Authors: Jack Challis
The man-eater’s torpor quickly turns to concentrated intent – its yellow, unblinking orbs blaze, its body freezes, ears flattened back!
Lacy splashes in the shallows for a while, surveying the river. The Rio Negro at this point is just eighty metres wide but full of powerful, deep, white water. Lacy bends down and fills his canteen.
This is just the chance the man-eater is waiting for. Belly to ground and using every bit of cover available, it moves forward, shoulders rising and falling.
Lacy drinks from his water-bottle and rolls a fag. ‘Fuck this for a lark!’ he says to himself. He decides to find an easier crossing downstream. Then some primeval instinct humans have buried dormant in their distant minds concerning big dangerous cats, kicks in. Turning – he looks straight into the yellow, hungry orbs of the man-eater. The man-eater stopped its forward movement the very moment Lacy turns and looks straight into its eyes. It is just six metres away – springing distance!
The paper and tobacco drop from Lacy’s hands. ‘Gordon Bennett!’ Lacy exclaims. He is cornered – the river at his back!
Both man-eater and victim freeze. Lacy finds it extremely difficult holding the big cat’s intent, unblinking stare. He feels paralysed by terror – there are no bars separating him from the crouching jaguar! The jaguar, on the other hand, just waits for movement!
The sharp-bladed entrenching tool lies at Lacy’s feet. To bend down and pick it up he instinctively knows would trigger an attack! Two things begin to deeply concern the newly-badged SAS trooper. He knows his high, excessive heart rate can make him pass out with fear at any time! Lastly, Lacy does not have the courage to continue looking down into those unblinking, malevolent, yellow eyes with their pin-head pupils. The big cats intent, unblinking stare is totally unnerving him!
Fear alone dictates he does something! Lacy’s frivolous brain, whose main priorities are tarts, tits, tall tales, thieving and getting rat-arsed on strong lager with rum chasers, kicks into gear. Lacy slowly begins backing into the river. The man-eater does not allow the distance between them to increase, slowly creeping forward.
Once into thigh-deep water, Jack Lacy begins leaning backwards against the strong current, stopping him being swept off his feet. He never once takes his eyes off the crouching man-eater (a wise move when dealing with any big cat!).
If Lacy had studied his jungle manual more thoroughly, he might have learnt jaguars are excellent swimmers! Although never a good marine or SAS trooper, Jack Lacy excels in his fitness; running, swimming and marksmanship are his forte.
Once the water is hip-high, Lacy plunges in. He is lucky his Bergen now only holds the money and a spare ration pack, pre-wrapped in waterproofing. Even so, he struggles to save himself from drowning. ‘One thing for sure,’ he comforts himself, ‘no predators will enter or be waiting in such powerful white water!’
Even the man-eating jaguar, normally at home in the water, hesitates; such powerful white water is not to its taste. It paces up and down the bank, intently watching Lacy – unable to make its feline mind up.
Utterly exhausted, Lacy crawls up the opposite bank. Turning, he looks back at the big cat on the far bank. It is still pacing left to right in frustration. Lacy grins - a grin that soon fades!
Finally, the hungry man-eater cannot bear to see its victim escaping and plunges into the river! Lacy watches, horrified, for a few seconds spellbound, as the big cat struggles against the current. He has roughly another two kilometres to go before he reaches the burial site of Jim Kane. He then has to dig up the grave and arm himself with Kane’s rifle. He will now have to do this with his bare hands, to retrieve the rifle and ammunition buried with Kane’s rotting cadaver–his entrenching tool remains on the far bank of the Rio Negro!
The race is on! Lacy takes a quick look at his compass – another look back at the man-eater – who is now a third of the way across the river. Though struggling, the big cat’s eyes are still firmly fixed on him!
Lacy takes a deep breath and runs into the jungle. A kilometre further on he stops, exhausted from his exertions, his stamina weakened by the loss of blood to the coven of feasting vampire bats.
Gasping for air, Lacy stops and looks behind him. There is no sign of the man-eater. Lacy continues at a slow jog.
Half an hour later, he reaches the rough shallow grave of Sergeant Kane. Throwing off his Bergen, he collapses by the grave, totally exhausted, after checking behind him for the man-eater. There is still no sign of the big cat. ‘Maybe it hasn’t made the crossing?’ Relief spreads over his face – but only for a brief moment.
The screeching of the monkeys in the distance warns him of something approaching, something dangerous! Lacy frantically begins to dig at the shallow grave with his bare hands, exposing the headless corpse of Sergeant Kane! He recoils from the sight of his former sergeant; the man who saved his life during his interrogation ordeal at the hands of Frank Dublin.
Lacy pushes the rotting cadaver away from him in disgust. The screeching of the monkeys draws nearer – as the simians follow and bait a predator – Lacy’s digging actions become frantic! He finally finds the rifle – then searches desperately for the cartridges – casting quick glances in the direction of the screeching monkeys….he only finds one cartridge! Working the bolt of the rifle, he frantically clears it of filth and soil. The disturbance in the distance grows noisier and nearer!
Panic-stricken, Lacy rams home the one cartridge with the bolt and turns just as the man-eater springs!
Remembering Dublin’s advice, Lacy fires – the bullet enters the chest of the man-eater, just missing the heart, and exits through the lower spine smashing it!
The man-eater’s back-legs are crippled. But to Lacy’s horror, this does not prevent the carnivore from trying to reach him by pulling itself forward – using only its forelegs!
Lacy frantically searches blindly in the messy grave for more ammunition; he finds a whole clip and rams it home. Three rounds in quick succession slam into the man-eater – it falls dead only a few feet from him. The ex-marine stares at the quivering cat as its intent, glowing, yellow orbs dim with its last breath. ‘Well, fuck me gently!’ he exclaims, picking up his Bergen and leaving the scene – with just a quick, backward glance.
Lacy heads for the pool where he had nearly become the victim of the lurking anaconda. All that is left of the giant snake now is its white skeleton that gleams with a fluorescent glow in the fading light of day. Washing himself of the grave’s stench and mess, Lacy climbs into the overhanging tree that shrouds the pool – his shelter for the night.
The next morning, after a long lie-in, Lacy descends from the tree, refreshed, feeling safer now, armed with a rifle. Only an eight kilometre march lies ahead. Within an hour, Lacy will reach the red-dirt jungle road that leads to the small town of Villas Santos.
The ex-marine is in high spirits. Lady Luck has sat astride his neck throughout this operation with just one exception, while she has taken the lives of better men!
“Well, Jack me lad,’ says Lacy to himself, ‘you have nearly cracked it. A quick call on the ‘dog and bone’ to my Sally – we can start a new life – fuck this for a game of soldiers!
Jack Lacy thinks of the tales he can now tell his Sally. This time he will not need to add a dash of bullshit. He knows Sally takes his stories with a pinch of sea salt – and with good reason! At least his stories make her laugh and hurt no one. He is an ex-marine after all, full of bullshit – so what? Bullshit is just another word for poetic licence!
Lacy begins to ponder. Should he keep the one million? He is a tea-leaf by nature anyway – the others have a much larger amount of money to share – if they can find it!
He thinks of the Irishman, Frank Dublin – have the Yanks managed to kill him? The soft-hearted Lacy has forgiven Dublin for trying to kill him during Interrogation: he is still unaware that Dublin has tried to kill him again recently – in Chevez’s hut!
Lacy still feels the temptation to get rat-arsed – followed by a quick Donald in the local knocking-shop. He grins from ear to ear at the thought. For he is still a Jolly Jack Tar ashore at heart.
Earlier that same morning, while Lacy was still sleeping in the big tree over the pool, Chevez and Maria had tracked him to the banks of the Rio Negro. But the jungle-wise couple do not instantly expose themselves on the open and potentially dangerous river-bank. After carefully checking for danger, they continue forward. While Chevez is watching the opposite bank, Maria checks Lacy’s tracks.
‘Chevez!’ Maria calls out, ‘look! Manus Xingue was here yesterday!’ Chevez looks at the large pugmarks of the man-eater. ‘It’s the man-eating jaguar,’ says Chevez, ‘not Manus Xingue!’
‘No,’ answers Maria, ‘it is Manus Xingue’s jaguar spirit!’ Chevez looks up at the heavens in exasperation at his wife’s superstitious, Kier Verde culture – even though Maria has recently converted to his faith.
‘The current is too strong here,’ Chevez says, changing the subject. ‘We can cross downstream and pick up the tracks on the other side – we must hurry!’
Chevez and Maria cross the Rio Negro the next morning following Lacy’s tracks, soon reaching the site of Sgt Kane’s disturbed grave, a few minutes before Lacy wakes and washes his face in the gurgling pool under the big tree, beginning his final journey to Villas Santos.
Chevez and Maria cross themselves at the horrific sight of Sgt Kane’s headless, maggot-ridden body. Chevez immediately checks the dead man-eater. ‘Here is your dead, evil spirit of Manus Xingue,’ says Chevez, with satisfaction. The jaguar was killed yesterday. Soon you will see Manus Xingue – the human – also dead!’
Maria stares at Chevez, hand on hips. ‘Chevez, sometimes I think you are stupid – when the body dies the spirit leaves. Father Pedro told me this. You were there – are you also deaf, as well as stupid?’ Chevez shuffles uncomfortably under his wife’s glare but does not argue.
‘Let us leave this place – we are now near the road to Villas Santos,’ says Chevez.
A short distance ahead, Jack Lacy swaggers along the red-dirt road leading to Villas Santos – and safety. Lacy is smiling at the thought of coming pleasures, his resolution soon forgotten. Suddenly a practical thought occurs in his un-practical brain. He is carrying a million dollars and Dublin’s escape-belt full of gold sovereigns – what if he is mugged!
Lacy has been mugged before, usually when well-pissed and with empty pockets. However, when sober and solvent – it would take an Olympic sprinter or a marathon runner to catch him! Getting drunk or visiting a knocking-shop is not a good idea, he knows!
Lacy’s thoughts are interrupted – when he hears a familiar, faint, whistling sound behind him – the sound appears to be getting louder! He had heard this sound only recently – it spells danger – but too late!
Before he can turn, a long, barbed arrow pierces his back and protrudes through his breast-bone! With a gasp and a shocked look on his face, Jack Lacy sinks to his knees, clutching the shaft of the arrow and gasps the classic soldier’s ‘Fuck me!!’
A short, squat shadow of a man falls across Lacy’s kneeling body; the gruesome one-eyed face of the grinning Manus Xingue in full jaguar head-dress, leans over the young, kneeling SAS trooper. Manus Xingue admiringly runs his fingers through Lacy’s blond hair; this action is enough to make Lacy keel over! Manus Xingue draws his machete and raises it above his head. The evil Shaman of the Cat-people is starting a new collection of rare, shrunken heads – blonds and red-heads with blue eyes!
A minute earlier, Chevez and Maria had caught up. They watch Jack Lacy swagger down the track leading to Villa Santos and smile. They are pleased the young, naive, soft-hearted SAS trooper has made it to safety. Their pleasure is short-lived. They see their likeable benefactor stop – and sink to his knees! Chevez and Maria are puzzled initially – until they see a jaguar that walks on two legs emerge from the jungle and approach the stricken SAS trooper – the jaguar is carrying a machete in its hand!
‘The jaguar that walks on two legs!’ Maria exclaims. ‘Shoot, Chevez, shoot! It is the evil Shape-shifter – Manus Xingue!
‘The range is too great!’ Chevez replies, moving forward.
‘Shoot – shoot – now!’ Maria commands. ‘Frighten the Cat-spirit – it will run away!’
Chevez takes careful aim, raises his rifle barrel an inch to compensate for the distance, and fires.
Manus Xingue is about to bring the blade down on Jack Lacy’s neck when Chevez’s bullet strikes him in the back – before he hears the rifle’s report. The evil Shaman of the Cat-People lurches forward at the impact of the semi-spent bullet as it penetrates his back.
Turning, Manus Xingue sees Chevez running towards him to lessen the range. Dropping his machete, the Cat-man tries to gain the protection of the jungle – but too late! Manus Xingue, the Cat-man, hears Chevez work the bolt of his rifle and ram another round home into the breech!
Manus Xingue stops his flight – and faces his executioner – without fear.
Chevez takes careful aim and squeezes the trigger – only to hear a sharp click as the hammer falls on a dud detonator of the home-loaded bullet! With a grin, Manus Xingue calmly walks into the jungle and out of sight! Chevez tries frantically to eject the dud round and reload.
Maria runs to the stricken Jack Lacy. Chevez manages to eject the dud cartridge and quickly follows the wounded Cat-man. Entering the jungle, Chevez follows the heavy blood-trail of the Cat-man with great caution.
After fifty metres - Manus Xingue’s footprints disappear - and are replaced by the pugmarks of a large male jaguar! Chevez stops in his tracks!
‘Is it possible Maria was right? Is Manus Xingue a shape-shifter with a jaguar spirit?’ Chevez crosses himself! He begins to slowly back off, fear now overwhelming revenge. Quickly turning, he retraces his steps to the red-dirt road with many nervous backward glances and rejoins Maria.
‘Help me sit him up,’ Maria orders.
‘He is dead!’ Chevez answers. ‘We must go – I could not find Manus Xingue–he is still near, maybe watching – this place is dangerous for us!’