Chapter 583

The sun beat down on the baked earth of Burkina Faso. Issa, a 22-year-old woman with eyes the color of dark coffee and hair braided tight against her scalp, wiped sweat from her brow. The air shimmered with heat, and the only sound was the drone of insects and the occasional caw of a crow.

She walked along the bank of the Kompienga River, the cracked earth crunching under her bare feet. Her village, once a haven of thatched huts and close-knit families, had become a place of shadows. Whispers travelled about, whispers of things lurking beneath the water, things that had a taste for human flesh.

It had started subtly. A missing goat, then a dog, then old man Toure, vanished without a trace while tending to his meager crops by the river's edge. Then the children. Their laughter replaced by a heavy blanket of silence that stifled the village.

"Issa! Be careful by the water," her mother's aged, rough hewn shouts would pierce her every train of thought and day.

The villagers spoke of crocodiles. Not just any crocodiles, but monstrous creatures with an unnatural hunger, an eagerness for the hunt that went beyond mere sustenance. Some said they were cursed, others believed they were the spirits of vengeful ancestors, twisted and made monstrous by centuries of simmering anger.

Issa dismissed them as folklore at first, just fear manifesting as superstition, yet the disappearance started coming one after the other.

But as the body count rose, a prickling anxiety burrowed deep into her heart. The laughter faded away, replaced by mourning and then by empty husks of former joy. The laughter, joy, innocence gone. Swallowed and forgotten. She felt that same sinking weight of the dark water.

She stopped by a baobab tree, its enormous trunk casting a meager shadow. Its dry, leathery smell a sad reminder of the drought. Leaning against the coarse bark, she watched the river. It looked deceptively placid, the sun glinting off its murky surface like scattered jewels.

Underneath that sheen, she knew there was darkness, the waiting eyes and armored hides of the predators that ruled this domain.

A splash nearby. Not a normal ripple or the slap of a fish, but a deeper, heavier churn. Issa's senses rose sharply, every hair on her body bristled.

Her eyes snapped down towards the source. She could just make out the large scales ripple behind a cluster of half submerged shrubs on the bank, the very bank she had decided to spend her afternoon resting by. She couldn't see the rest, but knew exactly what she was looking at, or more accurately, what she wasn't looking at.

She retreated, not wanting to engage. A crocodile on the bank was bad news and meant more than just that crocodile was nearby. But retreat wasn't an option, for two yellow eyes rose above the waterline in front of her, near where she had just previously walked only moments before.

"Looking for a snack, manafa?" A gruff, yet gentle voice whispered into her ear. The village drunkard, the butt of the towns joke was walking towards her, and stepped up and next to Issa to glance towards the river as well.

"They got my dog last week," The man stared, glassy-eyed out into the dark water. His breath stank of stale alcohol. "They're getting bolder and the local leaders won't do nothing."

Issa barely registered his words, her gaze riveted on the water. She hadn't known her neighbor very well, but knew he did not deserve what was most likely about to come for him.

"We should report it!" Issa's attempt to redirect the inebriated villager's attention failed and was immediately met with an angry wave of a bony arm.

"And who are they going to believe?! Old Samba? We don't got enough francs for new laws!"

As he spoke, a dark shape began to materialize near the man, as if summoned by his drunken complaints. A massive crocodile, its head easily the size of a cooking pot, surfaced slowly, its eyes fixed on Samba with predatory intelligence. Issa stumbled backwards, barely stifling a scream.

"Samba, move! Get away from the water!" she cried, but it was too late. Samba, caught between bravado and alcohol-fueled stupidity, merely squinted at the approaching reptile. "Get out of here, you stupid lizard!" he shouted, raising his hand in a mock threat. "Go bother someone else!"

The crocodile lunged. With terrifying speed, it exploded from the water, its powerful jaws snapping shut on Samba's torso. A sickening crunch, then a muffled scream cut short as the crocodile dragged him down into the murky depths.

The water turned red, then began to darken again, and nothing returned to the surface except Samba's worn sandal. Issa covered her mouth, struggling to breathe. Her scream was strangled by her horror.

She didn't wait. She turned and ran, her heart hammering against her ribs. Fear propelled her, the image of Samba's fate burned into her mind. She stumbled through the tall grass, heedless of thorns and sharp rocks, until she reached the relative safety of the village.

But even here, the fear wouldn't dissipate. Every shadow seemed to hold a lurking threat, every splash of water sounded like the approach of death. She ran towards her home, bursting through the door to find her mother grinding millet in the meager daylight of the small mud house.

"Issa! What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost." Her mother asked, confused, but before Issa could respond a group of men appeared to ask her what she knew.

Her response about Samba caused their countenances to pale in terror and worry, which were quickly transformed to determined, steely eyes that set forth with grim resolve to seek him.

Hours and hours past, their fruitless search ultimately led them back empty handed to tell Issa's mother who simply sighed and hung her head. Issa looked out towards the river from the home and whispered a saddened prayer.

The following days brought more grief. Two fishermen did not return. A woman washing clothes at the river was dragged under, her screams abruptly silenced. The village teetered on the brink of despair, the constant dread crushing their spirits.

Issa couldn't stand it anymore. She decided something had to be done. Waiting for the crocodiles to claim them all wasn't a solution, but a path to annihilation.

That night, under the cloak of a moonless sky, she slipped out of her hut. She grabbed her father's old spear, its point worn but still sharp, and headed back to the river. She knew the dangers, knew the odds were stacked against her, but she couldn't stay cowering in fear.

The riverbank was silent, the only sound the gentle lapping of water against the shore. She stood there, spear in hand, her senses on high alert. Waiting. Listening.

It wasn't long before she heard it. A soft ripple, a disturbance in the water that betrayed the presence of something large and unseen. She gripped the spear tighter, her knuckles white. She could sense the shift in nature and air, all the crickets slowly becoming more sparse. A bad omen, a storm, a harbinger, were coming her way.

Two eyes surfaced, glowing malevolently in the darkness. She steeled herself, refusing to back down. She'd be damned to be their prey. "I am not afraid of you," she whispered, her throat dry. "You will not terrorize my village anymore." She said in her own native language for dramatic effect, hoping that whatever evil possessed the animals, they might listen to her.

The crocodile lunged. Issa moved swiftly, driven by adrenaline and desperation. She thrust the spear forward with all her might, aiming for the creature's throat. The spear hit its mark, sinking deep into the tough hide.

The crocodile thrashed wildly, its powerful tail slapping against the water, sending spray flying. Issa held on, her arms screaming with pain, as she fought to keep the spear lodged in place.

More crocodiles appeared. Drawn by the commotion, they emerged from the depths, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. Issa was surrounded, the water alive with these primal predators.

She fought like a cornered animal. She withdrew the spear, impaling it into the maw of the beast trying to devour her as another one approached from the side to slam its tail into her ribs, fracturing them.

She screamed with intense pain, fighting off the effects as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She managed to free the spear again from the lifeless corpse that floated aimlessly to the ground before impaling the next oncoming reptile, she barely registered it at this point, only operating on pure instinct and primal drive for survival and preservation of what remained of her village.

Her clothes were torn, her body covered in scratches and bites, but she refused to surrender. This next one might not be her last one.

One crocodile closed in, its jaws open wide, ready to end her struggle. But a noise from behind it broke the predator's hunger trance, she saw it tilt it's head in bewilderment. The air felt charged.

Suddenly, there was an ungodly sound, a guttural roar unlike anything Issa had ever heard. It resonated deep within her bones, sending shivers down her spine.

The beast, clearly much bigger, perhaps the Alpha of the crocodiles charged towards the water, displacing an insane volume of water to push towards the source. Its gargantuan size dwarfed the crocodiles by a multiple to the point where those close enough scuttled off the land towards safety. It was in no way possible.

She could make out it's yellow piercing eyes, even from what distance the dark obscured and a low grumble that rattled in her bones.

It ignored Issa, its focus solely on the other apex that she didn't even hear come. With surprising force it snapped onto one of the animals as if they were a twig. Issa could hear all the breaking and dismemberment as she crawled off from the dark water source and into the darkness, leaving a mess of water, blood, bone, and a strange silence behind. It left an uneasy and haunting pit deep in her stomach.

As dawn broke, the villagers emerged, drawn by the stories of Issa's supposed confrontation from the stories she mustered out to give the leaders before passing out. What they saw on the bank of the river was carnage, a scene of devastation that defied belief.

Dozens of crocodiles lay dead, their bodies mangled and torn. Only the faint hint of Samba remained floating off the side.

But Issa wasn't among them.

They found her further away than she previously passed out at, near the great baobab tree, lying still in the shade of its ancient branches. Her chest wasn't rising and falling and her face turned white.

She was covered in injuries, a testament to her struggle, but it wasn't the crocodiles that killed her. It was a small vial that she tightly held onto that reeked of poison and something far beyond to her villages comprehension.

Her own people, whom were her friends, associates, teachers, confidantes, found her, and upon closer inspection she held a written note with her that detailed why she ultimately came to her decision.

She took her life, finally unable to cope with the horrors she had witnessed and with an understanding that despite her best attempt, was incapable of saving and protecting her community. Her final action had come at great loss and tragedy. They read and hung their heads, weeping in agony as to what their circumstances ultimately brought her to.

Issa was buried near the river she had tried to protect, a lone grave marked by a simple wooden cross. The village mourned her as a hero, but their joy was mixed with grief. They had been saved, but at a devastating cost.

The crocodiles, driven to madness by a primordial predator far beyond their understanding, ceased their attacks. But the memory of their terror, and of the woman who stood against them, remained.

A chilling to a harsh land, where death swam in the waters and hope was as precious and fragile as a single drop of rain. They would speak of this, perhaps not fondly.