Free Rogue Angel 47: River of Nightmares by Alex Archer Page B

body—floating face-down in the river...what was left of Captain Almeirão. While she’d been dreaming with Joan and Charlemagne, and talking about swords...enjoying her mystical experience, people had been dying. Her “me time” had proven fatal to others.
    “You have saved many lives, Annja.” She recalled the line from her dream, yet she hadn’t saved any of the caiman’s victims. Because she’d selfishly indulged herself.
    She stepped in and redoubled her attack on the beast, darting one way and then the next, nearly slipping in the blood and feeling a stone hit her back that had been meant for the caiman. A few more stones pelted it, and the spearmen jumped in, but could not effectively pierce the thing’s thick hide. One lucky tribesman managed to lodge a spear into the caiman’s side, but it seemed to serve only as a minor irritant.
    The spearmen skittered back and she continued to swing.
    The creature could have filled the starring role in one of those cheesy SyFy movies, but this wasn’t animatronics; it was angry flesh and flashing teeth, she could smell it, a fetid odor that reminded her of death and rotting. A wave of the smell surged up from its belly and she gagged.
    The spearmen yelled and jabbed, retreated and yelled again.
    The caiman raised its head and opened its cavernous mouth wide, its teeth sparkling in the starlight.
    “Annja! What are you doing?” Marsha’s voice called to her and she heard footsteps behind her. “It’ll kill you. Run! Get out of there!”
    “Marsha, stay back! I’m okay.”
    “Don’t get so close!” Marsha swept to Annja’s side, but stayed well away from the caiman. She had her video camera pressed to her face—more footage that even Doug would veto. “Keep away from it!”
    Annja’s throat constricted when the beast turned, its eyes on Marsha now.
    “Oh, no,” Marsha muttered. “Annja! Help me!”
    Like lightning, the caiman shot toward a weaponless target, snout and tail brushing aside the spearmen who’d darted in again, sending one of them into the river. Annja leaped, barely registering a snapping-chittering sound that came from the water—piranha feasting. She pointed the sword down and wrapped both hands around the pommel, drove the blade as hard as she could as she fell onto the caiman’s back. The rough ridges of its carapace dug into her like a hundred little knives, and she clamped her teeth tight to keep from screaming. She pushed with all the strength she could summon, the tip of the blade digging even deeper into the caiman’s neck, then sinking in farther—through it and into the damp ground beneath.
    Annja managed to drive the blade in all the way up to its hilt, pinning the caiman like an insect collector might pin an elephant beetle. The beast thrashed and threw Annja off, its tail striking her in the face. Annja felt dazed, and its tail lashed her again. She felt herself drifting, but Marsha slipped past its snapping jaws and pulled her away.
    “Stay awake, Annja. Stay awake!”
    Annja fought to stay conscious and focused so the sword would remain in this world. If she lost consciousness, the sword would vanish, the caiman would be free, and who knew how many more people it would kill.
    The snapping-chittering from the water grew louder and a glance showed the surface choppy from the feeding frenzy.
    “Those are piranha, aren’t they?” Marsha pulled Annja back even farther, falling once, but getting back up and pulling again. “Piranha, and they’re eating the captain.”
    Something was eating the captain and any other villagers that had been tossed in the water. Annja protectively pushed Marsha behind her; the dizziness had passed. Starlight reflected off the blood pouring from the wound on the caiman’s neck. It continued to thrash and the sword wiggled like it was working itself free.
    “Black!” Marsha shouted. She’d picked up her camera again. “It would have to be black, wouldn’t it? Black monster. Black river.