Crybaby - Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best-selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 24
INTO THE JUNGLE
The morning light filtered through the towering sal and teak trees, casting dappled shadows over the narrow trail. The forest buzzed with life: the shrill call of cicadas, the chirping of unseen birds, and the rustling of leaves as monkeys scrambled through the canopy above. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and decaying foliage.
Ahanna adjusted the straps of her backpack, her machete glinting in the light as she cleared the trail ahead. Behind her, the group moved in a loose line: the rangers in their khaki uniforms, two mahouts perched on the backs of the kumki elephants, and Raj and Rahul bringing up the rear. The kumkis swayed with each step, their chains jangling softly, their ears flapping to ward off the persistent jungle flies.
Rahul’s presence was like a splinter in the group’s cohesion. He moved confidently but warily, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his backpack stuffed with supplies. Ahanna still didn’t fully trust him. He wasn’t here for the elephant or the village; he was here for himself.
“Keep your eyes open,” Ahanna called back, her voice steady but firm. “This terrain’s perfect for ambushes.”
“From an elephant?” Rahul’s tone was casual, almost mocking.
“From THIS elephant, yes,” she replied sharply, not turning around. “Crybaby’s ruthless. He’s used to this jungle now. If he knows we’re coming, he’ll make it hard.”
The mahouts nodded grimly, their hands resting on the tools of their trade: iron goads used to guide and control the kumkis. They understood the stakes. Crybaby wasn’t just another rogue elephant; he was a killer, unpredictable and cunning. Even the kumkis, trained to face wild elephants, seemed uneasy, their trunks twitching as if sensing the tension in the air.
As they reached a clearing, the rangers paused. One of them unpacked a drone, a sleek, four-rotor machine with a camera mounted beneath its frame. The drone whirred to life, its blades slicing through the stillness as it ascended into the sky. Ahanna tilted her head to follow its flight, watching as it disappeared above the treetops.
The operator adjusted the controls, his eyes glued to the tablet screen. “We’ll sweep a five-kilometer radius,” he said, his voice clipped with focus. “If Crybaby’s moving, we’ll see him.”
Rahul leaned over to glance at the screen, his expression unreadable. “That thing’s impressive. But what happens when the jungle canopy’s too thick?”
“We go old-school,” Ahanna said, gesturing toward the kumkis. “They’ll find him if the drones can’t.”
One of the kumkis let out a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to reverberate through the thick, humid air, almost as if it were agreeing with some unspoken thought. Its frame shifted slightly, its ears flapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm, and its trunk stretched forward, brushing against the foliage as if testing the path ahead. The bond between the elephants and their mahouts was almost tangible, an ancient partnership forged through years of trust, patience, and training. Each mahout leaned forward on his elephant’s broad back, murmuring commands so softly they seemed like prayers, their touch and tone enough to guide these gentle giants through the perilous jungle.
Above them, the cold, mechanical hum of a drone broke the natural symphony of the rainforest. Its metallic body glinted faintly in the filtered sunlight as it hovered, scanning the dense canopy and the shadowy ground below. The drone’s presence was a stark contrast to the living, breathing creatures below—an emblem of modernity in the heart of this primal wilderness. Yet, despite their differences, the ancient and the modern coexisted here out of necessity. The kumkis provided strength and instinct, capable of navigating treacherous terrain and confronting their own kind. The drone offered precision and a bird’s-eye view, a tireless sentinel that could track Crybaby where human eyes failed. Together, they compensated for each other’s limitations, a fragile yet effective balance of tradition and technology.
As the group pressed on, the trail beneath their feet narrowed, vanishing beneath a tangle of vines, roots, and overgrown shrubs. Each step felt heavier as the jungle seemed to close in around them, the towering trees forming a cathedral of green that blocked out the sun and muffled the sounds of the outside world. The air grew denser, the pervasive hum of nature filling every corner with the ceaseless calls of insects, the chatter of unseen birds, and the rustling of unseen creatures. The smell of damp earth and decaying leaves clung to them, mingling with the acrid tang of sweat.
Rahul slapped a mosquito off his neck with a sharp smack, muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking jungle,” he grumbled, the disdain in his voice cutting through the humid air, though he spoke to no one in particular. His shirt clung to his back, drenched and plastered to his skin, the relentless heat squeezing every ounce of discomfort out of him. He adjusted the straps of his backpack with a grunt, his movements deliberate. Only he knew how heavy the pack truly was—not just with supplies, but with the weight of what he was really carrying.
Raj, ever silent and watchful, stayed close to Rahul. His eyes darted restlessly between the dense trees, the undergrowth, and the path ahead. There was no telling when or where Crybaby might strike, and his nerves were taut as a wire. Every rustle in the leaves or snap of a twig seemed to draw his attention, his hand instinctively brushing against the holster of his tranquilizer gun. For all his quiet demeanor, there was an intensity in the way he moved—deliberate and ready, as though he expected the rogue elephant to explode out of the jungle at any moment.
Raj wasn’t like the others in the group, nor was Ahanna. Both had stared Crybaby’s fury in the face, and it had left its mark. Raj had been there when Crybaby demolished the police station—a whirlwind of rage and power that no man could stop. Ahanna had encountered the rogue elephant soon after, in the eerie stillness of the moonlit clearing behind the shaman’s hut, the weight of the animal’s presence lingering like a curse. The memory of those encounters stayed with them, as heavy as the jungle’s sticky, humid air.
Now, even surrounded by armed rangers, kumki elephants, and modern technology, neither Raj nor Ahanna felt assured. The elephants they relied on, magnificent as they were, were only half the size of Crybaby, and their training was no guarantee of protection. The tranquilizer guns and goads seemed like toys in the face of the rogue’s raw, unbridled power. They both knew that if Crybaby attacked, even this fully equipped and prepared company might not be enough to stop him.
Ahanna led the group with grim determination, her machete slicing through thick vines as they pushed deeper into Crybaby’s domain. Each step felt heavier, the air charged with an unspoken awareness—they were intruders, and the jungle, alive with its own rhythms, seemed to bristle at their presence.
“Distance to the last sighting?” she asked the ranger carrying the map, her machete flashing again.
“Two kilometers, give or take,” he replied. “But if Crybaby’s on the move, he could be anywhere by now.”
Ahanna’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t just a hunt—it was a desperate gamble. Crybaby had already circled the village, leaving destruction in his wake. If they didn’t intercept him here, he’d either double back or vanish deeper into the jungle, turning an already treacherous pursuit into a needle-in-a-haystack nightmare.
Ahead, one of the kumkis suddenly froze. Its trunk stretched forward, swaying in deliberate, jerky movements as it sniffed the air. A sharp splash broke the silence, water rippling as something bolted into the stream and disappeared. Ahanna’s eyes darted to the muddy surface. Mugger crocodiles thrived in these waters, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting.
The mahout on the kumki murmured softly, tapping its broad head with his goad. The elephant hesitated but eventually took a step forward, its unease palpable.
“What’s wrong with it?” Rahul asked, more curious than concerned.
Ahanna didn’t look back. “Keep moving,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. She couldn’t afford hesitation—not from the elephants, and not from her team.
As they crossed the stream, the larger kumki halted again, mid-step. Its massive foot hovered over the muddy bank before retreating. Its ears flapped once, deliberate and measured—a clear sign of unease. The mahout leaned forward, murmuring a melodic chant, his calm exterior betrayed by the stiffness in his posture.
The kumki rumbled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the air. It wasn’t aggression—it was warning, a deep signal of wariness that made Ahanna’s pulse quicken.
She raised a hand, halting the group, her machete dangling at her side as she scanned the dense foliage. The second kumki stirred uneasily, its trunk brushing the ground in short, searching movements. Even the seasoned rangers exchanged nervous glances, their usual composure fraying.
“What is it?” Ahanna asked, her voice low but firm.
The mahout stroked the elephant’s head, his eyes darting toward the shadowed undergrowth. “Might be the scent of another elephant,” he said cautiously. “Or it could be him.”
Ahanna’s stomach clenched. She didn’t need clarification—Crybaby’s reputation loomed over the group like a storm waiting to break. The rogue wasn’t just dangerous; he was a specter, a force that seemed to unsettle even these massive, battle-hardened kumkis.
“Crybaby,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension.
The group stiffened. The kumkis shifted, their movements slow and deliberate as if the name alone was enough to make them cautious.
Rahul adjusted his backpack, a wry grin tugging at his lips despite the tension in his shoulders. “Well,” he said, his voice dry, “this is where the fun begins.”
Ahanna ignored him, her focus locked ahead. The jungle had gone too quiet. No rustle of leaves, no hum of insects—just the heavy stillness of something watching, waiting.
“Let’s move,” she ordered.
The jungle closed in around them, oppressive and alive, as the group pushed forward. Every step felt heavier, tension wound tight like a coiled spring.
Without warning, the lead kumki halted, its sharp trumpet splitting the air. Suddenly the undergrowth exploded with movement. Branches snapped, and a massive shape emerged—a bull elephant, its tusks gleaming like curved blades in the dappled light.
“Contact!” a ranger shouted, raising his tranquilizer gun.
“Hold fire!” Ahanna snapped, her voice sharp but edged with urgency.
The group froze, weapons locked on the towering creature. The elephant stamped the ground, ears flaring wide as it let out another thunderous trumpet, the sound reverberating through the earth.
“Crybaby?” Rahul’s rifle was already halfway to his shoulder.
“No!” Raj shouted, raising his hands. “DON’T SHOOT! It’s not Crybaby. Look at the tusks—they’re too narrow. And it’s smaller. No scars on the head, either.”
Ahanna scanned the bull, her heart hammering in her chest. Raj was right. This wasn’t Crybaby. The bull was massive and imposing, but its movements were cautious, not aggressive. It wasn’t hunting them—it was startled.
“Stand down,” she ordered, forcing her voice steady.
The team hesitated, guns still raised. For a moment, everything felt like a powder keg about to ignite. Then the bull snorted, flapping its ears as if shaking off its fright. It stepped back into the foliage, dark eyes flicking between the humans before it.
Rahul shifted forward, his rifle aimed squarely at the bull’s head.
“Rahul, no!” Ahanna hissed, her hand tightening around her machete.
The elephant froze, sensing the threat. Rahul’s finger hovered on the trigger, his stance rigid.
“Not him,” Raj said, his voice low and steady. “Come on man, you know it’s not.”
For a heartbeat, Rahul didn’t move. Then, with a theatrical shrug, he lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. ““False alarm,” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
But Ahanna caught the flicker in his gaze—a flash of frustration and something darker, hungrier. Her stomach twisted.
The bull snorted again and lumbered away, vanishing into the dense undergrowth with a final crash.
Ahanna’s eyes lingered on Rahul as the group reformed. He adjusted his heavy pack with deliberate nonchalance, but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the restrained energy in his movements. He’d wanted to pull the trigger—not just on this elephant, but on any elephant.
Unease gnawed at Ahanna’s mind…
Crybaby wasn’t the only danger they had to face.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Please help!
Consider supporting me by making a small donation at “Buy me a coffee”, your support helps me write more books for you.
There are no differences between paid and free subscriptions on my Substack, except that warm fuzzy feeling, knowing that you are supporting an independent Author, and my gratitude 🤩
I pour my heart into writing, editing, and perfecting Crybaby each week to ensure you enjoy every chapter!
If the story is bringing you joy, show your support here…
Thank you for reading.
Your time and curiosity are truly appreciated. Stay tuned for more exciting content and stories.
Until next time!
All the best, Mark 🤩
P.S. Tell your friends…
Share 🎪 The Travelling Circus 🎪
Join us on future adventures! Subscribe for the latest projects, creative insights, and exclusive content…
Be the first to dive into upcoming releases, get behind-the-scenes access, and enjoy special treats.
Don't miss out—sign up now! Unlock a world of imagination, inspiration, and storytelling joy with every newsletter.
Thanks for being part of our journey—subscribe and let the enchantment continue!
EXCLUSIVE: Subscribe and enjoy the hilarious science fiction novel The First Mann On Mars and the new horror novel FOR SALE: ONE VAMPIRE…
