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Apex Predator

by Joey Schiavo

By Joey SchiavoPublished 2 years ago 14 min read
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Apex Predator
Photo by Justin Clark on Unsplash

Streams of perspiration flowed down Cassian’s brow like the rapids of Chilko River in British Columbia, where he had successfully tracked and killed his first wolf with his father at the age of seven. The taste of salt filled his mouth as pools of sweat collected underneath his vest.

The men sat in silence in a canoe trying to keep their movements to a bare minimum. The air was thick and suffocating as they drew each breath. Their blood began to boil in their veins. Cassian wanted to pant though it would cause his body to overheat and die. It was important for him to use each calorie from his last meal sparingly for the next 48 hours if he wanted to come back to civilization safely.

Zhu was unbothered by the jungle’s dense air and heat. He spent most of his life in a small village located in China just north of Vietnam where the environment was strikingly similar to Laos. The light bounced off the sleeping surface of the water, creating a mirrored image of the rainforest that rested on both sides of the river. Zhu was able to preserve the beauty of the image using a paddle with the calculated precision of an unmatched surgeon. The water continued to remain motionless after each stroke.

Zhu’s control over the environment seemed to challenge Cassian who was used to the planet’s extreme climates though he had never ventured into the southeastern regions of Asia. The boiling blood in Cassian’s brain was starting to fight with his rational train of thought diminishing his last shred of patience. In the midst of lost temperament, Cassian decided to break the silence that was distancing between him and Zhu.

“How come you’re so quiet my friend?”

“I’m not too fond of men such as yourself.” Zhu replied. “You kill for sport and disturb the peace that exists within the land.” At that moment, Cassian wanted to remove Zhu’s throat from his neck. Cassian would have no problem achieving this as he was a man of great statue. He was at the brink of 54 years old, built like a tank and could easily crush any part of another man’s body within his grasp.

Not only was Cassian strong, he was also drenched in wealth. His wealth was passed down from his mother’s ancestors who had built and owned one of the most profitable railroad transports during the 19th century. Cassian sought no interest in his family’s affairs except for his father who fought in Vietnam, where he was killed in action. Following in his father’s footsteps, Cassian decided to enlist in the military at the age of 24. Cassian served 18 years in the military and successfully completed five tours in Afghanistan as a marine, learning and mastering the art of death and destruction. But it was his father who had introduced him to the idea of hunting for sport when he was a young boy.

Cassian hired Zhu to take him south of Laos down the Mekong River so he could hunt down an Indochinese tiger. The specimen would make an exceptional part of Cassian’s exotic collection of trophies that lay away at rest within his study. He hunted animals that were both legal and illegal to hunt, each killed from a different corner of the globe.

Zhu, however, was growing old and weak. He dwarfed in comparison to the average man making Cassian’s features appear almost comical. Cassian snarled, “You don’t seem to have a problem taking my money.” “If I don’t take your money, my family will starve.” Zhu was right. He and his family had been on the verge of starvation as though they were hanging on the edge of a cliff with oiled hands.

In his experience, Zhu had learned to recognize people’s intentions by reading their body language. He had known from the moment he introduced himself to Cassian that he was a man who identified as a warrior, who needed to measure his worth in the amount of blood that he had spilled. Zhu also took notice of Cassian’s pride, the pride of a man who disturbed and conquered new lands by instilling fear into the souls of those who inhabit it. The look in Cassian’s eye spelled out a desire to dominate and kill just for the sake of expanding his pride. Cassian was a man who was not reluctant to dismiss any measure or opportunity to prove his self-worth, despite the extremity.

Cassian decided not to respond to Zhu’s justification. Although Cassian could be hot-tempered, he knew better than to waste his energy arguing whenever it was unnecessary. He perched his back upright with his bolt-action hunting rifle resting on his lap. The canoe continued down the river as the two men watched the sun start to rise above the horizon, painting a fiery red glow above the trees and mountains that looked down upon them.

The morning air was moist and rich, spreading the refined smell of spoiled vegetation with a hint of decay. Birds sang their songs of tranquility and beauty from atop the canopy, reminding the jungle that it was time to wake from its slumber. Creatures of all sorts crept and crawled all along the rainforest floor leaving their signatures imprinted in the mud. The rainforest was as lively as any organism which inhabited it. It was breathing, watching, and listening to the rhythmic sounds of prosperity daring for something to disrupt its rhythm.

Mud rushed overtop Cassian’s boots as he stepped out of the canoe allowing gravity to sink his feet deep into the forest floor. He tossed his rifle around his shoulder and removed a .357 magnum tucked inside a leather holster, strapped on the right side of his hip to determine if it was the correct weight. In Cassian’s hands, the Colt was calm and tamed but it could easily kick a shooter right off its back like a wild horse if they did not know how to wield it properly. His father had previously owned the gun and decided to hand it down to Cassian before leaving to fight in Vietnam. The Colt was Cassian’s most prized possession as it was not only a rare and exquisite firearm to own, it was also his rite of passage.

Cassian turned to Zhu, who was looking at Cassian from the canoe, “Are you coming?” “I have no business treading into these jungles.” Zhu’s answer did not seem to faze Cassian one bit. His ventures were oftentimes dangerous and unlawful especially this one. “Chickenshit.” Cassian whispered.

“I’ll be here waiting. If you don’t come back in 24 hours, I’ll be gone.” It was as if the word stuck in Cassian’s mind with a polystyrene glue. “Gone? What the hell do you mean gone?” Cassian asked. “It’s not wise to stay out here for too long. I’ve heard stories. The jungle is not to be disturbed.”

“Or else what?”

“It will consume you”

Cassian placed his Colt Python back into its holster and directed his nose east of Zhu and followed the echoing sounds of water gravitating down from cliff tops. His goal was to find a small body of water that was hidden deep within the rainforest. There would be slim chance he would find the Indochinese tiger thirsting alongside the Mekong River, where it can be easily spotted. Cassian knew that the tiger needed to avoid detection from its prey by concealing its vibrant orange coat, which contrasted with the lime flora of the jungle.

Cassian pursued onward, tuning his ears towards the echoes of falling water as they grew louder and louder. The only sound that seemed to overwhelm the echoes of the distant water were the sounds of the jungle’s laughter. It was laughing and staring at him, waiting for the right moment to consume and digest him. The thought of Zhu’s warning then pierced his mind. He hadn’t been afraid of being consumed by the jungle because he had expected it to start aggressing against him at some point.

Cassian found pleasure in combating the aggressing forces of nature while hunting, but he found it unusual that the jungle remained mostly silent and calming to an uncomfortable degree. It was giving Cassian a sinister vibration as though a stranger had been watching him through his bedroom window without making a sound. More unwanted thoughts followed, haunting him as he traveled. The foreign sights reminded him of the stories he had heard about his father and his platoon during the wartime in Vietnam. He saw soldiers starting fires that ate away at the trees and bushes. In retaliation, the jungle fought back as thick leaves sank their edges into flesh.

Cassian could hear gunfire, the screaming and crying of men, women, and children as they tried to escape the wrath of hell fire with their entrails hanging out from their bodies. It was similar to his own experiences with the blood-stained sand in Afghanistan . Oh yes, he thought, the world can be a ruthless place, showing no signs of mercy to those who are not careful enough.

Cassian’s clothes nearly tripled in weight from the accumulating sweat caught within the fibers. The hue of his clothes was shades darker than usual. He wiped his arm against his forehead and leaned his rifle against a tree trunk to remove his vest and shirt. His eyes traced the escaping sweat within his shirt as he twisted it between his fists. When his eyes reached the forest floor, he took notice of the terrain’s shape.

A puddle about the size of Cassian’s hand was throwing sweat upward. Above the puddle there were four more smaller indentations that had been paired with a matching print. Cassian’s eyes fixed onto the prints. He saw a trail of identical prints punched into the dirt, distancing themselves about eight feet apart from of one another. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped his shirt, gripped his rifle, and started to put one foot above the other with caution.

Cassian pushed the leaves away from his face as he followed the trail of prints to a spring. The spring looked as if it belonged in a collection of snapshots composed by an award-winning geographical photographer. Flowers smiled all along the pond showing off the vibrant colors that were proudly displayed on their petals. The air was filled with sweet perfumes and mist hovering atop the pacifying water. Soothing notes of radiance were strung by a waterfall east.

The trail of prints left the earth as it touched the rim of the pond. Across the water Cassian could see bushes swaying back and forth, however there was no wind. Cassian lowered his upper body and began lifting his heels so he could sink his feet back into his own tracks. It took him about eight steps backwards until he reached a spot where his squared features were completely masked by the lumbering foliage. Gradually, he continued lowering his body until his buttocks made contact with the ground.

The end of rifle was aimed towards the dancing bushes on the other side of the pond. Cassian then planted his left elbow into his leg before peering down through the eyepiece of the rifle’s scope. Tension grew in Cassian’s heart as it pounded on the batter head of a drum with immense force. Magnifying shades of orange and green were showcased inside the eyepiece of the scope. The ruffling leaves expressed their vivid green tints with clarity in the foreground of the eyepiece, attempting to blind Cassian as he tried to focus his attention on the darker tones.

Beyond the leaves, Cassian saw a figure containing the coolness of orange disguising itself underneath the shadows of the bushes. The figure was moving. Cassian identified it as a face that belonged to a wild cat. He adjusted the crosshairs inside his scope onto the cat before wrapping his index finger around the rifle’s trigger. Oxygen raced up Cassian’s nostrils, down towards the bottom of his lungs quieting the beating of his heart.

A smirk formed on Cassian’s face as he brought the trigger closer to his body. The trigger was no more than a millimeter away from releasing the firing pin before his right ear picked up a snapping echo. Cassian removed his eye from the scope and turned his head over to the right. Snaking on the forest floor was an emerald green tail that belonged to a reptile of some sort. The tail slithered away, drawing itself back behind a thicket of bushes.

Cassian commanded his eye back through the scope. The tiger was gone leaving nothing but a specter of orange light. In a fit of rage, Cassian sprung up as his face swelled with defeat. All of a sudden, he could feel something sucking in the jungle’s moist vapor from the left side of his face. Cassian slowly shifted his chin over his left shoulder and noticed a set of yellowing eyes that locked onto him with immense hunger. The head belonged to a large quadrupedal reptile that towered four feet above Cassian as it revealed itself from the vegetation. Two front legs, each armed with ripping claws, held its body upward exposing its pearl underside. It had dinosaur-like features and looked as though it belonged to some begotten era of prehistory. A sprawling pink tongue reached out and flickered to taste the particles that were scattered throughout the air.

Its jaws started to separate gradually exposing a single row of slightly arching teeth that were pointed like sharp hypodermic needles. The animal withdrew the air from its lungs releasing a quaking hiss within its chest cavity rupturing Cassian’s ears. Simultaneously, it erected tall spines from the base of the skull down to its whipping tail in an awesome display of dominance.

Cassian’s brain was dialing a surge of signals throughout his body telling him to run. Yet his body remained frozen in place like a captured memory inside a polaroid photograph. He became wary of the danger that was anticipating a single precipitous movement. The reptile’s head was reinforced with a neck that was coiled, built and powered like an excavator with white stripes traveling alongside the reptile’s body. If Cassian made so much as a blink the animal would strike, unleashing the potential power stored in the bulking musculature of its neck. He was well familiar with the expeditious speed at which reptiles used to capture their prey. They did not rely on intelligence to survive, rather they relied on pure impulsivity.

Cassian’s lips parted and his nose creased as the stench of rotting flesh washed over his face. It took only a split second before Cassian’s knees quivered as fear began trickling down his spine. The same fear plagued the soldiers in his father’s platoon after an unexpected ambush from Charlie, leaving behind the uncertainty of their own fate. He now realized what Zhu had meant when he had used the word gone. Zhu would be gone without sparing an extra though to come and rescue Cassian from the unforgiving jungle. In a passing moment, Cassian too would be gone just as his father.

Cassian’s only option was to fight and hope that he would be able to land a fatal shot using his rifle. In a desperate attempt to free himself from the reptile’s trap, he swung the weight of his body in one shifting maneuver to align the rifle with the animal. Instantaneously the reptile launched its thick skull towards him briskly like a boa constrictor, hammering Cassian on the ground. The rifle fired breaking the sound barrier with a shattering noise alarming the creatures living in a half mile radius to flee.

Slicing through layers of leaves passed the rainforest canopy was the round which had missed its mark. The animal embedded its perforating teeth into Cassian’s right thigh stripping away muscle tissue with ease exposing the clean white bone underneath. Cassian let out a howl as pain coursed throughout his leg like a swelling fire. A mixture of dribbling blood and saliva swayed from the animal’s snout as its head narrowed allowing the flesh to slide down its throat.

Scuffling in horror, Cassian placed his palm over his Colt in one final attempt to preserve his life. It was gliding over the Colt’s blued metal repeatedly unable to seize a firm grip. Cassian’s eyes broadened as the gazing reptile plunged back down towards him with its gapping jaw. He then pressed his thumb across the checkered surface of the Colt’s hammer latching it into a secure position. He removed the Colt forthwith from his holster and thrusted it into the descending jaws of the animal, applying the pressure needed to successfully squeeze the trigger.

A haze of smoke broke out from the reptile’s skull followed by the burning odor of sulfur and potassium nitrate which filled the air. Speckling blood showered over the jungle leaves as the lifeless body of the colossal animal tumbled onto its side. Cassian sprawled in relief surrendering to the weight of his Colt which his feeble arm could no longer bear. It was only a matter of time before he would be unable to feel the subduing heat of the jungle. The colors in his face were paling and flushed just as well as the comforting warmth of his body temperature.

Cassian’s mouth was parching, hoping to get a taste of the nearby spring’s appeasing fresh water. He rallied enough strength to turn his backside up and began to drag himself through the mud using his arms. Before he was able to reach the spring, he felt the coercing pressure of force splitting his neck in two. The last thing that Cassian saw was a flash of orange light that emerged from his peripheral before his conscious slipped into a dark oblivion.

Horror
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About the Creator

Joey Schiavo

Majored in Criminology and minored in Psychology from Florida State University. Background in fine arts and was accredited with a gold national medal from the Scholastics company for my works as an artist.

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