Crybaby - Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 8
Gold in the hills
In the foothills of the mountains, not too far from the wrecked village, Rahul, the bandit leader, was dozing in a hammock strung up in the shady corner of an ancient, ruined fort. The flickering flames of a nearby brazier cast a wavering light on the weathered stone walls. Rahul wore a khaki waistcoat over a blue shirt, the colors contrasting sharply with his striking white hair and beard. His men were scattered around, lounging in the oppressive mid-morning heat. The fort, once a proud colonial stronghold, was now a crumbling, overgrown relic, its grandeur long faded. Vines snaked through cracked walls, and moss clung to the worn stones, reclaiming the structure for nature. Yet, in its decay, the fort had found new life as the hidden refuge for this small band of outlaws, a place where they could vanish from the world.
The stillness was broken by the arrival of the first of two visitors that morning. A grubby bandit, drenched in sweat and dust, had come directly from the village. He arrived on a battered old scooter that managed to sputter halfway up the steep dirt track before giving out. Abandoning the vehicle, he hiked the rest of the way to the fort, his breath heavy from exertion.
No one stopped him. The path was clearly visible from the top, and he was well-known to the others. Most of the bandits barely stirred as he hurried into the fort, their eyes half-closed, too lethargic to care.
"Boss. Boss," the man whispered urgently, leaning over Rahul to wake him. Bent over, his chest heaving, he tried to steady his breath. His bare chest glistened with sweat, and his voice wavered as he eyed the bandit leader, who still cradled his rifle while napping.
“What?” Rahul demanded, not yet moving or even opening his eyes.
“Bad news, boss,” the man said louder this time. The other bandits, sensing the urgency, sat up or propped themselves on their elbows, now listening more attentively.
The messenger hesitated, his words faltering under the weight of what he had to say. Rahul opened his eyes, his steely, steady gaze piercing through the man’s nervous facade.
“Spit it out,” Rahul said, his voice low and menacing. “Are we in danger?”
“Oh no, no,” the man quickly replied, shaking his hands. “We’re fine, boss, but there’s been trouble in the village. Your village.” Once he started, the words tumbled out in a rush. “A mad elephant—you know the one, the big fucker that used to give the kids rides and work in the quarry—it went completely fucking crazy. Killed all the tourists and a lot of people.”
The bandits, now fully alert, leaned in, their attention captured. The messenger straightened up, feeling the weight of their stares, his role suddenly significant.
“A couple of days ago it went mad. It killed the tourists first, then lots of other elephants and their mahouts. Last night, it came back and smashed up the place. Not the whole village, but it wrecked the police station and the post office, killed all the beggars, and, uh…” His voice trailed off, the weight of the next words heavy on his tongue.
Rahul slowly sat up, placing his rifle across his knees. He fixed the man with an icy stare, a slight but dangerous change in his expression.
“I’m very sorry to say, sir, your brother is dead.”
Rahul’s face remained impassive, but the air thickened with tension. His stare hardened into a glare.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. “How?”
“It was Crybaby,” the messenger blurted out, his voice breaking. “You know, the big, freaky bull. It flattened the police station and the post office. Your brother… he ran at it, guns blazing, like a…”—he was going to say madman but thought better of it—“like a hero. We thought he’d got it, but the bullets just bounced off. And then… it killed him with its tusks.”
A heavy silence fell over the group, the gravity of the news settling like a dark cloud.
“Tell me more.” Rahul ordered, his voice cold.
The messenger gulped. “Okay, um, first it smashed down the whole police station, then the post office. The beggars were sleeping on the roof, and they all came down with the building. Some tried to fight it off with firecrackers, but this elephant—it’s a demon, I swear. It killed them all, one by one. Then it turned on Nisheed. He was very brave, sir. Oh, and there was a tourist who escaped the station. We all ran into the forest, but he went a different way, sir. We found him this morning. Dead. A snake or something must’ve gotten him. The whole town was… it was fucking chaos, you know. The Forest Rangers arrived a few hours ago, looking for the Mayor.”
He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “That’s it, boss. And now, here we are.”
The other bandits stood silently, their eyes fixed on Rahul, waiting for his reaction. The messenger, painfully aware of the danger in delivering such news, shifted nervously.
“Where is the fucking elephant?” Rahul asked, his voice eerily calm.
The messenger gestured over his shoulder. “It went back into the forest. Disappeared, you know, like they do.”
“What did you do?”
“What could I do, boss? We got our families into the forest and waited out the night. There was nothing else to do. That fucking elephant was completely crazy, you know. We thought it would wreck the whole village, but it only took down those two big buildings.”
“Only?”
“You know what I mean, boss. We thought it was going to smash all the houses, trample all the people—all the children—but it… it left, went back into the forest.”
There was a long, terrible pause. The tension hung heavy, suffocating.
“Give him some water,” Rahul finally said quietly, leaning back into his hammock.
Rahul remained silent for a moment, his eyes closed as he considered the situation. The weight of the news hung in the air like a storm about to break. The other bandits, still standing, exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain of what their leader would do next.
The tension was interrupted by the sound of another vehicle approaching the hideaway—this time, a battered, rusty old taxi, laboring up to the steep track after a long journey from the nearest airport. It stopped at the bottom of the hill, and its passenger, a well-dressed man, stepped out. He slung a heavy-looking backpack over his shoulders, took a long look at the steep climb ahead, and, with a deep breath, began his ascent.
The bandits watched him closely as he huffed and puffed his way up the crumbling path to the old fort. When he finally arrived, a smile played on his lips. He stepped into the open area where the bandits had gathered and dropped his backpack with a heavy thunk onto the stone floor. Reaching into it, he pulled out two small gold bars and held them aloft.
“I got the cheese!” he yelled triumphantly.
The bandits cheered, gathering around and slapping the visitor on the back.
Rahul swung down from his hammock, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and walked over to the man.
“How did it go?” he said.
“It went like a breeze, boss, just like you said. I walked out of the airport and got into a taxi. Nobody stopped me. We drove out into the countryside, it was clear there was nobody tailing me and we were off, scot-free. I made the driver take a few detours to make sure no one else was following, and then came straight here. As far as they know…” He raised his arms and gestured helplessly. “I’ve been kidnapped by you guys.”
More cheers erupted from the bandits. Rahul flicked his head toward one of his henchmen, who stepped forward, took the gold bars from the visitor, and moved the backpack away from the center of the ruin and the other bandits. Meanwhile, the messenger from the village still hovered anxiously at the back, careful not to draw attention to himself.
Rahul and his gang pulled this stunt a couple of times a year. He would identify couriers transporting stolen gold for the city mafias and corrupt them—through coercion, blackmail, threats to their families, or good old-fashioned bribery. After roughing them up a bit, he would send them back. Sometimes, the scavengers got the better of the predator. Rahul had used this guy once before. There wouldn’t be a third time; that would be too suspicious.
“Give him a drink,” Rahul instructed his men, then turned his back, unslung his rifle, and began checking it over, slowly loading bullets from his pocket.
Rahul finished loading his rifle, then slung it back over his shoulder. He glanced at the group, his sharp gaze lingering on each man as he gauged their readiness.
“The plan is simple,” Rahul began, his voice low but commanding. “First, we secure this gold. Make sure it's hidden well. We don’t move it until things cool down.”
He paused...
“Next, I’m going to kill that motherfucking elephant. I want revenge. Revenge for my brother.”
The bandits nodded, their expressions hardening.
The gold courier frowned, shifting uneasily. “Eh, don’t beat me so hard this time,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “I’m very convincing, you know? I don’t know anything about any elephant, but don’t worry about me, eh? I can take a beating, but please don’t break anything I need, okay? You know what I mean?” He grabbed his crotch and rocked back and forth, to the amusement of the bandits. They all laughed, and even Rahul cracked a smile.
“Don’t worry,” Rahul said, his tone calm and almost casual. “I’m not going to beat you.”
The courier cheered and high-fived a few of the bandits he was familiar with.
“I’m going to shoot you.” Rahul unslung his loaded rifle.
The laughter stopped abruptly. The courier suddenly found himself standing alone in the center of the ruin. The bandits had backed away, their expressions now cold and distant as they stared at him.
He swallowed hard. “Errr, whatever you say, boss. Whatever you need to make it look convincing. Just… not too debilitating, eh? Not the knees, please. Maybe just the hand or the foot?”
He held up his left hand, stretching it as far from his body as he could. He closed his eyes and grimaced, bracing himself for the shot.
“In the head,” Rahul said, his voice devoid of emotion.
The courier moved fast. He sprinted out of the ruin, racing down the path toward the taxi at full speed. He wasn’t a fool; he had anticipated a double-cross at some point. He didn’t run in a straight line but zigzagged down the dirt track, trying to make it harder to be targeted.
Rahul slowly walked to the edge of the ruin and raised his weapon, tracking the courier with the rifle, aiming at his head. His men gathered excitedly behind him, some glancing at Rahul, others watching the courier, all careful not to nudge the boss as they crowded around him.
The courier leaped over the abandoned scooter impressively and reached the bottom of the hills, flailing his arms at the taxi. “Start the car!” he yelled, panic in his voice. “Start the fucking car! Quick! Quick!”
The last thing he heard was the crack of a shot. A split second later, the bullet struck him in the head, killing him instantly.
The driver slammed the taxi into reverse, about to take off, when another shot rang out from the top of the ruin. The windshield exploded inward, and the bullet struck the driver in the chest.
The taxi, barely moving, coasted gently into a shallow ditch at the side of the road.
Rahul shouldered his rifle and turned to his men, who instinctively took a step back.
"Give me the gold," he commanded.
One of the men handed him the backpack filled with the loot.
"Hide this here," Rahul ordered, passing the bag to his second-in-command, who quickly scurried off into the shadows at the far end of the ruined fort where they stashed their treasure.
Rahul's gaze swept over the remaining men. "Get down there and clean up that taxi. Remove the windshield and bury those two. Not you," he added, pointing to the man who had come from the village. "You stay here."
The rest of the bandits scrambled down the hill, pushing the taxi out of the ditch and into the open. They pulled out the driver's corpse and, using their shirts as rags, wiped the blood from the interior.
"You can drive me back into the village," Rahul said, turning to the villager. "You mentioned they were looking for the Mayor. Well, it’s time they found him."
"Yes, boss."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Mister Mayor, sir."
The Forest Rangers established their base in the "Onion House," an old, abandoned building with stone walls and a heavy metal gate, situated at the edge of the onion fields near the village. Despite its sturdy stone enclosure, the house itself was unfinished—some walls were little more than metal frames covered with plastic sheeting. Still, it served their purposes well. As the village prepared for the upcoming festival, the villagers returned to their daily routines in the fields and quarry, though their curiosity was piqued by the Rangers' presence.
The arrival of the Rangers and their advanced technology caused quite a stir. The villagers watched with fascination as the Rangers unloaded computers, screens, drones, and weapons from their vehicles. The vehicles themselves were a sight to behold—sleek, gleaming black Land Cruisers, starkly contrasting with the villagers’ old, beaten-up cars, caked in mud and riddled with rust. The local children were especially amazed, peering inside to glimpse the luxurious, modern interiors. It didn’t take long for the Onion House to be transformed into a fortified compound, with the Land Cruisers securely parked inside, behind the massive gate. The Rangers, clad in green uniforms that made them resemble the army, began patrolling the village, speaking with the locals about the recent elephant attack.
Raj was the first to be summoned to the Onion House for an interview, which took place late in the afternoon after he had fled from the collapsing police station, narrowly escaping the rampaging beast. Still shaken by the ordeal and the loss of his boss, he did his best to present himself well, though his uniform remained crumpled and dirty despite his wife’s best efforts. He saluted and took a seat in the largest room, where three Rangers were seated behind a desk. In an adjoining room, Raj noticed two more Rangers typing on brand-new laptops connected to large flat-screen monitors.
Keenly aware of the emptiness of his pistol holster, Raj clutched the rifle Nisheed had given him, though it was unloaded. Upon entering the room, he tried to lean it against the wall but ultimately felt safer holding it, unable to let go. He thought his nervousness had gone unnoticed, but one of the Rangers—a woman—observed his every move with sharp, brown eyes that missed nothing. As they questioned him, Raj recounted the previous night’s harrowing events: the massive, enraged elephant smashing through the front of the police station, his narrow escape from the collapsing building, and the tragic death of his boss. During the interrogation, one of the male Rangers was called away, leaving the striking female Ranger in the center seat.
“What about this tourist, Jack? Where did he come from?” she asked.
Raj described the incident on the stone bridge, the man lost in the ravine, and the attack on the tourist elephants a few days earlier. As he spoke, the enormity of the situation became increasingly clear to him. So many lives lost because of one mad elephant. He also mentioned the bodies they had discovered at the Shaman’s mud hut, poisoned by the elephant thief.
“It sounds like this elephant, Crybaby, has gone mad—possibly in the throes of musth,” remarked the male Ranger. The woman, whom Raj sensed was in charge, nodded in agreement.
A loud, clanging knock echoed from the gate outside, and the remaining male Ranger stood up and walked past Raj to see who it was.
“I’m Ahanna Gupta,” said the female Ranger, standing and walking toward him.
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” she said warmly. “You were very brave to get the tourist out. Here…”
She handed him his pistol, which had been retrieved from the spot where Crybaby had killed Nisheed. It was clean, oiled, and loaded.
Ahanna gently took the old M-1 rifle from him, noting it wasn’t loaded. Raj couldn’t help but notice how efficiently she handled the weapon.
“Let’s find you some bullets for this,” she said with a reassuring smile. “You might be needing it.”
Just then, the Ranger who had left returned, accompanied by a tall, imposing man with white hair and a beard, strikingly reminiscent of an Indian Sean Connery. His eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence and fierce, primal cunning. Like Raj before him, he carried a rifle slung over his shoulder.
It was Nisheed’s elder brother, Rahul.
The Mayor had arrived.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT
Next Chapter: The Elders
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The action scenes were immaculate! I could really visualize everything that was going on
I'm up to the part where Crybaby killed Rahuls brother, excellent stuff, very descriptive, enjoyable reading, it's alive! I will finish the thread asap.