The Source - Michael Cordy [67]
Ross shifted uncomfortably on the small seat. The wooden planks that formed the boat's hull seemed thin and insubstantial. 'How many crocodiles might there be in an infested river?'
'Two or three,' said Juarez.
Ross relaxed a little.
'Hundred,' clarified Hackett.
38
In idle moments Zeb found herself comparing Nigel Hackett with Osvaldo Mendoza and discovering, to her surprise – and concern – that the quirky Englishman intrigued her. Hackett was infuriating and a right royal pain in the ass, but undeniably interesting. How could he worry about the Discovery's being stolen in the middle of the jungle but row calmly down a narrow river infested with crocodiles?
Zeb wasn't calm, far from it. Not much scared her and she revered Mother Nature in all her diversity, but she hated crocodiles. Even more than snakes. And snakes scared the crap out of her. After the first few miles, though, she stopped counting the crocodiles. There were too many.
And it was getting dark.
She wasn't sure whether she preferred being able to see the beasts in all their hideous glory or just their shapes in the dusk. As night fell, the stars were reflected in the dark water and Zeb would have been lost in the beauty of the place, had it not been for the glassy eyes that broke the surface like twin periscopes, glowing ruby-red in the reflection of her torch. They remained motionless, but her light stirred up a hollow grunt. There were many such pairs of eyes and, as the boats passed them, the warning grunt arose. Zeb could barely see her companions and no one spoke. It was as though she was alone in the velvet dark.
Gradually, Zeb grew aware of light above and behind her. Over the jagged horizon of trees an orange disc appeared. She knew it was the moon but it felt like sunrise on another planet. As the stars dimmed, the water turned silver, and she became acutely aware that she was the alien in the unfamiliar environment.
In the half-light, she heard Juarez's voice, hushed but clear: 'Every crocodile has a different eye colour. Green and orange are common. This is the black caiman. Its eyes are clear but they look red because the light reflects off their blood vessels.'
Silence fell, only to be broken by another grunt. This time when Zeb moved her torch she saw that it had come from Juarez, crouched in the front of the boat. He was answered by a grunt from near the shore. 'I have confused them,' he whispered. 'They don't know if we're intruders or one of them.'
The river fell silent again.
Then Zeb heard a deeper grunt directly behind her. She twisted away, rocking the boat, and aimed her light in its direction, revealing a pair of eyes wider apart than any she had seen, red lights mounted on the end of a thick black log. If the distance between them was proportional to the size of the animal the creature had to be massive. Suddenly, there was a hard bump against the boat. It tipped alarmingly and Zeb lost her balance.
There was another bump, harder than the first.
She was going to fall into the river and called to Juarez for help but he was holding the oars. The water's chill made her gasp and she went under, kicking, panicking, desperate to get back into the boat. She had read that crocodiles didn't bite off limbs as a shark did, but gripped you in their crushing jaws and rolled you until you drowned or were too weak to fight. Then they dragged you to a submerged hollow in the riverbank and left you there with their other prey. Eventually, they returned and ate you. She had read stories of victims regaining consciousness in the reptile's watery lair, surrounded by rotting flesh . . .
Frantically she reached up to the boat, to where Mendoza was holding out his hand. Something touched her leg and she screamed. She kicked harder, adrenalin pumping through her.
Then she heard a deeper, louder grunt. Right behind her. The creature had to be huge. She had never felt such raw terror. Something gripped her shoulder, pulling her away