Crybaby - Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best-selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
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CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 28
A Fork In The Road
Ahanna lay on her back near the fire, eyes half-closed but mind racing. She couldn’t let herself fall fully asleep—not here.
A distant rumble cut through the ambient noise of the jungle. It was so faint at first that Ahanna thought she’d imagined it. Then it came again, louder this time—a low, guttural sound that reverberated through the ground.
The camp was cloaked in uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional chirp of a cricket or the distant howl of a jungle fox. The team lay in their tents or sat around the dim lanterns, speaking in low murmurs. The wet air clung to everything, dampening sound and amplifying every rustle of leaves.
The kumki elephants stood tethered to sturdy trees at the edge of the clearing, their massive forms dimly illuminated by the flickering lanterns. Their breathing was slow, deep, and steady as they rested, their trunks occasionally twitching or brushing against the ground. But then, without warning, both elephants froze.
The larger of the kumkis, a towering female, raised her trunk high, her wide ears flaring outward. Her breathing quickened, sharp and uneven, as she sniffed the air with short, anxious bursts. Her smaller companion shifted uneasily, her trunk swaying low to the ground as if trying to find reassurance.
Beyond the reach of the lantern light, the jungle seemed to hold its breath. The thick canopy above obscured the moonlight, casting deep shadows across the undergrowth. And in that impenetrable darkness, something moved.
The large kumki rumbled softly, a sound so low and resonant it seemed to come from the earth itself. The smaller kumki responded with a quieter, more nervous rumble, her eyes darting toward the trees. Both elephants turned their heads in unison, their bodies stiff and alert, their focus locked on the darkness beyond the camp.
Then they saw him.
Crybaby.
He stood just beyond the clearing, his massive form barely visible in the gloom, but his presence unmistakable. The faint moonlight glinted off his bloodied tusks, and his enormous frame seemed to merge with the jungle around him, like some ancient force come to life. His red-rimmed eyes glowed faintly, burning with something far older and deeper than mere rage. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He simply watched.
The kumkis shifted uneasily, their chains creaking as they pulled back slightly. Their trunks curled upward in fear, their bodies trembling. The larger and more experienced kumki, stood frozen, her ears twitching erratically. The air between them and Crybaby seemed charged, alive with a tension that was almost palpable.
It was as if some unspoken, ancient language was passing between them—one of dominance, fear, and recognition. The female kumkis, though mighty in their own right, were dwarfed by Crybaby’s sheer size and presence. He was a colossus, twice their bulk and exuding an aura of something more than animal instinct. They sensed it, just as the rangers had: the weight of the shaman’s spirit that possessed him, the unnatural fury that gave him his otherworldly strength.
Crybaby tilted his head slightly, his tusks catching the faint light as his ears flared outward, a silent challenge. The kumkis responded with uneasy rumbles, stepping closer together as though seeking comfort in each other’s presence. The smaller elephant’s trunk swung outward, a half-hearted gesture of warning, but even she seemed to know it was futile.
For a long, unbearable moment, Crybaby remained still, his gaze unwavering. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he took a step backward. The jungle swallowed him whole, his massive form disappearing into the shadows as silently as he had come. The kumkis continued to rumble nervously, their massive bodies swaying as their trunks searched the air for reassurance.
The smaller of the two kumkis let out a sharp, high-pitched trumpet, a cry of fear that shattered the stillness and jolted the camp awake.
“Quiet!” Ahanna hissed, her machete in hand as she scanned the jungle’s edge. “What’s happening?”
But before anyone could answer, Crybaby had gone.
The jungle had swallowed him whole, his massive form disappearing into the shadows as silently as he had come. The kumkis continued to rumble nervously, their massive bodies swaying as their trunks searched the air for reassurance.
Ahanna approached the larger kumki elephant, placing a hand on her trembling side. “What did you see?” she murmured, though she already knew the answer.
Ahanna’s stomach tightened. She turned toward the darkened jungle, her grip on her machete tightening. He had been watching them, assessing them. And now, she realized with a sinking feeling, he wasn’t just being hunted—he was hunting them, too.
Then the jungle went silent.
It was a silence so absolute that it made the hair on the back of Ahanna’s neck stand up. The ever-present hum of insects, the distant calls of nocturnal animals—everything had stopped. The only sound was the faint crackle of the dying fire.
“Raj,” Ahanna hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Raj was already on his feet, his tranquilizer gun raised. His eyes scanned the shadows beyond the firelight, his body tense and ready. “Stay close to the kumkis,” he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.
The ground trembled.
It was subtle at first, like the vibration of a distant train, but it grew stronger with each passing second. The kumkis shifted nervously, their trunks waving in short, frantic bursts. One of them trumpeted loudly, the sound a piercing cry of warning that made everyone’s blood run cold.
And then he came.
Crybaby burst into the clearing like a nightmare made flesh, his massive frame crashing through the undergrowth with terrifying force. The rogue bull elephant was a shadowy colossus, his tusks gleaming in the dim firelight, his small, rage-filled eyes locking onto the camp.
“Scatter!” Ahanna shouted, grabbing her machete and diving to the side as Crybaby charged straight for the center of the camp.
The kumkis roared in response, but Crybaby’s presence was a demonic force, and even the trained elephants were paralyzed with fear.
Ahanna rolled to her feet just in time to see Crybaby’s massive foot come down on the tent where she had been resting a few hours ago. The fabric crumpled instantly, the support poles snapping like twigs under the bull’s immense weight.
“No!” Raj shouted, firing a tranquilizer dart into Crybaby’s flank. The dart struck true, but the bull barely flinched, his fury unrelenting.
The rogue elephant swung his head, his tusks carving through the air like scythes. One of the kumkis bellowed in terror, pulling against its restraints. Crybaby turned toward the panicked elephant, his ears flaring wide.
But there was no time to organize a defense. Crybaby barreled forward, his bulk unstoppable. He tore through a row of supplies, scattering crates and gear as if they were toys, the rogue elephant was undeterred.
His target was clear: the mahouts’ tent.
The mahouts inside barely had time to react. One of them shouted in panic as the canvas above them was suddenly ripped away, Crybaby’s tusks tearing through the fabric like paper. The ground shook violently as he trampled the tent, his enormous feet crushing everything beneath him.
Screams filled the air—shouts of terror, pain, and desperation. One of the mahouts managed to crawl free, his face streaked with blood and dirt, but Crybaby’s massive trunk lashed out, slamming into him and sending him sprawling.
The mahouts’ tent was now little more than a flattened heap of canvas and broken poles, but Crybaby wasn’t finished. He reared up, his tusks stabbing into the debris, as if ensuring nothing remained intact. His enraged trumpeting echoed through the camp, a sound so loud and primal it seemed to shake the stars themselves.
Ahanna grabbed a burning log from the fire and hurled it toward the bull, the flames arcing through the air. The log landed inches from Crybaby’s feet, the sudden burst of light and heat making him hesitate.
“Move!” she shouted to the others.
The team scrambled to regroup, their movements frantic but controlled. The bull shook his massive head, his rage undiminished, but his steps grew slower, more labored.
Crybaby trumpeted again, a deafening sound that seemed to shake the very trees. Then, with a final, furious stomp, he turned and lumbered back into the jungle, his massive form vanishing into the shadows as quickly as it had appeared.
The camp was in shambles. The tents were destroyed, the supplies scattered, and the kumkis were still trembling, their mahouts were dead.
Ahanna stood in the center of the chaos, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes found Raj, who was still holding the tranquilizer rifle.
“Is everyone accounted for?” Ahanna asked, her voice tight with urgency.
Raj shook his head, his face pale. “The mahouts are dead.”
Ahanna closed her eyes briefly.
“He’s toying with us,” Raj said, his tone grim. “He knows we’re here, and he’s not afraid.”
Ahanna didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened as she looked toward the jungle, where Crybaby had vanished.
Then, suddenly, her stomach clenched. Where was Rahul?
The jungle still shivered in the wake of Crybaby’s attack. The acrid scent of crushed foliage and smoldering embers clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. The once-orderly camp was now a wasteland of flattened tents and scattered supplies. The kumkis stood trembling, their eyes wide, shifting uneasily as their mahouts—those that survived—tried to soothe them.
Ahanna crouched beside the wreckage of the mahouts’ tent, gripping the hilt of her machete with white-knuckled fingers. Her heartbeat was a war drum in her ears. Crybaby had torn through them like a storm, but he hadn’t stayed to finish them off. He’d come to send a message.
“We can’t stop now,” she said, voice hoarse from smoke and exhaustion.
Raj knelt beside her, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead. He didn’t speak at first. His sharp eyes flicked over the destruction, to the kumkis, to the trampled mahouts, then to the jungle where Crybaby had disappeared. He understood.
“The others will want to go back,” he murmured.
“They should,” Ahanna replied. “We won’t.”
Raj nodded. “Just us?”
“Just us.”
She stood and surveyed what was left of their group. The surviving rangers moved among the wreckage, their expressions grim. The remaining mahouts were shaken and bloodied, their kumkis too spooked to continue. The hunt was over for them.
But not for her.
She caught Raj’s eye. “We take whatever supplies we can carry. The rifles, the tranquilizers, whatever food is left. We move light. Faster.”
“And Rahul?” Raj’s tone was unreadable.
Ahanna’s stomach twisted. Where the hell was Rahul?
She scanned the wreckage, half-expecting to see his smirking face emerge from the shadows. But he wasn’t here. The attack had scattered them, but Rahul was nowhere to be seen.
A pit formed in her gut. Had Crybaby gotten to him? No. He was too cunning to die so easily.
“Forget him,” she said finally. “He’ll turn up. Or he won’t.”
Raj gave her a long look, then nodded.
Ahanna turned to the remaining rangers. “Take the kumkis back to the village. No more risks.”
“And you?”
“We’re finishing this.”
They didn’t argue. They’d seen enough to know this hunt wasn’t meant for them.
Ahanna turned back to Raj. “Let’s move.”
Without another word, they stepped into the jungle’s darkness, leaving the shattered camp behind.
The jungle had gone silent again. No insects, no birds. Just the distant, sluggish burble of water ahead.
Raj noticed it too. He gave her a sideways glance but said nothing.
Minutes passed in tense silence as they followed Crybaby’s deep footprints.
Then they reached it—a fork in the road where the trail split into two distinct paths.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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