Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

Another chimera. This one a vile perversion of nature.

The twin tentacles shook with tension and then sprang from the reptile’s mouth. Part of Hawkins’s mind registered seeing the flesh stretch out toward Drake, but then he had his arms locked with Drake’s and yanked.

A loud slap filled the air as Hawkins pulled Drake beyond the waterline. The two men began to fall back but stopped halfway to the ground. Hawkins looked into Drake’s eyes and for the first time saw fear. Then he saw why. Drake’s right leg was being lifted off the ground. There was a tug and Hawkins was pulled upright.

Hawkins looked over Drake’s shoulder. The croc sat in the river, its yellow eyes locked on Drake. Two long, pale tentacles as thick as Hawkins’s forearm stretched between the crocodile’s mouth and Drake’s leg. The two tentacle clubs were stuck to Drake’s calf. And if they were anything like actual squid tentacles, they’d have buried rows of sharp hooks into the meat of Drake’s leg.

And then, it pulled.

Hard.

“Bray!” Hawkins shouted as he felt himself lean forward.

The big man was there in an instant. Bray wrapped his arms around Hawkins’s waist, locked his hands together, and fell back. The extra two hundred-plus pounds had an immediate effect. The three men once again began to fall back toward shore, but Bray’s back never hit the ground. They were held at an angle, frozen in midair, as though by some kind of magnetic force.

With the tug-of-war at a momentary standstill, Hawkins searched for a solution.

Joliet was one step ahead of him.

The report from the rifle ripped through the jungle like thunder. The sudden sound was so loud that everyone, including the crocodile, flinched.

“I hit it, but I don’t think it’s hurt!” Joliet said, sounding out of breath. “Most of the body is under water.” She pulled the rifle lever down, expelling the spent round and chambering another.

The second shot had little effect on the men. They were expecting it. But the crocodile lurched away from the sound. The sudden tug pulled Hawkins and Bray upright again.

The tug-of-war was about to become a no-contest event. The tentacles were strong enough to pull a lone man off his feet, but had trouble with two, and reached a stalemate with three. But flinching from the gunfire had revealed the predator’s ace up its sleeve. With the limbs stretched to their maximum range, all the crocodile had to do was move backward. Three men couldn’t compete with eighteen feet of prehistoric muscle.

Drake shouted in pain as the croc pulled and the men dug their feet in and leaned back.

Hawkins nearly cried out in pain, too. Drake’s huge hands were crushing his wrists.

“Hawkins,” Drake said through gritted teeth. “Let me go.”

“Not a chance,” Hawkins said.

“It will kill us all.” Drake’s grip loosened.

There was no way in hell Hawkins would let go of Drake. Even if it was the right thing to do, he couldn’t. Howie’s advice returned in a flash. “When you have no choice,” Howie had said. “When flight is impossible. Turn and fight. Attack . Strike hard and you will survive. Hold back and you’ll be lunch.” Hawkins had incorrectly applied that advice in the past, but now seemed the perfect example of when to heed it.

The problem was that to be aggressive in this situation meant letting go of Drake. He had no doubt that if he let go, Drake would be pulled into the croc’s jaws before he could do anything about it.

At the moment, they were in Joliet’s hands.

“Aim for the tentacles!” Hawkins said.

The shot echoed off the cliff. Then a fourth. And a fifth.

“I can’t hit it!” Joliet shouted. She stood just short of the water. The croc’s tentacles were close enough that she could have nearly placed the barrel against one of them, but the crocodile had begun to thrash, yanking its limbs—and Drake’s leg—back and forth. Shooting Drake along with the monster was a very real possibility.

An idea, as crazy as it was stupid, came to Hawkins. But he didn’t see any other choice and his feet were now in a half foot of water to the side of the submerged concrete bridge. Drake was even deeper. In a moment, the crocodile would be able to reverse course and quickly catch them.

A tearing sound preceded a sharp scream from Drake. A portion of the large, tentacle clubs had come free, but left a series of open puncture wounds in their wake. Blood oozed from the line of holes.

Drake’s grip loosened. “Let go.”

Hawkins ignored him. “Bray, when I say, let go of both of us.”

“But—”

“Just do it!”

Crack! Another shot. Another miss.

Hawkins let go of Drake with his right hand and reached down for his hunting knife, sheathed on his belt. The strain on his left arm quickly became unbearable, but at least Drake, who had seen him go for the knife, held on with both hands. With his shoulder feeling like it was about to be popped from its socket, Hawkins shouted, “Bray, now!”

Bray unlocked his arms and opened them. The result was something like the freeing of a catapult arm. Drake and Hawkins were suddenly airborne. But they were far from helpless. As the croc pulled them in, Drake and Hawkins pulled, as well. The combination of forces acted like the classic roller derby slingshot, propelling Hawkins over Drake.

As Hawkins overtook Drake, he looked down and saw the tentacles attached to Drake’s leg. He also saw the large jaws and twitching beak awaiting them. In fact, he was now poised to enter the monster’s jaws before Drake, and headfirst.

Joliet’s fear-filled voice shouted from shore. “Mark!”

Hawkins took careful aim and swung out with the knife. He felt a gentle tug on the blade, but the sharp metal had no trouble slicing through the soft squid flesh. A deep red, two-inch-deep wound opened up on one of the limbs and then began to tear.

Both tentacles instantly released and shot back into the croc’s mouth as it thrashed and sped away. While apex predators like the crocodile—and squid—are essentially killing machines, they’re also terribly fearful of injury.

Without the limbs pulling them, gravity became the dominant force. Hawkins and Drake plunged into the river. Hawkins surfaced a few feet beyond the concrete bridge. Drake came up next to him. Without asking if the man was all right, Hawkins shoved him toward the bridge, where Bray waited to pull them out. The current was strong, but they could move against it. Slowly.

Bray caught hold of Drake’s hand and pulled him onto the bridge.

“Go!” Hawkins shouted, nearly at the bridge. He got his hands on top of the bridge and began pulling himself up while the other two men ran to shore. He heaved on shaky arms, fighting the swifter current flowing over the bridge, and pulled himself halfway up.

Crack! The rifle shot startled him more than before and he nearly fell back in. But Joliet’s next words spurred him forward. “It’s coming back!”

With a quick glance back, Hawkins saw a large, triangular head closing the distance.

Crack! A geyser of water erupted next to the croc.

There was no time for Hawkins to climb atop the bridge and flee to shore. At best, he’d wind up in the same situation as Drake. At worst, he’d be plucked from the bridge and eaten. He’d injured one of the tentacles, so the crocodile might not use its long-range weapon, but the giant reptile wouldn’t have much trouble snatching him from the bridge old-school croc style. If it worked on zebras, it would work on a man.

So instead of standing and making himself a larger target, he slipped over the top of the concrete bridge and pushed himself into the waterfall’s basin. Partly concealed in mist, he turned around and shouted. Massive jaws snapped closed and stopped just short of his face. The crocodile had bitten the bridge. As the croc let go and moved back, Hawkins fled in the only direction left available to him.