Crybaby - Chapter Three
Chapter Three of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 3
The Merry Procession
Jack and Christine sat frozen, their screams caught in their throats. The sheer power and speed of Crybaby’s actions left them in stunned silence. Christine clutched at Jack, her knuckles white, eyes wide with terror. The elephant, having dispatched the thief, stood motionless, its massive form blocking the narrow bridge entirely.
From their elevated height, they could see down into the ravine. There were almost three meters of the elephant, then the narrow stone bridge, and then the ravine, far, far below. The effect was unsettling, a massive vertigo. Neither of them wanted to move. The bridge, ancient and viny, seemed to tremble under the immense weight of the elephant. The ravine below yawned open like a chasm, the river at the bottom a distant ribbon of water winding its way through jagged rocks.
Jack's mind raced. He had read about elephants, their intelligence, and their deep emotional capacity. He knew they could be gentle giants but also recognized the potential for sudden violence, especially when mistreated. He slowly placed a reassuring hand on Christine's shoulder, whispering, "Stay calm. Don’t make any sudden moves."
Christine nodded, tears streaking down her face. She glanced back at the bridge behind them, wishing for an escape route that didn't exist. Ahead, the elephant's domed head loomed like a massive, unyielding wall. Jack tried to steady his breathing, thinking of a plan. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds. The jungle seemed to hold its breath, the vibrant colors of the foliage a stark contrast to the gray stone of the bridge and the dark, looming shape of Crybaby.
“Crybaby,” he said softly, his voice trembling but calm. “It’s okay, big guy. We’re friends.” The elephant's ears flapped slightly at the sound of Jack’s voice. It turned its head just enough for one large, sorrowful eye to regard the two tourists atop its back. That eye, dark and liquid, seemed to hold a world of emotions—anger, pain, confusion, and perhaps a glimmer of recognition.
Slowly, Jack started to climb off the elephant’s back, careful not to startle the beast. Unfortunately, he misjudged the height and slid down the elephant's rump at high speed. Miraculously, he landed on the bridge and, although he didn’t tumble into the ravine, he hit the floor with a mighty thud. First, his back and then his head cracked on the unyielding stone. He gasped as all the air was knocked out of him. He was suddenly, briefly aware of the jungle around him, alive with sound—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. It was as if nature itself was oblivious to the life-or-death situation playing out on the bridge. Everything bloomed in a technicolor flash, and he lost consciousness.
“Jack? Jack? Oh no, oh no,” said Christine, clinging tighter to the ropes wrapped around Crybaby’s body. She didn’t dare to look around and wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a drum signaling her mounting panic. She felt the heat of the elephant’s body beneath her, the coarse texture of its skin rubbing against her legs. The ropes she clung to were frayed and rough, digging into her palms.
Suddenly, from the jungle ahead came a commotion, the sounds of a merry procession. Shouts, whistles, bells, flutes, and laughter. Around a bend in the path came the original elephant tour, on its way back from visiting the ancient fort at the top of the mountain. Mahouts were calling out commands to the elephants, their voices calm and authoritative, murmurs of conversation, exclamations of awe, and laughter from the tourists. These half-dozen or so elephants were much different from Crybaby. The mahouts, dressed head to foot in white, were mounted and sat at the front, behind their flapping ears, guiding them. Behind the handlers, on small, two-person “howdah” chairs with shallow safety bars, much like a child’s cot, were the tourists, protected from the sun by vast umbrellas. The elephants were considerably smaller than Crybaby, their tusks removed or filed down, and painted in earthy colors with purple and red tabards draped over their backs.
Crybaby gave a huge trumpeting cry and charged off the stone bridge at the convoy at full speed, Christine crying hysterically and hanging on for dear life. The sound of his cry was like a trumpet blast, reverberating through the jungle and sending birds scattering into the sky. Crybaby hit the tourist procession like a ten-ton truck, causing the other, smaller elephants to panic and run. They turned into the jungle in their fright, as their passengers were hurled from the chairs and into the air. Crybaby gouged their sides with his enormous tusks and butted them with his gigantic head. It was pandemonium. The elephants toppled their loads, many of whom were trampled and trodden into the earth. The mahouts tried to fend off the giant, angry male elephant, but Crybaby was so large he swept them off their rides with his huge tusks and trunk and continued plowing through them, stamping on anything that fell below him.
Christine’s grip on Crybaby tightened as she felt the elephant’s powerful muscles bunch and flex beneath her. The chaos below was a blur of flailing limbs, terrified screams, and the relentless advance of Crybaby. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope that she would somehow survive this. The screams of the tourists and the panicked cries of the other elephants blended into a cacophony.
Crybaby turned from the track and ran full pelt into the jungle. The branches and leaves whipped and lashed Christine, but she clung on. She didn’t know how long the elephant charged through the trees. It could have been seconds or minutes, but suddenly the elephant came to a deliberate stop and flung Christine off. She was tossed into a huge bush. Crybaby didn’t leave her; he picked her up with his enormous trunk and dashed her to the ground repeatedly. She was close to losing consciousness, all her clothes were ripped, and she was covered in blood but still alive to see the beast towering above her.
Crybaby dropped to the ground and rolled over her like a steamroller, breaking every bone in her body and killing her instantly. The enraged elephant shook its head again and stamped on Christine’s body until it was nothing more than a bloody sodden lump. Behind were cries of pain and misery at the awful damage the huge beast had inflicted on the elephant tour. Crybaby spun around, moving fast for its massive bulk, and charged back into the destruction it had caused. For almost an hour, it hunted for and attacked the surviving elephants and any people it found until finally, it couldn’t find anything more to stomp and kill.
King of the jungle now, the huge, bloodied tusker gave one last trumpeting cry, turned, and ran into the trees. The forest seemed to swallow the massive beast, the sounds of its destructive rampage gradually fading into the depths of the jungle. The once peaceful trail was now a scene of chaos and devastation, marked by broken bodies and crushed vegetation. The scent of blood and terror hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant calls of birds and the rustling of leaves, a stark reminder of the brutal force that had swept through.
The sun was higher in the sky when Jack regained consciousness. He sat up slowly, one hand clutching his head, the other holding his back. Somehow, he was still alive, although he felt broken and battered. As his eyes cleared, he was able to focus on the destruction ahead of him. Frightened, expecting the huge monster to return, he struggled to his feet. He couldn’t make out what lay across the bridge and up the path in front of him—it looked like dead elephants and people, more than he cared to count. There was no sign of Christine or Crybaby. There was nothing for him to do except escape. He turned and stumbled back across the stone bridge, heading into town for help.
The journey back was a blur of pain and disorientation. Each step was agony, his body protesting every movement. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat oppressive and stifling. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the dust and grime that covered his skin. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, a mixture of grief, fear, and a desperate determination to survive. The jungle around him seemed to close in, the trees towering above like silent sentinels, their leaves whispering in the wind.
He stumbled over roots and rocks, his vision swimming. At one point, he collapsed against a tree, the rough bark digging into his back as he tried to catch his breath. He glanced back at the trail, the memory of the destruction he had left behind vivid in his mind. The image of Christine's terrified face and the rampaging elephant haunted him, a relentless specter in his thoughts.
Determined to push through, he forced himself to his feet, each step more labored than the last. Finally, he emerged from the dense jungle into the outskirts of the town. The transition from the oppressive heat of the forest to the openness of the town was disorienting. The buildings, with their bright colors and bustling activity, seemed surreal against the backdrop of the horror he had just experienced. He staggered down the street, his body trembling with exhaustion and his mind still reeling.
The street seemed to stretch endlessly before him, each step a battle against the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. Concerned townspeople began to gather, their faces a mix of curiosity and alarm. Someone approached him, their hand gently shaking his shoulder. They spoke to him in English, “Are you okay? Can we help you?”
Jack tried to respond, but his voice came out as a weak croak, barely audible. The words he attempted to form were jumbled and nonsensical, a result of the disorientation and exhaustion that had consumed him. The faces around him seemed to blend together, their expressions morphing into a swirling haze of concern and confusion. Jack's strength was waning, and the relentless weight of fatigue and trauma pressed down on him like an invisible force. His thoughts became increasingly fragmented, each fleeting memory and haunting image blending into a nightmarish montage.
The crowd's voices grew distant, their words melding into a low, indistinguishable hum. Jack's head drooped forward, his vision narrowing to a pinprick of darkness. The physical and emotional toll of his ordeal finally took its toll on him. He slumped forward, his body collapsing into a heap on the floor.
The final flickers of consciousness slipped away from him as his breathing became shallow and uneven. The world around him continued to spin, the cacophony of voices and the fading light merging into a singular, enveloping darkness.
END OF CHAPTER THREE
Next Chapter: The Constable
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Loved this chapter so much! The escalation was crazy 😨