The Primeval World

THE ELEPHANT SLAYER-4

I guess I don’t know what I expected when Genghis—having paused outside the vehicle’s windows to sniff at the crisp air—leapt forward suddenly and vanished into the gloom. I suppose I was expecting the same result as the last twenty times he’d done this; which was nothing (although he had, at one point, emerged with a dead possum in his mouth). What I was not expecting was the wooly mountain that emerged—with Genghis clinging to its back—a thing easily the size of an industrial dump truck; which thundered past us on our left even as Eska pressed the knife to my throat and Carter readied his rifle—indeed, even as I put the Jeep into gear and prayed, having already been nicked once, that I wouldn’t displease her, the f*****g driving critic, again.

“Very well, Mr. Hayes—that’s it,” said Carter, aiming his rifle—a .460 caliber Weatherby Mark V he’d been droning on about since we left—squinting into its scope. “Now draw alongside—that’s right. Step on the gas.”

I stepped on the gas, disturbed by the lack of visibility—the lack of road—terrified we might plummet into a ditch (or even a chasm), knowing I had to do something—anything—to stop the madness.

“Faster, Mr. Hayes,” he persisted, as the Jeep bounced and jolted and he struggled to maintain his aim. “Faster, damn you! Align us with her head. Quickly, or we’ll lose them both.”

I went faster—the great mammoth thundering along beside us as Genghis tore at her flank and the snow continued to fly; as Eska held the knife to my throat; and, due to the truck’s jouncing, nicked me again and again.

At last I shouted: “You don’t have to do this, Eska—all right? Can you understand that? You don’t have to do what he says. Nobody does. Listen to me.”

I stared at her through the rearview mirror: at her strange, dark eyes and sharply-chiseled features; at her tangles of black hair and large, uneven teeth, until she diverted her attention back to Carter, who was focused, exclusively now, on the stampeding elephant—and appeared almost to ask his permission.

“Ah, don’t worry about him,” I said, re-concentrating on my driving. “Can’t you see he’s busy?” I glanced at Carter—who ground his rifle scope silently, intensely. “He’s too focused on that pachyderm.” I jerked the wheel once so that the Jeep rocked violently and he lost his target. “Isn’t that right, Carter?”

“Eska!” he snapped.

I stiffened as her blade—having relaxed briefly—re-pressed against my throat; only harder, sharper, drawing new blood, then nodded, quickly, indicating the mammoth.

“Look at it, Eska,” I said, having to raise my voice over the sound of its trumpeting, “Look at her. Look at how mighty and beautiful she is—how unspoiled and magnificent. What does she remind you of—Eska of the Great White Bears, of the animals who found you when you were lost and without hope; when you needed food and shelter and compassion—what does she remind you of and who in all the world could kill such a unique and powerful beast?”

I glanced at her in the mirror even as a shot rang out and she jumped—her dark eyes looking at Carter as he worked the bolt and ejected the casing; her focus shifting to the elephant at it cried out thunderously and increased its speed.

“Who, indeed, Eska,” I said. “But the Master of All?”

She looked at me through the mirror and we locked eyes immediately—even as I continued to drive, blindly, recklessly.

“Yes, Eska. M-M-Master. The master of you—and of all living things. Who but he could have—or would have—killed your mother?”

I reached out suddenly and yanked the medallion from around Carter’s neck.

“Your mother, Eska,” I said, shaking the engraving—forcing her to look at it. “This, right here!”

And she took it; even as I faced forward briefly and began to slow down, and the giants, still at war, quickly pulled ahead—vanishing at last into the snow-speckled gloom.

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