"The Devil's Lions" - Part 1
Title: The Devil's Lions
Author: ladyarcherfan3
Movie Prompt: The Ghost and The Darkness
Pairing: Gen (Sam and Dean), with some Sam/Jess
Rating: R for language and gore
Word Count: 30,888
Summary: The year is 1898. Sam Winchester is a brilliant engineer, working with the British Army, building a bridge in Africa, determined to stay on schedule to be in home in time for his child's birth. But things fall apart and his past comes back to haunt him when two man-eating lions attack the workers. But they are too driven, too organized, to be ordinary lions.
Notes: Written for spn_cinema. Many, many thanks to dreamersscape for her rather last minute beta work, saving me from typos and reassuring me that the emotions I wanted to get out of the readers really did get pulled out of the readers. :) Also, any inaccuracies and misrepresentations of history and language are either my fault, or kept in order to follow with the artistic license the movie took for story and drama. If you haven't seen the film, this will probably spoil it for you, and I drew on it quite heavily while putting the SPN twist on things. But enjoy!
Part 1 - Africa
Heat welled up from the red earth and pounded down from the sun. The air was hot and dry, and it stung his lungs as he drew each breath. A strong wind blew, stirring dust and tossing the long yellow grass like ocean waves. But it brought no relief. He smelled hot iron, rust, and something harsh and sour. He turned, but saw only the sun bleached sky and the parched grass. Then, between one breath and another, everything went black. A low rumble, like thunder, welled up out of the ground, the air. The stench of sulfur assaulted his nostrils. Yellow eyes flashed suddenly in the darkness. Terror shot through him, and then the eyes charged.
He woke with a gasp, and the cool, damp air of London filled his lungs, settling him. The house was dark, but the faint, wavering light of a streetlamp worked its way through the curtained window. He sat up and dragged a hand through his hair.
“Sam?” His wife rolled over carefully and reached for him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He took her hand and kissed it as he laid back down. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep, Jess.”
She hummed and curled against his side. “Was it about India?”
“No.”
“Excited for Africa?” she wondered. “I know you have been dreaming of it for years, and now you finally get to go…”
“Yes, that’s it.” He was certain there was no hint of the lie in his voice, or if there was, that she would be too sleepy to notice it. “Now go back to sleep.” He reached down and put his hand on the slight swell of her belly. “You need rest.”
Her eyes were closed, but she said, “Very well, but only because you asked so politely.”
“Please, Jess. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“I know. Then you need your rest too.”
He didn’t respond, but just wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Before long, her breathing had evened out and she was asleep again. But he knew that he wouldn’t find rest again that night.
Because he was Sam Winchester. And he just had a nightmare that had nothing to do with India. He had smelled sulfur in that nightmare for the first time in years. That life had been left behind. To get such a reminder now could bode no good for his future. But that was something he just could not accept.
*
It was a challenge to push the nightmare and the implications away the next morning, but if he was good at anything, it was avoiding and compartmentalizing his past and anything to do with it. If Jess did notice anything, she didn’t mention, undoubtedly chalking it up to nerves.
And he had every right to be nervous.
The day flew by in a rush of double and triple checking bags and chests, though he had had them packed for several weeks now and he packed light out of habit. All the basics were there - extra clothes, all his tools, blueprints, and the rest. His journal and writing supplies. His best rifles and shotguns and their ammunition.
There was one bag that he hadn’t initially packed, but he added that morning before Jess had properly woken up. He didn’t want to acknowledge his past, but he did not want to be unprepared either. The plain green duffle held a bag of rock salt, a flask of holy water, and an iron bladed knife. He hoped that there would be no need to ever bring them out, but at least he would have them. By the time she had joined him in the kitchen, he had pushed the green duffle and the nightmare to the back of his mind.
Before he knew it, he was striding down a dim hallway towards a well lit room, Jess left in the company of one of her good friends to peruse the shops while he attended a meeting.
The sharp click of his boots echoed down the hall, reverberating around him for a moment after he stopped just short of the door. He tugged his uniform coat straight, ran a hand over his hair to make sure it was still tied back and neat. Then, with a deep breath, he reached out and opened the door.
After the dim coolness of the hallway, the bright warm room shook his already nerve addled senses. The light was bright because it was needed to properly read the documents and maps that filled the tables and lined the walls. Traces of cigar smoke hung in the air, along with the dusty ink and paper smells. But even as the gazes of the small group of men in the center of the room turned to look, Sam recovered. He had fought against man and beast and even more terrifying monsters. This small meeting should not be a challenge. He would not let it be one.
“Ah, Colonel Winchester, come in!” One of the men extracted himself from the group and extended his hand. “Robert Beaumont.”
Sam returned the handshake. “Mr. Beaumont, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“A firm handshake - tells me a lot about you,” Beaumont said and stepped to the side, gesturing to a chair behind a document-ladened table. “Now, why don’t you tell me about me?”
Sam sat down and cocked his head to the side, uncertain. “Sir?”
“For example,” Beaumont continued, as he circled around the table and stood to face Sam. “People say I am charming, with a wonderful smile, winning personality.” He bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin, but it reminded Sam of a jackal.
He took a careful breath. He could recognize alpha male posturing when he saw it. The fact that Beaumont had encouraged him to sit while he remained standing was also indicative - Sam towered over nearly everyone, and he’d rarely met a higher ranking person who was comfortable with that. So he simply replied, “My wife is the game player of the family, sir.”
Beaumont’s grin turned to a more dangerous expression, shifting from jackal to wolf. “Thank you, gentlemen!” he snapped at the group behind him. They quickly dispersed. He leaned in close to Sam. “Take a good look at me, Winchester. My only pleasure is tormenting people who work for me. People such as yourself. I am a monster. One mistake on this project, and I assure you, I will make you hate me.”
It took considerable effort for Sam to bite back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Beaumont didn’t know the true meaning of being a monster. Sam did. He’d fought them. But if this was the kind of monster he had to fight now, it would hardly be a challenge. So he simply nodded, letting Beaumont have the final word.
The gesture apparently satisfied Beaumont. “Good! So I know you have a firm handshake, and are an engineer of renown.” He picked up a folder from the table and flipped it open. “American, but you’ve been working with the British army for six years now? And was made an honorary colonel last year?” He glanced up at Sam, the wolf’s grin still in place.
It was all just more posturing. Beaumont knew Sam’s background and his skills - he had hired him in the first place. “That’s right. For services rendered to the company and for bravery above and beyond the norm.”
“Yes, there was something with a tiger? And a skirmish with the natives where your shot killed the leader and the spirits of the rebels, and thus saved the lives of the entire company and your workers?” Beaumont snapped the folder shut as Sam nodded. “How touching.” He spun to a large map on a tripod behind him. “Now. We are building the most expensive and daring railroad across Africa, for the glorious purpose of saving Africa from the Africans,” he rolled his eyes, “and of course to end slavery. We are in competition with the Germans and the French, and we are ahead. And we will stay ahead, providing you can do your job. Build a bridge across the river Tsavo,” he thrust a finger at the map, “and do it in four months.” The grin came back, feral as ever. “Can you do that?”
If you didn’t think I could, why did you hire me? Sam thought, but forced his expression to remain neutral. “You have examined my record. I have never been late on a bridge.”
Yes, I am well aware of your distinguished record. But you’ve never built in Africa.”
A flutter of excitement went through his chest. Africa had always been his dream. And now he was about to do what he did best while there? No amount of threatening or posturing from Beaumont could deter him. “Every country has its own challenges, but I am not afraid of them.”
“You’ll need that confidence, I assure you. Five months in Africa… Time can fly by quickly.”
“If I may speak personally,” Sam said quickly, the excitement and nerves and frustration of the day finally catching up with him. “My wife is expecting our first child in six months, and I promised her I’d be there for the birth. And I always keep my word. So your bridge will be done well before five months are up, I assure you.”
“How touching,” Beaumont simpered. “But I don’t give a shit about your upcoming litter. I made you with this assignment. Don’t make me break you.”
Sam took a careful breath and tamped down his anger. Beaumont had not made him by any means; his reputation as an engineer had been solid before this assignment. And he would not break him either. “You won’t have a chance. Now, unless you have any more words of encouragement, I have a train to catch.” He stood, gave Beaumont a curt nod, turned sharply on his heel and left.
Beaumont watched him go, the wolfish grin never faltering. “Either the bridge will be done in record time, or he will break very prettily. I am not sure which I like more.”
*
His luggage had all been loaded by the time he and Jess arrived at the station, and they had only moments before the train would depart. He pulled her close to him, arm around her shoulder, grip tightening as he watched the steam billow out from the engine in ever-growing clouds. Despite all his excitement and longing, he suddenly loathed the idea of leaving. Beaumont’s words had awakened his own fears at not being able to finish the job in time, to be late, to miss the birth of his first child… The remembered stench of sulfur filled his nostrils again, and he had to bite back a rush of words and advice. He couldn’t suddenly tell Jess that there were monsters in the world, to tell her that salt around the doors and windows would keep them out, that holy water and iron would protect her. There was no way he could tell her all this now, and leave her to go to Africa. His past had never been spoken of before. The only hope he had was that he had left it behind, and that if it did rear its ugly head, it would simply follow him and not touch Jess.
Jess sensed his turmoil, if not the entirety of its depths. “You have to go, Sam. It’s only five months.”
“I would have never taken this job if we had known sooner.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you would have been in agony, and I would have blamed myself. You’ve been dreaming of it for your entire life. It’s one of the few things I do know about your past, and it has certainly stayed with you into your present.”
“But what if things go wrong? What if I am not back in time? What if something happens to you and I am not here?”
She lifted a hand and put it over his mouth gently, silencing him. “I have my family and friends in the city if I need anything. And remember that I am a strong lady. That is why you love me.” She grinned.
“Headstrong,” he countered with a grin of his own.
She tapped his cheek in a mock slap. “And when things go wrong, and they will, our son and I - and yes, note my confidence - will have an excuse to visit you in Africa.”
“What would I do without you?” he asked, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.
“Undoubtedly crash and burn and whither away to nothing.”
“All aboard! Final call! All aboard!” bellowed the conductor over the chaos of the crowd and the hiss of the steam.
Jess pushed a hand against his chest. “Go on, Sam. I will be fine.”
“I know. It doesn’t mean I don’t worry.” He took her hand and kissed it.
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Such a gentleman. Where is that dashing American that I married? Did my fine London society tame you?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and kissed her properly, propriety be damned.
The train whistle blew again, but he didn’t move.
“Sam, you’re going to miss your train and you’ll never see Africa.”
“Africa. I’m desperate to see it, but if it means leaving you…”
“You’re a bridge builder. You have to go where the rivers are. Now go.”
With another quick kiss to her forehead, Sam stepped away. “I’ll be back in time,” he promised and strode towards the train, the steam and the crowds enveloping him.
*
The journey was long and far from comfortable. It wasn’t the distance, the boredom of train travel, or the fatigue and illness of traveling by ship. He was used to that, as his time with the army had taken him to India and around the continent. Rather, it was the sudden rash of nightmares that plagued him at night and haunted his waking hours. They were dreams that left him nothing but an impression of blackness, pain, fear and sulfurous yellow eyes. Headaches blossomed behind his eyes, and were only relieved by the few hours a night he could sleep well before the nightmares struck again.
His days stretched and blurred into a never ending stream of rail stations and seaports, all connected by a long, dull thread of barely-acknowledged landscape. He hardly noticed the changes in the clime and terrain, the shift of languages and skin color until one night. Tired enough to have long regretted his passion for Africa, he moved through the milling crowds around the train, blinking through a haze of steam and weariness. In all honesty he wasn’t even sure if he was in Africa, or if he was, where in Africa he might have landed.
Over the chatter of a group of persistent vendors that had surrounded him, he heard his name.
“Colonel Winchester! Colonel Winchester, sir!”
A young man with wild dark curls and bright eyes behind smudged spectacles appeared at Sam’s side. With a few polite but firm words, he managed to send the vendors on their way without much trouble.
“Good to meet you, sir!” he said with a bright smile. As Sam struggled to focus, he continued. “I am Angus Starling. I’m to assist you in Tsavo. But surely Mr. Beaumont told you that.” He held out his hand.
Sam returned the handshake, his stupor ebbing away under the power of the young man’s energy. “No, he just gave me his ‘monster speech.’”
Angus shook his head, his Scottish brogue thickening as he replied, “Ach, Robert seems terrible - but once you get to know the man, he’s much worse.”
Sam smiled, and the first laugh in what felt like months bubbled up from his chest. Angus grinned as well and took him by the arm.
“Is it your first time in Africa? Good. Because I’ve reserved the best seats on the train. Come on!”
In short order, Sam found himself seated on a bench that had been bolted to the nose of the train, Angus beside him, as the huge machine rattled off into the fading night.
He sat tense for the first several hours, the cool air whipping past him erasing the stupor and charging him with a quivering excitement. But there was little to be seen through the darkness. After Angus had explained his role in the work camp - a missionary first and foremost, general helper secondarily - he lapsed into silence. It was difficult to shout over the wind and roar of the engine, and he seemed to sense that Sam needed the silence.
That was truly a relief. Because Sam didn’t know how to fill in the gaps of the conversation. His mind was a tangled mess of logistical concerns - when would he arrive in Tsavo? What would the conditions be like? How many workers were there really and what sort of tensions would there be between the men? - and a surge of emotions too complex to properly name.
A sudden shift in thought presented him with the crystal clear memory of hours spent pouring over books about Africa. He had absorbed everything in those books like it had been life-giving water. Even before he could read, he’d stare at the illustrations of strange animals, memorizing every line, while Dean read the descriptions with his own embellishments. It had filled the long hours they were alone, while their father was gone, hunting…
Sam shook his head. It had been years since he had consciously thought about his family, and even more since he had seen or spoken to them. His father and older brother hadn’t been able to accept that he wanted a life removed from theirs, removed from hunting. So he’d left. It had not been a pleasant departure, and had resulted in hard words and bitter feelings. He didn’t regret the decision. He loved his life, and did not miss the old one. Except… Dean. That had been the hardest parting. He’d seen the look in Dean’s eyes when he left, seen exactly how his decision had betrayed his older brother and shattered the world he had been so careful to protect and guard. Dean’s drive, Sam knew, had always been to be the best hunter possible, but that was only there to serve his first goal - to protect Sam.
But Sam had grown up too, capable and smart, and if Dean could have just accepted that -
His musings were cut short by Angus’s voice and a gentle slap on his shoulder.
“Look!”
To the east, the red disk of the sun broke over the horizon and light spilled across the land, faster than Sam would have thought possible. The outline of the savannah took shape, trees and waving grasses and river valleys all etched out of light and shadow. It was as if the illustrations in his childhood books had come to life.
Before long the day blazed into it’s full glory, and animals appeared, skittering away from the train.
“Look at the antelope!” Angus cried as a massive herd of the graceful animals sprang away from the tracks and raced into the grass.
“Impalas, specifically,” Sam clarified, grinning as he watched their impossible leaps and bounds.
Now it was Sam’s turn to eagerly slap at Angus’s shoulder and point out the wonders around them.
“There! The giraffes! Did you know they only sleep five minutes a day?”
When they passed a wildebeest carcass with a pack of hyenas feasting on the putrefying flesh, Angus wrinkled his nose and said, “I don’t like them much.”
“The females are bigger than the males,” Sam said, swiveling around in his seat with a pair of binoculars to continue watching as the train passed. “The only animals like that here. They have to be in order to survive, because the males eat the young.”
This sort of conversation continued for several hours, until Angus said, “I’ve been in Africa for a year, and I don’t know what you know. How long have you been here?”
Sam pulled out his pocket-watch, checked it, and replied, “A little over twenty four hours. But I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”
The train ride lasted for some days, but Sam did not bother to count them. Where his journey before had been dull and lifeless, he scarcely noticed the passing of the hours and days as he took in Africa in every single detail he could. And he noticed the changes as they drew nearer to Tsavo. It seemed to grow hotter. Roads and paths rutted up the ground and churned the grass down into the red soil. Thorn trees appeared more frequently, and many had been chopped down or trimmed, the branches used to make fences around animal pens and homes. Smoke, steam and dust hung in the air, and tent cities appeared along the areas of construction as they approached the river.
The train slowed, wheels and pistons hissing and squealing, steam gushing out in great plumes. Sam struggled to put his mind back in order. Now was the time to focus.
“Welcome to Tsavo!” Angus said.
They jumped from their bench to the platform before the train had stopped, Sam’s muscles protesting and loving the movement at the same time. Crowds milled around, eager to see what goods the train had brought, and using the excuse to help unload everything to get away from their usual tasks. A handful of different languages rose from dozens of throats. Angus beckoned him and plunged into the press of bodies, apparently following the sound of one deep, strident voice.
“Samuel!” Angus called.
Sam twitched, but quickly realized that he wasn’t being addressed.
A middle aged African man was shouting commands to the various groups of people on the platform. If his voice and words did not get the desired reaction, he thumped his wooden staff against the platform or shook it in the air to get his point across. And it seemed to be working.
“Samuel is camp liaison,” Angus explained as they approached. “He’s the only man everyone here trusts.”
Sam nodded, and because his practical knowledge of African languages was shaky at best, asked, “Does he speak English?”
“And very poor French,” Samuel replied as he turned, but he had a warm smile and steady hand shake as his true greeting.
“This is Colonel Sam Winchester,” Angus said in introduction.
“I think it will be easy to remember each other’s names, no?” Samuel grinned.
“Or make things very confusing,” Sam countered, instantly at ease. Samuel had a very calming presence, but one that left very little doubt about his authority and strengths. It was no wonder everyone trusted him. He was suddenly reminded of Dean, and had to fight a wave of emotion. He blinked when he realized that Samuel was speaking to him again.
“So this is our bridge builder, eh? I did not know they make such giants in America. Perhaps you intend to build the bridge alone, or use yourself to span the river?”
“I blame my mother’s people for my height - the Campbells must have had some Viking in their Scotch blood. As for building the bridge, that’s an undertaking that can’t be done by one man. It’s difficult, it’s meant to be. Bringing land over water…”
Samuel nodded sagely. “Come, I will show you the bridge site.”
“Thank you.”
Angus turned into the crowd and called back, “I need to deliver these supplies to the hospital - show him the way there when you’re done?”
Samuel saluted with the staff. “I will bring him, Angus! Do not worry.”
They started off, leaving behind the bustling platform for the equally busy and crowded work site. Motion and activity swirled around them in an ordered chaos. Long lines of workers with picks hacked out the railroad grade, while others carried out ties and rails, to be hammered into place by other men with heavy hammers. Everyone appeared to be focused on their tasks, but they all looked up and stared as Sam went by. There was not a single friendly look or welcoming gesture to be seen. A heavy pall of dust and smoked weighed down the air and built up the heat of the day to a furnace blast that even the wind could not ease.
He couldn’t hold back a question. “Why does everyone look so miserable?”
Samuel didn’t stop walking or look back as he replied. “Because they are here.”
Sam mulled on that. Challenges, he had expected. A low morale wasn’t uncommon. But such a bleak outlook about the place, that was going to be interesting to deal with. Was it the situation, the labor, or simply the location that bothered the workers. He would have to investigate further. “You seem to keep everything organized, at least,” he said finally.
“Thank you. If it is, it is a miracle.”
“Why do you say that?”
Samuel sighed a little. “The truth it, the workers don’t like each other at all. Obviously, the Africans hate the Indians. But the Indians also hate other Indians. Hindus, they believe the cow is sacred. But the Muslims eat the cow.”
“I have worked with both Hindu and Muslim,” he replied. “Perhaps I can help.”
“You can try,” Samuel shrugged. “It won’t work. Tsavo is the worst place in the world.”
They reached the river then, and Sam’s mind turned towards pure logistics. The width of the river, the slope of the banks, the support system need to safely handle the train traffic - those were all mathematical problems that could be worked out on paper. But translating them into realities of labor and materials was something else entirely.
“There are three thousand men laying track in the advance camp,” Samuel told him, pointing across the river with his staff. “Once the bridge is built, it will all link up. And every day, they move their camp another two miles, even though your bridge is not built.”
Sam sighed and stared out over the river.
“Was it easier, in your mind?”
“Why would it be easy? If it were easy, we would never better ourselves.”
“Perhaps. But come this way. You should meet Mahina.”
Mahina was the foreman, one of the other men that wielded great control over the camp. He had an engineer’s mind but no schooling. Along with his mind, he was a massive man, taller even than Sam and solid muscle. After a brief conversation, Samuel led the way back to the hospital, so Angus could show Sam to his living quarters.
The heat of the sun was inescapable, and even though the wind was hot, it did move the air, so Sam pulled off his hat, running his fingers through his hair in the hopes that the sweat drenched strands would dry and cool a bit. It didn’t take long before he started hearing a word whispered behind him as they walked through camp.
Simba.
Simba.
Simba.
Simba Mtu.
Simba.
“What are they saying?” he asked suddenly.
“Simba Mtu. They are calling you the Lion Man.”
“What?” Sam was genuinely confused. He didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant a nickname. And if he was going to get one, he’d expected something to do with a giant or a giraffe, because of his height.
The amusement was clear in Samuel’s voice as he replied, “Your hair. It looks like a lion’s mane.”
“Oh. Is that going to be a problem, you think?”
“If it is going to be a problem, then Tsavo is the place it would be.”
The hospital was little more than a tin shed filled with cots and mosquito nets. The stench of sweat and sickness hung heavy in the air, and Sam struggled to keep the discomfort from his expression. Angus wove from bed to bed, speaking a few words with each patient. His face was bright and eager; clearly he was in his element.
Sam noticed the range of expected railroad labor induced injuries - cuts and abrasions, broken hands and splinted feet. But a vast majority of the patients seemed ill rather than injured. “Is it mostly malaria?” he asked Angus as the man drew near.
“Yes, but their suffering is merely transitory. Once they have accepted God into their hearts-”
“That’s just vomitous talk, and you know it, Mr. Starling,” a harsh voice interrupted. “The poor bastards will get even sicker if you don’t shut up.” A grey-haired man strode into view, his hands and white apron stained with blood. He eyed Sam. “You must be the engineer.”
“That’s right.”
“David Hawthorne.” He extended his hand, remembered the blood, and turned to a basin of cloudy water instead. “And this is my hospital. My advice to you: don’t get sick.”
Sam didn’t answer. The doctor’s tactless manner grated on him already.
Hawthorne continued, “Sorry, that was meant to be funny. Must have lost my charm.”
“You never had it,” Angus muttered as he stepped next to Sam.
“Angus and I don’t like each other,” Hawthorne explained with a certain relish.
“And I am also a liaison between these two,” Samuel added.
Sam took a deep breath. He was starting to agree with Samuel’s opinion of Tsavo. Then he turned to Hawthorne and asked, “Don’t you agree with building the railroad?”
“This?” Hawthorne snorted. “This is a sham. It’s only here to protect the ivory trade and make rich men richer.”
“Then why do you stay?” He was starting to understand Hawthorne’s bitterness. He knew what it was like to stay in a situation that went against what he saw and desired for himself.
Hawthorne spread his hands and snorted again. “Who else would have me?” He grinned at Angus. “Beat you to it, didn’t I?”
Angus glowered but didn’t answer.
Then Hawthorne added, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned to a patient on a nearby cot. The man’s leg was swathed with bandages from the knee down, and his skin was ashy pale. “This is Karim, one of my orderlies. He was attacked by a lion this morning.”
Angus’s incredulous voice echoed around the hospital. “A man-eater attacks, and you’re such a buffoon, that you almost forget to mention it!”
There was a ripple of unease through the other patients that Sam could not miss as Angus’s statement was heard.
Hawthorne continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He was riding his donkey this morning when the lion pounced. The donkey took the brunt of it.” He turned to Sam, challenge clear in his eyes. “So. What are you going to do about it? I know that you just arrived, but considering your reputation and history, I am sure the men are looking to you for protection. But if you are tired... ”
Sam’s pride reared up. This was a challenge to his skills, his authority and his ability to keep the entire operation in order. It was less about the lion and more about his personal strength. If he failed to keep the camp safe against a lion, he’d lose respect before he’d even have a chance to earn it, and the whole operation would likely fall apart. And as much as he had forgotten about his past, he still kept his skills honed. They had served him well in India against tigers and rebels. They’d do the same here against lions. He may have stopped hunting the monsters that lived in the shadows, but he had been fighting deadly beasts and intangible monsters that men created themselves for years now. He wasn’t about to back down now. Even if Tsavo was the worst place in the world.
“With any luck, I’ll sort it out tonight.” He gave Hawthorne a short nod and left the hospital.
He had a rifle to clean.
Author: ladyarcherfan3
Movie Prompt: The Ghost and The Darkness
Pairing: Gen (Sam and Dean), with some Sam/Jess
Rating: R for language and gore
Word Count: 30,888
Summary: The year is 1898. Sam Winchester is a brilliant engineer, working with the British Army, building a bridge in Africa, determined to stay on schedule to be in home in time for his child's birth. But things fall apart and his past comes back to haunt him when two man-eating lions attack the workers. But they are too driven, too organized, to be ordinary lions.
Notes: Written for spn_cinema. Many, many thanks to dreamersscape for her rather last minute beta work, saving me from typos and reassuring me that the emotions I wanted to get out of the readers really did get pulled out of the readers. :) Also, any inaccuracies and misrepresentations of history and language are either my fault, or kept in order to follow with the artistic license the movie took for story and drama. If you haven't seen the film, this will probably spoil it for you, and I drew on it quite heavily while putting the SPN twist on things. But enjoy!
Part 1 - Africa
Heat welled up from the red earth and pounded down from the sun. The air was hot and dry, and it stung his lungs as he drew each breath. A strong wind blew, stirring dust and tossing the long yellow grass like ocean waves. But it brought no relief. He smelled hot iron, rust, and something harsh and sour. He turned, but saw only the sun bleached sky and the parched grass. Then, between one breath and another, everything went black. A low rumble, like thunder, welled up out of the ground, the air. The stench of sulfur assaulted his nostrils. Yellow eyes flashed suddenly in the darkness. Terror shot through him, and then the eyes charged.
He woke with a gasp, and the cool, damp air of London filled his lungs, settling him. The house was dark, but the faint, wavering light of a streetlamp worked its way through the curtained window. He sat up and dragged a hand through his hair.
“Sam?” His wife rolled over carefully and reached for him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He took her hand and kissed it as he laid back down. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep, Jess.”
She hummed and curled against his side. “Was it about India?”
“No.”
“Excited for Africa?” she wondered. “I know you have been dreaming of it for years, and now you finally get to go…”
“Yes, that’s it.” He was certain there was no hint of the lie in his voice, or if there was, that she would be too sleepy to notice it. “Now go back to sleep.” He reached down and put his hand on the slight swell of her belly. “You need rest.”
Her eyes were closed, but she said, “Very well, but only because you asked so politely.”
“Please, Jess. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“I know. Then you need your rest too.”
He didn’t respond, but just wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Before long, her breathing had evened out and she was asleep again. But he knew that he wouldn’t find rest again that night.
Because he was Sam Winchester. And he just had a nightmare that had nothing to do with India. He had smelled sulfur in that nightmare for the first time in years. That life had been left behind. To get such a reminder now could bode no good for his future. But that was something he just could not accept.
*
It was a challenge to push the nightmare and the implications away the next morning, but if he was good at anything, it was avoiding and compartmentalizing his past and anything to do with it. If Jess did notice anything, she didn’t mention, undoubtedly chalking it up to nerves.
And he had every right to be nervous.
The day flew by in a rush of double and triple checking bags and chests, though he had had them packed for several weeks now and he packed light out of habit. All the basics were there - extra clothes, all his tools, blueprints, and the rest. His journal and writing supplies. His best rifles and shotguns and their ammunition.
There was one bag that he hadn’t initially packed, but he added that morning before Jess had properly woken up. He didn’t want to acknowledge his past, but he did not want to be unprepared either. The plain green duffle held a bag of rock salt, a flask of holy water, and an iron bladed knife. He hoped that there would be no need to ever bring them out, but at least he would have them. By the time she had joined him in the kitchen, he had pushed the green duffle and the nightmare to the back of his mind.
Before he knew it, he was striding down a dim hallway towards a well lit room, Jess left in the company of one of her good friends to peruse the shops while he attended a meeting.
The sharp click of his boots echoed down the hall, reverberating around him for a moment after he stopped just short of the door. He tugged his uniform coat straight, ran a hand over his hair to make sure it was still tied back and neat. Then, with a deep breath, he reached out and opened the door.
After the dim coolness of the hallway, the bright warm room shook his already nerve addled senses. The light was bright because it was needed to properly read the documents and maps that filled the tables and lined the walls. Traces of cigar smoke hung in the air, along with the dusty ink and paper smells. But even as the gazes of the small group of men in the center of the room turned to look, Sam recovered. He had fought against man and beast and even more terrifying monsters. This small meeting should not be a challenge. He would not let it be one.
“Ah, Colonel Winchester, come in!” One of the men extracted himself from the group and extended his hand. “Robert Beaumont.”
Sam returned the handshake. “Mr. Beaumont, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“A firm handshake - tells me a lot about you,” Beaumont said and stepped to the side, gesturing to a chair behind a document-ladened table. “Now, why don’t you tell me about me?”
Sam sat down and cocked his head to the side, uncertain. “Sir?”
“For example,” Beaumont continued, as he circled around the table and stood to face Sam. “People say I am charming, with a wonderful smile, winning personality.” He bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin, but it reminded Sam of a jackal.
He took a careful breath. He could recognize alpha male posturing when he saw it. The fact that Beaumont had encouraged him to sit while he remained standing was also indicative - Sam towered over nearly everyone, and he’d rarely met a higher ranking person who was comfortable with that. So he simply replied, “My wife is the game player of the family, sir.”
Beaumont’s grin turned to a more dangerous expression, shifting from jackal to wolf. “Thank you, gentlemen!” he snapped at the group behind him. They quickly dispersed. He leaned in close to Sam. “Take a good look at me, Winchester. My only pleasure is tormenting people who work for me. People such as yourself. I am a monster. One mistake on this project, and I assure you, I will make you hate me.”
It took considerable effort for Sam to bite back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Beaumont didn’t know the true meaning of being a monster. Sam did. He’d fought them. But if this was the kind of monster he had to fight now, it would hardly be a challenge. So he simply nodded, letting Beaumont have the final word.
The gesture apparently satisfied Beaumont. “Good! So I know you have a firm handshake, and are an engineer of renown.” He picked up a folder from the table and flipped it open. “American, but you’ve been working with the British army for six years now? And was made an honorary colonel last year?” He glanced up at Sam, the wolf’s grin still in place.
It was all just more posturing. Beaumont knew Sam’s background and his skills - he had hired him in the first place. “That’s right. For services rendered to the company and for bravery above and beyond the norm.”
“Yes, there was something with a tiger? And a skirmish with the natives where your shot killed the leader and the spirits of the rebels, and thus saved the lives of the entire company and your workers?” Beaumont snapped the folder shut as Sam nodded. “How touching.” He spun to a large map on a tripod behind him. “Now. We are building the most expensive and daring railroad across Africa, for the glorious purpose of saving Africa from the Africans,” he rolled his eyes, “and of course to end slavery. We are in competition with the Germans and the French, and we are ahead. And we will stay ahead, providing you can do your job. Build a bridge across the river Tsavo,” he thrust a finger at the map, “and do it in four months.” The grin came back, feral as ever. “Can you do that?”
If you didn’t think I could, why did you hire me? Sam thought, but forced his expression to remain neutral. “You have examined my record. I have never been late on a bridge.”
Yes, I am well aware of your distinguished record. But you’ve never built in Africa.”
A flutter of excitement went through his chest. Africa had always been his dream. And now he was about to do what he did best while there? No amount of threatening or posturing from Beaumont could deter him. “Every country has its own challenges, but I am not afraid of them.”
“You’ll need that confidence, I assure you. Five months in Africa… Time can fly by quickly.”
“If I may speak personally,” Sam said quickly, the excitement and nerves and frustration of the day finally catching up with him. “My wife is expecting our first child in six months, and I promised her I’d be there for the birth. And I always keep my word. So your bridge will be done well before five months are up, I assure you.”
“How touching,” Beaumont simpered. “But I don’t give a shit about your upcoming litter. I made you with this assignment. Don’t make me break you.”
Sam took a careful breath and tamped down his anger. Beaumont had not made him by any means; his reputation as an engineer had been solid before this assignment. And he would not break him either. “You won’t have a chance. Now, unless you have any more words of encouragement, I have a train to catch.” He stood, gave Beaumont a curt nod, turned sharply on his heel and left.
Beaumont watched him go, the wolfish grin never faltering. “Either the bridge will be done in record time, or he will break very prettily. I am not sure which I like more.”
*
His luggage had all been loaded by the time he and Jess arrived at the station, and they had only moments before the train would depart. He pulled her close to him, arm around her shoulder, grip tightening as he watched the steam billow out from the engine in ever-growing clouds. Despite all his excitement and longing, he suddenly loathed the idea of leaving. Beaumont’s words had awakened his own fears at not being able to finish the job in time, to be late, to miss the birth of his first child… The remembered stench of sulfur filled his nostrils again, and he had to bite back a rush of words and advice. He couldn’t suddenly tell Jess that there were monsters in the world, to tell her that salt around the doors and windows would keep them out, that holy water and iron would protect her. There was no way he could tell her all this now, and leave her to go to Africa. His past had never been spoken of before. The only hope he had was that he had left it behind, and that if it did rear its ugly head, it would simply follow him and not touch Jess.
Jess sensed his turmoil, if not the entirety of its depths. “You have to go, Sam. It’s only five months.”
“I would have never taken this job if we had known sooner.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you would have been in agony, and I would have blamed myself. You’ve been dreaming of it for your entire life. It’s one of the few things I do know about your past, and it has certainly stayed with you into your present.”
“But what if things go wrong? What if I am not back in time? What if something happens to you and I am not here?”
She lifted a hand and put it over his mouth gently, silencing him. “I have my family and friends in the city if I need anything. And remember that I am a strong lady. That is why you love me.” She grinned.
“Headstrong,” he countered with a grin of his own.
She tapped his cheek in a mock slap. “And when things go wrong, and they will, our son and I - and yes, note my confidence - will have an excuse to visit you in Africa.”
“What would I do without you?” he asked, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.
“Undoubtedly crash and burn and whither away to nothing.”
“All aboard! Final call! All aboard!” bellowed the conductor over the chaos of the crowd and the hiss of the steam.
Jess pushed a hand against his chest. “Go on, Sam. I will be fine.”
“I know. It doesn’t mean I don’t worry.” He took her hand and kissed it.
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Such a gentleman. Where is that dashing American that I married? Did my fine London society tame you?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and kissed her properly, propriety be damned.
The train whistle blew again, but he didn’t move.
“Sam, you’re going to miss your train and you’ll never see Africa.”
“Africa. I’m desperate to see it, but if it means leaving you…”
“You’re a bridge builder. You have to go where the rivers are. Now go.”
With another quick kiss to her forehead, Sam stepped away. “I’ll be back in time,” he promised and strode towards the train, the steam and the crowds enveloping him.
*
The journey was long and far from comfortable. It wasn’t the distance, the boredom of train travel, or the fatigue and illness of traveling by ship. He was used to that, as his time with the army had taken him to India and around the continent. Rather, it was the sudden rash of nightmares that plagued him at night and haunted his waking hours. They were dreams that left him nothing but an impression of blackness, pain, fear and sulfurous yellow eyes. Headaches blossomed behind his eyes, and were only relieved by the few hours a night he could sleep well before the nightmares struck again.
His days stretched and blurred into a never ending stream of rail stations and seaports, all connected by a long, dull thread of barely-acknowledged landscape. He hardly noticed the changes in the clime and terrain, the shift of languages and skin color until one night. Tired enough to have long regretted his passion for Africa, he moved through the milling crowds around the train, blinking through a haze of steam and weariness. In all honesty he wasn’t even sure if he was in Africa, or if he was, where in Africa he might have landed.
Over the chatter of a group of persistent vendors that had surrounded him, he heard his name.
“Colonel Winchester! Colonel Winchester, sir!”
A young man with wild dark curls and bright eyes behind smudged spectacles appeared at Sam’s side. With a few polite but firm words, he managed to send the vendors on their way without much trouble.
“Good to meet you, sir!” he said with a bright smile. As Sam struggled to focus, he continued. “I am Angus Starling. I’m to assist you in Tsavo. But surely Mr. Beaumont told you that.” He held out his hand.
Sam returned the handshake, his stupor ebbing away under the power of the young man’s energy. “No, he just gave me his ‘monster speech.’”
Angus shook his head, his Scottish brogue thickening as he replied, “Ach, Robert seems terrible - but once you get to know the man, he’s much worse.”
Sam smiled, and the first laugh in what felt like months bubbled up from his chest. Angus grinned as well and took him by the arm.
“Is it your first time in Africa? Good. Because I’ve reserved the best seats on the train. Come on!”
In short order, Sam found himself seated on a bench that had been bolted to the nose of the train, Angus beside him, as the huge machine rattled off into the fading night.
He sat tense for the first several hours, the cool air whipping past him erasing the stupor and charging him with a quivering excitement. But there was little to be seen through the darkness. After Angus had explained his role in the work camp - a missionary first and foremost, general helper secondarily - he lapsed into silence. It was difficult to shout over the wind and roar of the engine, and he seemed to sense that Sam needed the silence.
That was truly a relief. Because Sam didn’t know how to fill in the gaps of the conversation. His mind was a tangled mess of logistical concerns - when would he arrive in Tsavo? What would the conditions be like? How many workers were there really and what sort of tensions would there be between the men? - and a surge of emotions too complex to properly name.
A sudden shift in thought presented him with the crystal clear memory of hours spent pouring over books about Africa. He had absorbed everything in those books like it had been life-giving water. Even before he could read, he’d stare at the illustrations of strange animals, memorizing every line, while Dean read the descriptions with his own embellishments. It had filled the long hours they were alone, while their father was gone, hunting…
Sam shook his head. It had been years since he had consciously thought about his family, and even more since he had seen or spoken to them. His father and older brother hadn’t been able to accept that he wanted a life removed from theirs, removed from hunting. So he’d left. It had not been a pleasant departure, and had resulted in hard words and bitter feelings. He didn’t regret the decision. He loved his life, and did not miss the old one. Except… Dean. That had been the hardest parting. He’d seen the look in Dean’s eyes when he left, seen exactly how his decision had betrayed his older brother and shattered the world he had been so careful to protect and guard. Dean’s drive, Sam knew, had always been to be the best hunter possible, but that was only there to serve his first goal - to protect Sam.
But Sam had grown up too, capable and smart, and if Dean could have just accepted that -
His musings were cut short by Angus’s voice and a gentle slap on his shoulder.
“Look!”
To the east, the red disk of the sun broke over the horizon and light spilled across the land, faster than Sam would have thought possible. The outline of the savannah took shape, trees and waving grasses and river valleys all etched out of light and shadow. It was as if the illustrations in his childhood books had come to life.
Before long the day blazed into it’s full glory, and animals appeared, skittering away from the train.
“Look at the antelope!” Angus cried as a massive herd of the graceful animals sprang away from the tracks and raced into the grass.
“Impalas, specifically,” Sam clarified, grinning as he watched their impossible leaps and bounds.
Now it was Sam’s turn to eagerly slap at Angus’s shoulder and point out the wonders around them.
“There! The giraffes! Did you know they only sleep five minutes a day?”
When they passed a wildebeest carcass with a pack of hyenas feasting on the putrefying flesh, Angus wrinkled his nose and said, “I don’t like them much.”
“The females are bigger than the males,” Sam said, swiveling around in his seat with a pair of binoculars to continue watching as the train passed. “The only animals like that here. They have to be in order to survive, because the males eat the young.”
This sort of conversation continued for several hours, until Angus said, “I’ve been in Africa for a year, and I don’t know what you know. How long have you been here?”
Sam pulled out his pocket-watch, checked it, and replied, “A little over twenty four hours. But I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”
The train ride lasted for some days, but Sam did not bother to count them. Where his journey before had been dull and lifeless, he scarcely noticed the passing of the hours and days as he took in Africa in every single detail he could. And he noticed the changes as they drew nearer to Tsavo. It seemed to grow hotter. Roads and paths rutted up the ground and churned the grass down into the red soil. Thorn trees appeared more frequently, and many had been chopped down or trimmed, the branches used to make fences around animal pens and homes. Smoke, steam and dust hung in the air, and tent cities appeared along the areas of construction as they approached the river.
The train slowed, wheels and pistons hissing and squealing, steam gushing out in great plumes. Sam struggled to put his mind back in order. Now was the time to focus.
“Welcome to Tsavo!” Angus said.
They jumped from their bench to the platform before the train had stopped, Sam’s muscles protesting and loving the movement at the same time. Crowds milled around, eager to see what goods the train had brought, and using the excuse to help unload everything to get away from their usual tasks. A handful of different languages rose from dozens of throats. Angus beckoned him and plunged into the press of bodies, apparently following the sound of one deep, strident voice.
“Samuel!” Angus called.
Sam twitched, but quickly realized that he wasn’t being addressed.
A middle aged African man was shouting commands to the various groups of people on the platform. If his voice and words did not get the desired reaction, he thumped his wooden staff against the platform or shook it in the air to get his point across. And it seemed to be working.
“Samuel is camp liaison,” Angus explained as they approached. “He’s the only man everyone here trusts.”
Sam nodded, and because his practical knowledge of African languages was shaky at best, asked, “Does he speak English?”
“And very poor French,” Samuel replied as he turned, but he had a warm smile and steady hand shake as his true greeting.
“This is Colonel Sam Winchester,” Angus said in introduction.
“I think it will be easy to remember each other’s names, no?” Samuel grinned.
“Or make things very confusing,” Sam countered, instantly at ease. Samuel had a very calming presence, but one that left very little doubt about his authority and strengths. It was no wonder everyone trusted him. He was suddenly reminded of Dean, and had to fight a wave of emotion. He blinked when he realized that Samuel was speaking to him again.
“So this is our bridge builder, eh? I did not know they make such giants in America. Perhaps you intend to build the bridge alone, or use yourself to span the river?”
“I blame my mother’s people for my height - the Campbells must have had some Viking in their Scotch blood. As for building the bridge, that’s an undertaking that can’t be done by one man. It’s difficult, it’s meant to be. Bringing land over water…”
Samuel nodded sagely. “Come, I will show you the bridge site.”
“Thank you.”
Angus turned into the crowd and called back, “I need to deliver these supplies to the hospital - show him the way there when you’re done?”
Samuel saluted with the staff. “I will bring him, Angus! Do not worry.”
They started off, leaving behind the bustling platform for the equally busy and crowded work site. Motion and activity swirled around them in an ordered chaos. Long lines of workers with picks hacked out the railroad grade, while others carried out ties and rails, to be hammered into place by other men with heavy hammers. Everyone appeared to be focused on their tasks, but they all looked up and stared as Sam went by. There was not a single friendly look or welcoming gesture to be seen. A heavy pall of dust and smoked weighed down the air and built up the heat of the day to a furnace blast that even the wind could not ease.
He couldn’t hold back a question. “Why does everyone look so miserable?”
Samuel didn’t stop walking or look back as he replied. “Because they are here.”
Sam mulled on that. Challenges, he had expected. A low morale wasn’t uncommon. But such a bleak outlook about the place, that was going to be interesting to deal with. Was it the situation, the labor, or simply the location that bothered the workers. He would have to investigate further. “You seem to keep everything organized, at least,” he said finally.
“Thank you. If it is, it is a miracle.”
“Why do you say that?”
Samuel sighed a little. “The truth it, the workers don’t like each other at all. Obviously, the Africans hate the Indians. But the Indians also hate other Indians. Hindus, they believe the cow is sacred. But the Muslims eat the cow.”
“I have worked with both Hindu and Muslim,” he replied. “Perhaps I can help.”
“You can try,” Samuel shrugged. “It won’t work. Tsavo is the worst place in the world.”
They reached the river then, and Sam’s mind turned towards pure logistics. The width of the river, the slope of the banks, the support system need to safely handle the train traffic - those were all mathematical problems that could be worked out on paper. But translating them into realities of labor and materials was something else entirely.
“There are three thousand men laying track in the advance camp,” Samuel told him, pointing across the river with his staff. “Once the bridge is built, it will all link up. And every day, they move their camp another two miles, even though your bridge is not built.”
Sam sighed and stared out over the river.
“Was it easier, in your mind?”
“Why would it be easy? If it were easy, we would never better ourselves.”
“Perhaps. But come this way. You should meet Mahina.”
Mahina was the foreman, one of the other men that wielded great control over the camp. He had an engineer’s mind but no schooling. Along with his mind, he was a massive man, taller even than Sam and solid muscle. After a brief conversation, Samuel led the way back to the hospital, so Angus could show Sam to his living quarters.
The heat of the sun was inescapable, and even though the wind was hot, it did move the air, so Sam pulled off his hat, running his fingers through his hair in the hopes that the sweat drenched strands would dry and cool a bit. It didn’t take long before he started hearing a word whispered behind him as they walked through camp.
Simba.
Simba.
Simba.
Simba Mtu.
Simba.
“What are they saying?” he asked suddenly.
“Simba Mtu. They are calling you the Lion Man.”
“What?” Sam was genuinely confused. He didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant a nickname. And if he was going to get one, he’d expected something to do with a giant or a giraffe, because of his height.
The amusement was clear in Samuel’s voice as he replied, “Your hair. It looks like a lion’s mane.”
“Oh. Is that going to be a problem, you think?”
“If it is going to be a problem, then Tsavo is the place it would be.”
The hospital was little more than a tin shed filled with cots and mosquito nets. The stench of sweat and sickness hung heavy in the air, and Sam struggled to keep the discomfort from his expression. Angus wove from bed to bed, speaking a few words with each patient. His face was bright and eager; clearly he was in his element.
Sam noticed the range of expected railroad labor induced injuries - cuts and abrasions, broken hands and splinted feet. But a vast majority of the patients seemed ill rather than injured. “Is it mostly malaria?” he asked Angus as the man drew near.
“Yes, but their suffering is merely transitory. Once they have accepted God into their hearts-”
“That’s just vomitous talk, and you know it, Mr. Starling,” a harsh voice interrupted. “The poor bastards will get even sicker if you don’t shut up.” A grey-haired man strode into view, his hands and white apron stained with blood. He eyed Sam. “You must be the engineer.”
“That’s right.”
“David Hawthorne.” He extended his hand, remembered the blood, and turned to a basin of cloudy water instead. “And this is my hospital. My advice to you: don’t get sick.”
Sam didn’t answer. The doctor’s tactless manner grated on him already.
Hawthorne continued, “Sorry, that was meant to be funny. Must have lost my charm.”
“You never had it,” Angus muttered as he stepped next to Sam.
“Angus and I don’t like each other,” Hawthorne explained with a certain relish.
“And I am also a liaison between these two,” Samuel added.
Sam took a deep breath. He was starting to agree with Samuel’s opinion of Tsavo. Then he turned to Hawthorne and asked, “Don’t you agree with building the railroad?”
“This?” Hawthorne snorted. “This is a sham. It’s only here to protect the ivory trade and make rich men richer.”
“Then why do you stay?” He was starting to understand Hawthorne’s bitterness. He knew what it was like to stay in a situation that went against what he saw and desired for himself.
Hawthorne spread his hands and snorted again. “Who else would have me?” He grinned at Angus. “Beat you to it, didn’t I?”
Angus glowered but didn’t answer.
Then Hawthorne added, “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned to a patient on a nearby cot. The man’s leg was swathed with bandages from the knee down, and his skin was ashy pale. “This is Karim, one of my orderlies. He was attacked by a lion this morning.”
Angus’s incredulous voice echoed around the hospital. “A man-eater attacks, and you’re such a buffoon, that you almost forget to mention it!”
There was a ripple of unease through the other patients that Sam could not miss as Angus’s statement was heard.
Hawthorne continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He was riding his donkey this morning when the lion pounced. The donkey took the brunt of it.” He turned to Sam, challenge clear in his eyes. “So. What are you going to do about it? I know that you just arrived, but considering your reputation and history, I am sure the men are looking to you for protection. But if you are tired... ”
Sam’s pride reared up. This was a challenge to his skills, his authority and his ability to keep the entire operation in order. It was less about the lion and more about his personal strength. If he failed to keep the camp safe against a lion, he’d lose respect before he’d even have a chance to earn it, and the whole operation would likely fall apart. And as much as he had forgotten about his past, he still kept his skills honed. They had served him well in India against tigers and rebels. They’d do the same here against lions. He may have stopped hunting the monsters that lived in the shadows, but he had been fighting deadly beasts and intangible monsters that men created themselves for years now. He wasn’t about to back down now. Even if Tsavo was the worst place in the world.
“With any luck, I’ll sort it out tonight.” He gave Hawthorne a short nod and left the hospital.
He had a rifle to clean.