Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [121]
‘And, all of you,’ he called out, particularly to Whitmore and the others already jogging in the direction they hoped to find Keisha, ‘all of you, stay close together! No one goes on their own!’
He watched them go, four of them all armed with spears. In the jungle on their way back from laying down their clay tablets, they’d been infinitely more vulnerable to ambush, and yet the creatures had warily held back … only jumping Kelly, he presumed, because he’d been entirely on his own.
He looked anxiously around the clearing. The girls were just a dozen yards away working on the fire, and Becks merely thirty yards from him, busy trying to re-jig the windmill. Liam tried to think quickly. He wasn’t exactly alone here in the middle of the clearing, but he’d have felt happier having another one or two people standing right beside him. His eyes darted to the dark entrances of a couple of the nearby lean-tos, the small gateway to their palisade, possible hiding places. Possibly containing one or two of them.
Liam. Stay calm, Liam. Stay calm.
Broken Claw watched the new creatures approach. Four of them armed with their killing sticks.
He turned to the others, crouched nearby, and softly hissed for them to make ready. He turned towards the younger one, crouched next to him. The youngest ones of the pack were best at this particular skill – mimicking the calls of wounded prey – their voice-boxes being smaller, allowing them a much higher pitch, the shrill pitch of fear and desperation.
He clacked his claws gently, instructing the young one to do it once again.
The young female’s jaw opened, and her tongue and voice skilfully reproduced the cries the female new creature had been making earlier today as she lay dying from a fatal stomach wound.
‘… Help me … please …’
They changed direction, veering directly towards Broken Claw and the others, just a few dozen yards away now, stepping out of the clearing and into the darkness of the jungle. The new creatures seemed to have absolutely no sense of how close to danger they were, their small seemingly ineffective noses unable to detect the smells that filled Broken Claw’s nasal cavity: the smell of excitement from his pack, the smell of anticipation of a fine kill, the smell of their dark-skinned female brethren lying dead amid the ferns nearby – bled out hours ago.
How could they not smell any of this?
These creatures were either foolish or incapable of sensing all the warning signals in the air around them, stumbling blindly. Certainly – he understood this now – nothing for his pack to be wary of any more. He’d learned enough about them: that they were as vulnerable as the larger plant-eaters they usually hunted, more vulnerable, in fact, since they had neither their weight or strength to throw around.
And now … Broken Claw and several of the stronger males in his pack now possessed sticks-that-kill.
The four long digits on each of his hands tightened round the thick bamboo shaft. Broken Claw was determined to use his stick-that-kills on one of them as he had that older male earlier this morning up in the hills. A fascinating way of delivering death. An intriguing tool of death.
Juan stopped and pointed at a splotch of drying blood on the back of a broad waxy leaf.
‘Keisha!’ he called out. ‘You here?’
The four of them stood perfectly still, listening to the gentle hiss of shifting leaves above them and the fading echo of Juan’s voice.
‘Keisha!’ he called out again.
Then, very softly, not a crying-out voice trying to be heard across acres of jungle, but a soft whimpering close-by murmur. ‘… Please … help me …’
‘Where are you?’ asked Whitmore. ‘We can’t see you!’
‘… Help me …’
‘Where are you, Keisha? Can you see us?’
‘… Please … please …’
Juan cocked his head. ‘That don’t sound like her, man.’
Edward nodded. ‘She sounds kind of funny.’
‘… Sophia … run …’
Whitmore’s eyes narrowed. ‘Keisha?’
‘… They killed Jonah …’
Juan looked silently at the others. His face spoke for him. That really isn’t her.
Whitmore nodded and then slowly placed a finger to his lips. He waved