The Valley of Tooth & Claw Read online

  “This heat really is something else,” she said, virtually to herself.

  Arching her neck, Kate stole a glance at the patchwork of green and brown hanging above her head. Inspecting the rainforest’s canopy with keen eyes, the professor was able to appreciate just how effectively the densely woven collection of vegetation, vines and branches trapped the moisture.

  It’s like a sauna, Miller said inwardly, feeling the sweat forming on her otherwise smooth brow.

  Alerted by the growing noise around her, the professor shifted her gaze away from the jade-colored ceiling. Miller saw the area around the Slaine Industries caravan was now a hive of activity. Edging away from her Suburban, Kate took in the hectic scene in more detail, a hint of excitement evident in her big, doe-like eyes.

  In front and behind the gleamy-eyed professor, stern-faced PMCs piled out of their assigned SUVs, each man sporting state-of-the-art weaponry and tactical gear. Although a few of Daniel Slaine’s private army remained by the trucks, taking up defensive positions, the majority spread out, forming a much broader protective perimeter around the now stalled caravan, shielding it front, rear, and on each side.

  Eyes locked on the hired guns, Professor Miller watched the mercs as they themselves studied the jungle yonder. Looking down the barrels of their weapons and through scopes, they searched for any possible threats lingering out there in the brush. The academic was impressed by the mercenaries’ sense of professionalism, expressed as it was in their calculated and attentive body language. Ultimately, these men, dangerous as they no doubt were, ironically made Kate feel safe in what was a decidedly alien and somewhat unnerving environment.

  Standing there in the middle of the thoroughfare, out of place as it was, Kate continued to scrutinize her surroundings. By her estimation, the road itself (if you could even call it that) was only just capable of accommodating two vehicles abreast. Kate couldn’t help but think of the hastily created passageway as a wound slashed into the flesh of the Earth itself.

  Out of habit more than anything else, the geographer examined the ground about her boots. Kneeling down, she placed her hand flat against it, feeling the rough texture. A thin layer of gravel now covered what had previously been a mattress of decomposing leaf matter and shed bark. Craning her neck left and right, Kate noted the immediate area was also largely devoid of obstructions such as trees and undergrowth, save that is for a few shaved stumps here and there; all evidence of the clearing crew and a job well done it seemed.

  According to Sienna and her earlier briefing, it had been a rather crude operation, undertaken by a workforce composed largely of unskilled migrant laborers. Except that is for those capable of working the more complicated machinery at Slaine Industries’ disposal. As for equipment, they had employed tools and vehicles of varying sizes and complexity. These ranged from lowly chainsaws and woodchippers to bulldozers and excavators, all employed in an effort to scythe their way through the jungle and reach the heart of Javari Valley: where the region’s most fertile land resided.

  The operation’s only saving grace was they hadn’t tarmacked the newly forged passage, at least yet anyway. Instead, they left only a sparse sprinkling of gravel in their wake. This meant that in the event Professor Miller didn’t sign-off on the project, then in time the jungle would eventually reclaim that which humankind had attempted to take from it. As much as the clearing of the rainforest pained Miller, she hated to think how difficult their journey would have been without the help of the makeshift road she and her companions now occupied.

  No turning back now, Kate told herself.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She could still scuttle the whole project, simply by refusing to give it her stamp of approval. Even so, Daniel Slaine would probably just hire someone else… someone with fewer morals and deeper pockets.

  Out of nowhere, a series of strange, hoarse squawks diverted Miller’s attention, derailing her train-of-thought. Springing upright, she instinctively looked skyward to find three winged profiles, painted black against the lime-tinted ceiling, glide in and out of view, all in what must have been little more than the blink of an eye. Calculating quickly, the geographer decided that the wingspan of the shadowy creatures was close to six feet.

  Impressive, she thought to herself.

  And even though she couldn’t be entirely sure of this, the professor couldn’t shake the feeling that, whatever she was looking at, they were big… unnaturally big.

  What the hell are those things? Kate asked herself. Bats?

  Amidst her contemplation, Professor Miller noted the long, vine-like tails ending in odd, spade-shaped tips extending away from the animals’ truncated bodies. Despite her lack of zoological training something about the animals’ anatomy gave the woman pause.

  Bats don’t have tails like that, do they? Kate pondered, considering their peculiar morphology. I should ask Professor Trentham.

  As for the creatures’ heads, the woman failed to get a proper look. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. In less than a second, the winged entities were gone, seemingly absorbed into the sea of green around them.

  “Weird,” Kate muttered under her breath.

  Catching movement on the periphery of her vision, Kate re-orientated herself towards it, instantly forgetting about the strange sight she had just witnessed. Much to her disappointment, she discovered the approaching figure of Sienna Clementine. The petite blonde, attired in dark green cargo pants and a tight-fitting black singlet that more than showed off her breasts, was making her way around the Suburban’s broad bonnet and toward Kate. Gregory followed a moment later, pushing open the Chevrolet’s passenger-side door and sliding his hairy, grandpa legs out of his seat.

  “Shit!” Sienna cursed in melodramatic fashion, the executive throwing her hands in the air.

  Professor Miller followed Clementine’s line of sight, swiftly locating the source of the tiny woman’s frustration. In fact, Kate was surprised she hadn’t noticed it sooner. To the fore of the caravan there sat a massive tree trunk blocking the route. Its gnarled and partially desiccated corpus was stretched across the breadth of the recently paved passage poignantly hewing its way through the otherwise virgin jungle. Studying the collapsed log, Kate could see the tree was completely uprooted, a crater gouged into the soil where the roots themselves had once resided below the surface. The trunk was several feet in circumference to boot. Whoever had felled this tree wasn’t playing around.

  “Who could have done this?” Kate asked the others, a worried expression written on her pallid complexion.

  Trevon Latham joined them then. In typical military fashion, the man’s AR-15 was angled towards his feet, his posture decidedly non-threatening in the presence of civilians. Trevon said nothing to either Kate or the others, the man seemingly unconcerned with their conversation. Rather, he looked over the small group, occasionally snatching glances at the bush beyond, clearly in guard-mode.

  “Someone who doesn’t want us here apparently,” Gregory Trentham laughed, a little nervously.

  “Fucking eco-terrorists!” Sienna squealed. “Probably RAAW, or some other band of greenie assholes!”

  RAAW… Radical Action for Animal Welfare… Kate remembered hearing the group’s name on TV. According to some media reports, they were behind several high-profile bombings and cyber-attacks. Their main thing was Animal Rights’ issues, but they also extended their operations to include more eco-centric matters.

  “Pretty sure RAAW doesn’t have a South American branch, just yet anyway. More likely it was one of the native tribes,” a heavily-accented voice added. “That’s what I’d wager, anyway.”

  Professor Miller recognized the gruff voice straight away. It was Elias Campbell. The Scot, six-five and ginger-haired, approached from off towards the front of the convoy. Moving at a swift pace, he held a matt-black, German-manufactured G36C assault-rifle across his barreled chest. Like Trevon and the other PMCs, he wore camouflaged pants and a black muscle top, over which sat a Kev
lar vest embroidered with the interlocking ‘S’ and ‘I’ that made up the Slaine Industries logo.

  Campbell nodded to Trevon first, before smiling at Kate and Trentham. As for Clementine, he gave her the most superficial of glances. Professor Miller got the sneaking suspicion that Campbell was already well-acquainted with Sienna’s prima donna-style antics. Perhaps more so than herself. It stood to reason he had probably worked with her before.

  “We’re gonna need a whole other crew down here,” Clementine growled, hands on her hips, “with equipment to move this fucking thing!” Sienna stared angrily at Elias, as if this unexpected development was somehow his fault. “Mr. Slaine is going to be furious!”

  “No need, lass,” Elias said coolly, waving a hand at her.

  “What do you mean, no need?” Clementine eyed the Scotsman angrily. “Just look! We’re not going anywhere! And don’t call me ‘lass’! I’m a grown fucking woman for Christ’s sake!”

  “Don’t worry,” Campbell explained with a smirk, coolly dismissing her. “Demolitions are my specialty.”

  “Fucking-A!” Latham chuckled.

  Trevon’s laughter quickly cut out however when Sienna rounded on him with a scowl that could put a Mother Superior to shame.

  “Give me fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Campbell spoke calmly to her, trying to regain her attention, “and I’ll blast us a path, so we can get back on our way.”

  “You’ve got ten,” Sienna growled, throwing up all her digits to emphasize the point. “Mr. Slaine doesn’t like it when projects fall behind schedule. I’m assuming you want to keep your bonus, don’t you?”

  With this, Clementine turned swiftly on her heel, traipsing back in the direction of the Suburban’s driver’s side. “Where’s my fucking SAT-phone?” her onlookers heard the irate woman bark as she disappeared inside the truck.

  CHAPTER 4

  Off in the distance, Kate made out the hulking figure of Trevon Latham. Hands held high for everyone to see, he stood to the fore of the Slaine Industries convoy. Like a ground-controller on an airport runway, the African-American waved his muscular arms, ushering the collection of vehicles backwards, forcing them out of the projected blast radius.

  “Keep going,” she heard him say in a loud, bass-filled voice. “That’s it, keeeeeep going.”

  Meanwhile, Commander Campbell and another man (who Professor Miller wasn’t acquainted with yet) were preparing the demolition charges. The pair were down on their haunches wedging what she presumed were explosive devices in underneath the collapsed trunk blocking the fleet’s path. From what Kate could see, they were placing the compact cuboid charges several feet apart from one another. As for the remainder of the PMC contingent, the defensive perimeter around the caravan didn’t so much shrink as shift aftwards; the squadron of bodyguards edging away from the downed tree, whilst making sure to keep pace with the slow-rolling SUVs.

  Whereas Sienna and Greg had chosen to retreat inside the comfort of their team’s Suburban once more, Kate decided to brave the sweltering conditions. After all, why should she give up her front-row seat to Campbell’s promised fireworks display? It was just the type of thing she needed after enduring the monotony of the ride here. A reward, one might say. And so, unsure what else to do, the geographer simply stood by the big black Chevy looking on expectantly for something (anything, really) to happen.

  #

  “Alright, pal,” Campbell slapped his subordinate, Franz, playfully on the shoulder, “time to get this party started!” he let a smile crack.

  Not wasting any time, the pair turned virtually in unison, each man hurriedly breaking into a jog. Making towards the waiting caravan, they left the fallen tree behind, along with the trio of demolition charges jammed firmly between the soil and its massive corpus.

  Campbell stopped just shy of the lead Chevy, walking the last few feet. Then, casting a quick glance at Professor Miller, the burly mercenary gave her a reassuring wink, to which she replied with a shy but appreciative smile. A little surprised by her warm response, the Scotsman admired her for a little longer than he probably should have. Still, she certainly didn’t seem to mind. Reluctantly breaking eye contact with the pretty, cream-skinned professor, Elias proceeded to scan the remainder of the scene, ensuring everyone was outside the projected blast radius, civilian and PMC alike.

  Ultimately satisfied his people were at a safe distance, he raised his arm, revealing the cylindrical, wireless detonator gripped in his right hand. The atmosphere around the caravan changed almost instantly, everyone’s eyes locking onto the little, but no less powerful, device. Things grew unmistakably tense. On the face of it, the air itself seemed to crackle with apprehension. In Elias’ experience, it was always this way before a demolition.

  “On my mark!” Campbell called out, his voice authoritative.

  All around was quiet now, save for Elias’ booming words.

  “Three!” he bawled, the tenor of the man’s voice going up a notch.

  A hefty dose of adrenaline flooded Campbell’s system, his heartrate speeding up along with it. If truth be told, he lived for this kind of shit. Unlike some men Elias had served with during his time in The Regiment (as it was sometimes known), he didn’t get off on killing. It was just something that had to be done. Instead, blowing shit up was his forte. He considered that much less psychopathic.

  “Two!” the Scot continued, his own anticipation rising.

  But ‘one’ never came.

  Elias let his arm drop, failing to engage the detonator switch. Instead, he craned his neck left and right, his eyes cautiously perusing the area around the fleet of vehicles. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones. Regrettably, it took him a little longer than it should have to put his finger on it. He noted the entire jungle around them had fallen silent.

  A sense of nervousness overtook Elias then, not to mention the rest of the expedition’s crew, who like their leader, one by one came to sense the subtle change in their environment. The senior mercenary locked eyes with Professor Miller once more. Campbell found the woman’s expression to be much less welcoming this time around… as was his. Nigh-on pleading, the fear was evident in her wide eyes and gaping mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” she mouthed at him.

  As if on cue, a peculiar whistling filled the air, the noise high-pitched and sinister. Oddly, it seemed to be drawing nearer.

  “What the hell is that?” Elias fidgeted, his ears twitching apprehensively.

  Turning on the spot, the burly merc was greeted by a chilling sight. The air was thick˗ swarming, in fact˗ with a host of slender projectiles! Cutting through the air, the missiles punched their way out of the bright green arras lining both his unit’s flanks! Quickly converging together, the two halves fell to Earth in a deadly V-shaped formation, set to rain down on Campbell and his companions like a plague of locusts come to strip the fields.

  Arrows… Elias realized a little too late.

  CHAPTER 5

  Reaching their zenith, the arrows, myriad and deadly, fell from the heavens. Numerous as raindrops it seemed, the fearsome projectiles peppered the exposed mercenaries and their waiting trucks, impaling man and machine alike.

  Thunk˗thunk˗thunk!

  “Get to cover!” Commander Campbell roared amidst the unfolding mayhem.

  Sadly, his warning came too late for some of his troops.

  Bug-eyed and bleeding, the first casualty dropped to his knees. Crimson syrup spilled over the mercenary’s lips. An arrow lodged in his windpipe, the menacing object had punched clean-through to the other side of his broad neck! The unfortunate man wavered for a second, supported only by his knees, before he eventually buckled and slumped flat on his face. Likewise, the second victim was dead on his feet, skewered as he was. The PMC collapsed, never to rise again, an arrow buried virtually all the way down to the fletching, the item stuck fast and deep in the poor fellow’s left eye socket!

  A little luckier than their dead comrades, a handf
ul of others also fell, but thankfully only wounded; arrows protruding from bloody wounds notched about their arms and legs. For the luckiest ones hit however, the raining missiles simply became snagged in their body armor, ultimately harmless. Of the near thirty men under Elias Campbell’s command, perhaps only half-a-dozen were incapacitated in those few opening seconds. Still, it was enough to put his team at a distinct disadvantage. On top of this, Elias and his men were up against an enemy they couldn’t even see (at least yet, anyway). Worse still, they were in unfamiliar territory. The odds were stacked firmly in their adversaries’ favor… and Campbell knew it.

  And so, with his men dropping all around him, the commander pocketed the detonator. Spinning on his heel, the Scotsman raised his G36 quick-smart, searching desperately for a target. Any target. Taking a knee, he scanned the jungle to his left, but failed to find anything. Next, turning about-face, Elias looked beyond the nearest Chevy to inspect his opposite flank, also to no avail.

  “Damn it!” he spat, a Celtic fury burning red-hot in his chest.

  Who the hell is doing all this? Campbell asked himself. Although, if truth be told, the commander already had his suspicions. The list of potential culprits was decidedly small in this corner of the world.

  All the while, the groans of injured PMCs carried on the air, mixed with the angry shouts of their frightened comrades. Confusion reigned supreme in those first few opening moments, and as Campbell well-knew, confusion breeds fear. With fear comes inaction, and inaction ultimately brings defeat. The Scotsman had to act, and sooner rather than later. Much sooner.

  And so, with his heart racing and pulse pounding, Elias fought to control his breathing and maintain his composure. Remaining crouched, the Scotsman’s eyes darted frantically from left to right, desperately searching the jungle’s uneven façade for some sign of his mysterious enemy. Yet, there was nothing. Or rather, no one. His group’s attackers were invisible it seemed, cloaked by the impenetrable lime vista surrounding them. In fact, the only evidence of their presence was the collection of spent arrows littering the ground… and of course the handful of victims they had already claimed.