Ghost Flight

33

The black caiman – Melanosuchus niger – can grow to five metres in length, and weigh anything up to 400 kilos, so more than five times a man’s bodyweight. Immensely powerful, and with skin as thick as a rhino, they have no natural predators.

Hardly surprising, Jaeger reflected. He’d once heard the animal described as ‘a croc on steroids’, and they really didn’t come any bigger or more aggressive. Note to self, Jaeger thought: be wary.

Still, he reminded himself that the black caiman had relatively poor eyesight, mostly adapted for hunting in the dark. They could barely see underwater, and especially not in rivers as silt-laden as this one. They had to get their heads above the surface to attack – and that meant they made themselves visible.

More commonly, they used their sense of smell to guide them to their prey. For a moment, Jaeger checked where Narov had nicked him with her blade as he’d tried to parry her knife thrusts during their crazed freefall. The wound had long ago stopped bleeding, but it would be best to keep it out of the water.

In the absence of any alternative plan, he pressed on with the only one he had. He opened his rucksack and pulled out the canoe flotation bags. He emptied out the pack’s remaining contents and divided them between the two liners, so the weight was shared evenly.

Next he placed one of the liners inside his pack, inflated it, and closed it, folding the seal over twice and clipping it tight on to itself, before inflating and sealing shut the second liner.

Using the fastenings on his pack, he proceeded to strap it and the canoe liner together. He then took his and Narov’s weapons and tied a longish length of paracord to each, attaching the loose ends to the two corners of his makeshift flotation device with quick-release knots.

That way, if either weapon fell in, he’d be able to retrieve it again.

Next he selected a thick bamboo from a grove that grew near the water’s edge. He felled it with his machete, and cut the trunk into five-foot lengths. Using the sharp blade, he split two lengths of the bamboo in half, to make four cross poles. He then placed four lengths of whole bamboo in a row, lashed the cross struts to these with paracord, and tied it all together to make a simple frame, which in turn was roped to the flotation bags.

He dragged the makeshift raft into the shallows and sat astride it, testing for strength. It took his weight comfortably, floating high on the water, just as he’d intended. That done, he figured he was ready.

He had little doubt that it could manage Narov’s weight.

He moored the craft and paused to filter some water. It was always smart to keep your bottles full, especially with the amount he was sweating. Using the Katadyn, he sucked up dirty brown river water via the intake tube, the filter jetting clear, crisp liquid into his bottle. He drank as much as he could before refilling both bottles.

He was just finishing when a fatigued voice cut through the clammy heat: fragile; tight with pain; hoarse with exhaustion.

‘Boring, stupid… and half crazy.’ Narov had come to, and she’d been watching him test his raft. She gestured to it weakly. ‘No way do you get me on that. It is time to accept the inevitable and go on alone.’

Jaeger ignored the remark. He placed the weapons to either side of the craft, facing forwards, then returned to Narov, squatting down before her.

‘Captain Narov, your carriage awaits.’ He gestured at the makeshift raft. He could feel his guts twisting with the thought of what lay ahead, but he did his best to suppress it. ‘I’m going to carry you down and place you aboard. It’s reasonably stable, but try not to thrash about. And don’t knock the weapons overboard.’

He smiled at her encouragingly, but she could barely respond.

‘Correction,’ she whispered. ‘Not half crazy: clinically insane. But as you see, I am in no fit state to argue.’

Jaeger lifted her up. ‘That’s my girl.’

Narov scowled. She was clearly too finished to think of a suitable retort.

Jaeger laid her gently across the raft, warning her to keep her long legs well tucked in. She curled up into a foetal position, the craft sinking a good six inches under her weight, but still most of it remained above the surface.

They were good to go.

Jaeger waded into deeper water, pushing the raft ahead of him, thick mud squelching underfoot. The water felt lukewarm and oily with sediment. Every now and then his boot encountered a lump of rotting vegetation – most likely a tree branch – embedded in the heavy silt. As he clambered over them, they threw up long lines of bubbles – gases from their decay rushing to the surface.

When the water was up to chest height, Jaeger kicked off. The current was stronger than he’d expected, and he didn’t doubt that they’d be carried fast downstream. But it was what lurked in the water that made him so keen to get the river crossing over with.