Wild And Dangerous Adventure Series
Wrath of the Gods Graham Vivian Lancaster For Murray, my grandson.
L TRAYBERRY PRESS
ALEXANDER HOUSE Incorporating
TRAYBERRY PRESS 29 Howick Road Pietermaritzburg 0836388813 First published: 2009 This edition 2009 Copyright 2009 Graham Vivian Lancaster Copyright 2009 in this published edition ALEXANDER HOUSE All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder and publisher. First published 2009 ISBN: 978-0-9869707-0-2 Cover photographs Graham Vivian Lancaster Cover design: G.V. Lancaster / Taryn Duckham Distributed by ALEXANDER HOUSE.
Other works by the author: NOVELS: Wind Song Storm Song Strength Of ten SELF HELP: Everyone Can Do It Its Never Too Late Surviving The Ladder The Cost Of Money Who’s Shrinking Your Money? The Happy Customer POETRY: Marks On My Soul Gypsey Whale Song Gravel Roads Fledgeling HUMOUR: Bert and Co. Bert Another Story Nothing For Mahala ADVENTURE SERIES: Wild and Dangerous Secrets of the Sea Cyclone Tracy Dangerous Alliances
INDEX
1
Sharks And More Sharks
31
Repairing The Damage
59
The Truck
Sharks And More Sharks The flooded river had kept them occupied for three days, rescuing people and taking them to the safety of the barn. When Darryl and S’bu were sure the worst of the storm was over, they drove back to the farm and reversed the boat into the shed. Darryl’s grandmother was exhausted from supervising the cooks, the cleaning, squabbling children and sorting out families displaced by the floods. “Get some rest, Gran,” S’bu put his arm around her and she hugged him. “Thank goodness you boys are safe. When I saw you leaving here the other day I just knew you would be up to your eyes in some kind of drama again.” Darryl walked up and kissed her on the cheek. “S’bu is right, Gran, you need to be sleeping. Someone else can take over here.” “I can’t leave - -” “Gran!” Darryl said sternly and she watched his unflinching eyes. “OK,” she sighed warily, “I’m going.” The boys appointed people to look after each area of activities and went to their room. They took turns standing beneath the stinging jets of the shower, letting the hot water ease away the aches and pains in their strained muscles. They fell on their beds and when they awoke, the first pinks of dawn were painting the pewter sky. “I think we should check on Jula. Let’s pack some sandwiches and have breakfast on the beach.” Darryl said as he stretched lazily. “Good idea. You get the food while I get the motorbike ready,” S’bu replied. They were on their way fifteen minutes later with S’bu driving and Darryl taking in the scenery.
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The low-lying areas were a mess of driftwood, sticks and grass. There were items of clothing and household goods, dead animals lying grotesquely bloated and rotting. “As soon as we’ve checked on Jula, we’ll have to begin to clean up this mess, S’bu.” S’bu groaned at the prospect of having to pick up every bit of rubbish they had seen, but there was nothing for it but to get it done. “We’ll get the men and sweep through, burn the dead animals before we have a cholera epidemic on our hands.” “Then comes the rebuilding of all the villages, Darryl. The people will be all right in the barn for a few more days, but we have to move quickly on rebuilding.” “Granddad said he would help financially, and told the women to get up into the bush to cut fence poles and stack them so the tractor and trailer can get in and load them as soon as it’s dry enough.” “It will be a long hard slog but we’ll get this place back to some form of normalcy,” S’bu added. The beach was a mess of debris piled two metres high above what was normally the high water line. They made their way carefully through it and down onto the hard sand, skirting flotsam washing to and fro in the waves. “Do you remember when we hit the log in the surf the other day, when we were running from the storm, S’bu?” Darryl said casually, just reminding him to be cautious. S’bu remembered the motorbike tumbling through the air and the two of them flying, to crash down in the foaming water. * “When the bike flew up into the air I thought we were dead,” he shuddered. It was an experience, with pain to match, which S’bu wouldn’t forget in a hurry. They rode up the coastline, but there was no sign of Jula. On their way back, they spotted a pod of dolphins just beyond the back line and stopped to watch. Suddenly a dolphin came up from the bottom of the ocean and burst out in a shower of * Cyclone Tracy
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spray at the edge of the muddy river water, twisting and turning, to splash back into the ocean in a bomb burst of spray. “It’s Jula!” Darryl shouted excitedly while rubbing goose flesh off his arms at the same time. “It’s too far to be sure, Darryl.” “It’s him. Watch. He’ll let us know it’s him.” With that, the dolphin burst out of the water again, spiralling and somersaulting all at the same time in a manoeuvre, which would have won a gold medal at the Olympics. “It is Jula,” S’bu was excited too now and the boys whistled and shouted encouragement. They heard him whistling and calling, but he couldn’t get close inshore for all the debris in the muddy water. “Let’s go, if he tries to come in and gets hit by a log I will never forgive myself, S’bu.” Jula felt the vibration of the motorbike starting up and he slapped the water with his tail, rolling onto his side and watching them. He called and whistled, but the boys rode off along the beach. He followed at a safe distance offshore, leaping from the waves, back into the water, keeping pace with them. Suddenly he veered away and they didn’t see him again. A huge black sickle fin slid up out of the water where they had last seen Jula. “Sharks! They’re feeding on the dead animals washing down.” “Jula has turned away from them and raced back to the safety of his pod, S’bu,” Darryl said anxiously. The boys rode to the river mouth, parked the Yamaha and stood watching the water in awe. It was a clutter of fins rising out of the water, tilting, white bellies and gash toothed sickle mouths as the huge fish turned to rip chunks of meat out of a floating carcass. “Zambezi sharks!” There was fear in S’bu’s voice. “I wouldn’t like to be diving amongst that lot, Darryl.” “You are right, but do you know what I’m thinking?” S’bu looked at him and their eyes met and held.
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“Grandfather’s heavy shark fishing tackle?” “You just read my mind. What do you say, S’bu?” “We aren’t allowed to use it. We were read the riot act about our fate if we did,” S’bu’s voice held caution. “That was only because we were much younger and had we hooked a shark, it could have dragged us into the water.” “And drowned us,” S’bu added quickly. “We are much older now. Let’s do it!” The motorbike made haste along the slippery roads back to the farmyard. Darryl went into the house to check all was clear, but his grandparents had already left for town in the Land Cruiser to get supplies. He ran out to the garage, where S’bu was busy selecting what they would need. He took a heavy fishing rod down from the hook on the wall while Darryl took a big Penn fishing reel from the cupboard. “This should do the trick.” “You could haul a tractor out of the mud with that thing,” S’bu said as he looked at the size of the fishing reel. They took heavy steel shark traces with big hooks, which Grandfather had made up, and the shoulder harness to clamp the fishing rod to whoever was using the tackle. They packed it all into a sling bag which Darryl threw over his shoulder and they climbed onto the motorbike with S’bu on the back holding the fishing rod. “Today, S’bu, one granddaddy shark coming up.” “I brought the tags so we can tag and release it,” S’bu replied. Darryl suddenly climbed off the motorbike. “Let’s take a long rope with us just in case we need to tie ourselves down.” “Do you think a shark is that strong?” S’bu asked incredulously. “I’ve heard some frightening stories about shark fishing and neither of us are that heavy to hold a really big one. Besides, if one of us is strapped to the fishing rod, he could easily go water skiing before we can cut the line,” Darryl felt the hairs rise
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on his arm as he spoke and knew they should wait for Grandfather – but they wouldn’t. They hurried away down to the river mouth, full of nervous excitement. The sharks were still there and they quickly rigged the fishing tackle. They hacked a huge chunk of meat out of a dead pig’s back leg, lying on the beach. It was stinking, but they tried not to notice. They hooked the meat securely and tied a red balloon on a thin piece of line to the top swivel, so they would know where the bait was. If a big fish took the bait, the thin line would snap and the balloon would burst or go free. “Whose having first turn, Darryl?” “Sudden death?” “The best out of three.” “That’s fair enough,” S’bu agreed. They faced each other, each with a hand behind their backs. “Sudden death!” they called together, looking into each other’s eyes so there could be no cheating, then whipped the hand out from behind their back. S’bu’s fist was clenched, Darryl’s palm open facing down. “My paper covers your rock,” Darryl said victoriously. “OK.” They faced each other again. “Sudden death!” S’bu whipped his hand out from behind his back and held up one finger. Darryl’s fingers curled around to touch his thumb. “My stick of dynamite can blow up your well, Darryl.” “OK.” This was it now. Crunch time. They faced each other, crouching forward, squaring up to each other like gunfighters each desperately wanting to be the first to catch a shark. They watched each other’s eyes, and then Darryl nodded. “Sudden death!” they said together and whipped their hands out from behind their backs. Darryl’s palm was flat again, S’bu’s thumb tucked in onto the bottom two fingers, the top two sticking out straight, open. “Hah!” S’bu shouted triumphantly, “My scissors can cut your paper.” “Fair enough,” Darryl replied, hiding his disappointment.
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Darryl strapped him into the harness and then they clamped the fishing rod in. S’bu tested the weight of it. It was heavy and he knew he was in for a lot of punishment if a big shark took the bait. “OK?” Darryl asked. S’bu nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. Darryl tied the rope securely to the back of the harness and the other end to a log lying on the beach. Just in case! “OK?” S’bu nodded again and Darryl walked to the water’s edge with the bait and the balloon. S’bu stood ready, spooling out fishing line while his thumb hovered close to the clutch lever so he could throw it over if he had a strike. Darryl braced his legs and flung the bait out as far into the river as he could. It splashed down and was tugged away in the current with the red balloon. S’bu let line out, his hand hovering nervously near the clutch lever. They watched the balloon drifting out towards the sea. A lonely red balloon on the muddy brown water. Darryl turned to S’bu. “S’bu - - - ” “Look at the balloon!” S’bu shouted and Darryl whipped around. A dark grey fin was charging at it, wet - flashing in the sunlight. “Zambezi shark. Throw the clutch, S’bu!” Darryl screamed. S’bu moved automatically, throwing the lever over to engage the spool. S’bu stood braced - waiting. His mouth felt dry. The shark dived, turning, mouth opening. It snatched the meat at speed, its saw teeth ripping through the bait with the tremendous power of its jaws. The strike almost jerked S’bu off his feet and he stood with one leg forward, braced. The shark shook its head like a terrier with a rat, teeth tearing through the meat, ripping. The big shark hook was in its mouth. The Zambezi shook its head and the hook turned, the point touching the side of its jaw, and as it shook its head again the point tore through. The fish felt it - hooked - trapped, and it ran for the open sea. The fishing reel screamed off line.
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