned the whole night for the deaths with loud wailing and chanting.

  That night Cathy, Jerkins and the other NIBSians huddled together. The wailing had spooked the daylights out of them. Besides, there was no saying what these grief stricken tribesmen were capable of. They would have to move the beast out…soon. It was decided to have the 2nd test run within a short time.

  x x x

  Louis took two whole days to overcome the shock. He then began to plan vengeance against Cathy and her beast. He swore he would destroy her curtain of secrecy and expose the beast to the whole world. The next day he planned to visit the city and meet a few friends.

  x x x

  A few days later the 2nd test run was fixed. The NIBSians did all the things right and loaded the reptile into the Y-36. As soon as it was airborne Louis began radioing his friends in the city.

  An hour or two later Louis was waiting with his reporter friends who would take the news around the world. CNN, BBC, a
nd PTI all the top television channels would follow like hounds on a blood trail. There would be no peace and place for Cathy to hide her behemoth. The plan pleased Louis immensely.

  x x x

  For nearly five hours the Y-36 did not return, Louis began to panic. The reporters grew impatient. As they were ready to leave Cathy’s voice came over the radio. She informed them that they were experiencing trouble with the rebels and the army. Sudden border uprising and skirmishes were common in this part of Africa.

  Later they saw the Y-36 far on the horizon, moving towards them like a wasp. It excited Louis. All of a sudden two gnat-like objects moving incredibly fast zoomed out of the jungle canopy.

  It took Louis a few moments to realize they were surface-to-air missiles used to knock out planes from the sky.

  The first hit the Y-36, exploding it into a fiery red ball. A moment later the second hit it, fragmenting what ever was left. Book-sized bits of the craft’s wreckage scattered, falling to the earth trailing behind black smoke.

  For a moment Louis watched in disbelief the destruction, and then he smiled. Fate had avenged even better than he had planned. Joef, Gerald and Bubu were avenged.

  x x x

  The crocodile hatching season began in the rainforest. Chirping sounds emerged from the multiple nests. A snake slithered down the tree towards the nest, poised ready to strike. The young hatchling broke the shell and clumsily tumbled out. Its siblings were quick on their feet and moving towards the river.

  This particular one was clumsy on land, and then it saw its predator. In a lightning move, it leaped, its jaws clamped below the snake’s head. Effortlessly, like a scissors cutting a silken ribbon.

  The snake’s severed head fell to the ground. Any other time it would wait to feed on the prey but not now. This particular one needed to reach the water to respire, to live. Besides, its feet were not adapted to move on land. It moved with clumsy haste on its paddle like feet in a bid to reach the river.

  The End

  6. Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  Chapter 1: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  7 Friday, October.

  Sevastopol, Crimea Ukraine.

  Sixty-two year old Viktor Aleksandrovich Kravchuk jerked up from his trance, with fear. The photo frame suspended on the wall had been slammed violently as if punched. It was still moving erratically by the impact. He knew what the reason was. It wasn’t the breeze or anything else it was her. She was extremely angry.

  His sight went to the photo frame. It showed an old sepia photograph of a woman, his dead aunt. What stood out in the dull photograph were her eyes, they were alarmingly alive and appeared staring down at him in disdain. Over the years a perpetual grimace had appeared on her face.

  He could never say if it had always been there or was it the old photograph simply browning with time? The eyes always spooked him.

  He hastily emerged out of his room in fear. Closing the door tightly behind him, he locked it shut. He made sure nobody would enter in. His muscular body was drenched in sweat and he felt a chill creep into his old bones.

  He grabbed a hand towel to dab the sweat and found his hands shaking. The old man was not the one to be spooked easily but today he was. What he needed now was a strong peg of vee’skee—whisky. Quickly he walked to the cabinet, got out the vee’skee and poured a stiff one. He hastily downed two stiff ones.

  Viktor had just finished a mentally exhausting session of consulting the spirits. The spirit, he believed, belonged to his dead aunt. After all she had taught him the dark-art while she was alive.

  It was traditional to call on your mentor’s soul after death, in the same way she had done when she was alive. It was a common practice in his village of Kutol, near the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains of Abkhazia. Every family had a benevolent spirit whom they called on in times of need.

  These spirits never manifested themselves but communicated through signs and signals—a quick sudden gust of wind, a rattle of a photo frame, footsteps, sudden brightening or dimming of candle flames, at rare times even a giggle… at even rarer times they appeared embodied in a wisp of smoke. Every sign had to be interpreted, nothing was fixed but he had learnt the dark-art well. He never did anything without consulting her spirit.

  Viktor was a post-perestroika—businessman where inflation was higher in Ukraine than in any country of the former USSR. So he consulted the spirits every time he undertook a task be it property, marriage, betting on a football match or even buying a lottery.

  Viktor knew he was not following the maxim laid down by the spirit worshippers. His mentor had strictly warned him to call on the spirits only in times of need but he had been calling them more often. Although he was taught they were benevolent, he did not believe it. In his heart he knew he was tampering with something unnatural and it was wrong.

  When frequently disturbed they could be extremely nasty and ill-tempered. Especially, the spirit of his dead aunt, she could be a real plo’kha—bad bitch. Though they never manifested themselves physically their hostility could be felt through intense shoves and pushes. Calming them could mentally wrench one dry like a sponge.

  And today was one of those dreadful days. His aunt, the bitch, had been really ill-tempered. The pushes and shoves were near physical. All because she somehow realized he was not going to obey her. She derived some sort of perverse pleasure in hurting him.

  Viktor simply detested such sessions with her. Most of the times he always soothed and kept her happy but today’s was different. He had planned to disobey her and sensing it she had decided to punish him. And her hostility erupted, forcing him out of the room in a hurry.

  Viktor’s world was going kaput. His life, his business, his family, his love life…all was falling around him like a pack of cards.

  His son, Gevorg, was a step away from complete depression. Gevorg’s fiancée, Katy, had dumped him, as he had been diagnosed with testicular cancer and could father no kids. So much for true love!

  For some obscure reason Gevorg believed his father was to be blamed for it. Faulty genes, his son had cited. From that day onwards he barely spoke a dozen of words to his father.

  What? Faulty genes? Bullshit! Viktor’s parents had ten children and they had lived to the ripe age of seventy to eighty odd years.

  Viktor brother’s son, Zhukovsky, was plotting revenge against him. Viktor had fraudulently snatched away his father’s business. He even suspected that his nephew had hired hoodlums to kill him.

  Two weeks ago there had been an attack on his life. He remembered the night he was walking from Istorichesky Boulevard to Ushakov Square when it had happened.

  The two hoodlums were thick-necked, close-cropped hair, real desho’vee—cheap. They had cornered him on the pretext of robbery. But they were definitely not after his valuables. They drew knives ready to skewer him. But he fought them; after all he was an ex-boxing champ. Even today he could defeat men half his age in arm wrestling. Before the police could arrive he sent the hoodlums fleeing.

  If that was not enough, his twenty-four year old mistress, Liana, was threatening to expose him. She had demanded a share of his property not to do so. And also threatened to tell her brother about their liaison, he was supposed to be some sort of mafia from the rough Gurzuf region.

  Her demand for an enormous piece of property in exchange of giving an old man a few hours of pleasure was ridiculous! After all any sex-worker would do the job far cheaper. He should have known she was nothing but a high-class hooker!

  The only innocent person in his life was his wife Olga. This sweet thing was unnecessarily caught up in his dirty vortex. The woman was tall and hefty, with a heart to match. Yet small issues could make her cry; be it a harsh word, an angry tone, even the soap operas on television. She never understood a joke and took everything at face value. Her village upbringing and lack of proper education were the culprits. But Viktor saw this as an asset; her child-like innocence was what had attracted him.She was the on
ly sane thing in his life.

  But lately his escapades with Liana had somehow reached her ears. Unable to bear the stress, she had taken up to nagging him.

  It really seemed the spirits were beginning to take their pound of flesh.

  Today he was on his way to complete some important jobs. He was on his way to make all things right. Today, for the first time he was to disobey his aunt’s spirit. It was a very fearful thought. He was not sure how his dead aunt would react.

  First he was to tell Liana to fish off. She was not getting an inch of his property. Later, he was to confront Zhukovsky, hand over to him the dacha-as compensation and end the matter. He was growing old and could not take this crap anymore.

  He looked around the room sipping his vee’skee. The thought and the vee’skee were beginning to soothe his jangled nerves. His wife sat on a chair her head buried in her arms. She appeared to be sleeping but he was sure she was sobbing softly. A half-filled bottle of vodka stood on the table. She had taken up to drinking recently.

  Olga was still miffed with him over the argument they had before his sessions with the spirits. The issue was the same, every time he left the house she presumed he was off to meet the whore-that was the terminology she used for Liana. No matter what he did to convince her otherwise, was futile. For now he was in no mood to explain his situation, all he knew was he had to finish the job with Liana. Besides, the session with the spirits had really spooked him.

  He turned his attention to his son; the portly youth lay on his favorite couch pretending to read the newspaper. He was sure the rascal was slyly sipping vodka. It was no use confronting him; he barely spoke two and a half words the whole day. Very soon he would start him on therapy. He poured himself another stiff peg and pondered on his decisions.

  Chapter 2: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  Zhukovsky lay on the bed smoking, all his thoughts focused on Viktor. He burnt with revenge towards his uncle. All he wanted was to crush the man, destroy him. He had already begun with the son Gevorg. A few of Gevorg’s friends were on his payroll. On his instructions they provided Gevorg with a steady supply of drugs.