Drunk Ramblings...

Have I ever told you about my brush with the Giant Gorilla People of Kenya? Nine feet tall! Chests as wide as bureau cases. That's what bureaus are shipped in, you know.

We were walking through the jungle. And came upon a vast clearing. 60 feet across. Fearing the dangers of the dark jungle, I decided to lead the team into the clearing to make our camp.  We reached the center and began to pitch our tents. Mind you it was pitch black, but for our lanterns. Dead of night with barely a sliver of moon.

Never truly relaxed, I still felt a certain degree of reassurance. I felt this place would be safe. It wasn't until we got the fire going that I felt something watching us. I kept stealing glances into the murky darkness of the jungle that surrounded us. Under our chatter and the clatter of pots, I could hear a dark murmuring. As the meal came to a close, I put my back to the fire. When my colleagues asked why, I bluffed them. I told them my back was cold and I wished to warm it before going to sleep.

In truth, I wanted my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I wanted to be able to stare into that dark black abyss and find that murmur, that rustling, that soft paces of feet.  As my eyes adjusted, I felt for White Chapel, my trusted revolver which never left my side unless it was being aimed and fired. She rested quietly in her holster. But I knew there were five rounds, waiting to find something soft to bury themselves into.

Slowly, my eyes began to adjust, and I peered into the inky darkness. And I saw movement. A quick shift here. A subtle change there. Nothing that would convince a man that something was out there. But I knew. My gut was telling me that we were in trouble.

I picked up one of the lanterns and shone the light into the trees. Reflected back to me were two of the largest red eyes I have ever seen. Large as cricket balls. Redder than the plains of Hell itself. I spun and found identical pairs of eyes all around us. We had been surrounded. I stepped back to the campfire, where my colleagues were watching me with confusion.

Then came the howling.

The creatures knew we were aware of them now, so they had no reason to remain silent. One by one, they emerged from the darkness to stand in the light of our camp fire. The Giant Gorilla People of Kenya! Nine feet tall! Chests as wide as bureau cases! Dark hair, gray as flagstone, covered the majority of their bodies. Simple leather rags were draped around their waists. Thinking about where they got the leather was almost sickening.

I considered reaching for White Chapel. But there were far too many. Easily two dozen of them. I had to think of something else. Looking around, I searched for the pair of eyes that glowed above all the others. We had been studying the Giant Gorilla People of Kenya for weeks. So I knew that the biggest and strongest was bound to be the leader of the party.

I found the brute, standing a full head above his fellows. Then I ducked down to my pack, which was at my feet, and drew my machete. I faced the tall brute and shouted out a call. We had learned, from our weeks of studies, that this call was an official challenge. I had challenged the leader to a fight for his position. A challenge he could not refuse.

The leader let out a loud bellow and charged me, brandishing a large branch. Quickly, I brought my machete up and deflected the blow. The brute sailed past me, tripping over my chair. He picked himself up and glared at me menacingly.

Now, my training had not prepared me for a death fight with a machete. But I had little choice. My colleagues were the Royal Cartographer and the Royal Draftsman. The latter of which was suffering from a bad case of malaria. Our guide had fled weeks before, so it was just the three of us against the deep jungle of the Dark Continent.

The brute picked himself up and came at me again. I ducked under his first swing and took a swipe at him myself. The blade connected, but the thick fur repelled the edge as surely as steel armor. Before I could recover from the shock, the brute took a second swing and knocked my square in the back.

I fell forward, almost into the fire. As I tried to catch my breath, I could hear the brute coming up to me. Having lost my machete in the fall, I looked around for a weapon. I pulled a burning log from the fire flung it at the brute. His instinctive fear of the unknown made him leap back. Seeing my chance, I picked up the machete and swung at the creature's knees. The edge connected and cut into the soft, less furred knee caps, slicing down to the bone.

He bellowed and fell back. I lifted the machete and brought it down with all my might into the brute's chest. It sank in halfway before sticking fast. But it was enough. The brute lurched and howled its last before dying in a pool of its own blood.

Relief washed over me, but I had little time to celebrate my victory. I quickly pulled the bloody blade from the fallen brute's chest. Never did only one die when a challenge is issued. The others, thinking the victor weak, are quick to make their own challenges. I had to be ready.

Sure enough, the challenging call came almost immediately. But now I had the advantage. I couldn't use White Chapel before, because the whole mob would have rushed us. But since this was a challenge, they could only attack one by one. I drew White Chapel and aimed at the first bellowing challenge. When the large figure rushed me, I sighted and fired. The round struck true, crushing in the creature's forehead.

Another bellow came. I turned and fired. Another challenger dispatched. Then came a third and a fourth. I dealt with them quickly. But I began to worry. I had hoped that I would discourage them before I ran out of bullets. Then I'd have to return to physical combat. Not my forte.

A fifth one stepped forward. He did not issue a bellow. I could see in its red eyes that he was not about to challenge me. Instead, he regarded me with mild curiosity before turning and fleeing into the jungle. The rest followed suit.

Not willing to drop my guard, I reloaded, quickly, loading in six rounds this time. I stood with my back to the fire for the rest of the night, keeping watch. They did not return.