The Adventures of Doctor Malone Trenton, August of 1940

Doctor Malone Trenton studied the bones carefully beneath his magnifying glass. One was a human femur, sliced in a smooth line three inches from the lesser trochanter. The other section was a jumble of bone fragments and dust, the remnants of the victim’s greater trochanter. It was fresh, carrying the weight and stains of a recent kill, but had been picked clean of all flesh. Perhaps by Congo scavengers or by the Doctor’s quarry, but he was unsure. Adjusting his glasses, he set the remains back on the still blood-muddied ground.

“What do you think?” Jean-Pierre Ilunga, Doctor Trenton’s translator and guide, stooped beside him worriedly. He dabbed his black brow with massive hands, his dark eyes searching the tree line rather than the bones before them. His accent was thick, but his English impeccable.

“Perhaps a tiger or one of the Congo’s more unsavory inhabitants?” Mama Madeleine Mboyo asked. She stood a few yards off, observing a mark on some tree bark. Following the scratch up the trunk of the tree, she noticed with some anxiety that the branches above had been snapped and hung by mere threads.

The Doctor rubbed his chin, then made some notes in his field journal. “Perhaps. However, I’ve never heard of a tiger doing something like this. They’re ambush predators, and the markings on that tree, Mama Madeleine, hint that the attacker came from above, not from the brush. I imagine our victim not only knew of their predicament but expected the attack. Not to mention,” he stood, brushing his khaki cargo pants clear of debris, “The way the femur is broken, it looks as if the victim was trying to escape. Almost like they were running when whatever attacked them severed the bone.”

He grimaced at the thought. Predators with a tendency to attack the legs were known for their animalistic cruelty. Whatever had done this had likely toyed with its prey, letting them bleed out before consuming.

“I’ve heard stories of tigers climbing trees,” Mama Medeline objected, “It’s not too far-fetched to think that one pounced from there.”

Doctor Trenton straightened his vest, rolling up his sleeves to uncover his arms. Although the bugs were atrocious, his worst enemy was twofold: the heat and humidity. Perhaps the mosquitoes had never had white meat, he joked, noticing that his compatriots seemed none-too-bothered by the buzzing pests. He turned to Mama Madeline, his lips pulling into a smile. Although he’d never admit it to his colleagues back in Massachusetts, where segregation was in full swing, he found the woman attractive. Skin dark as night and short hair just the same, her brown eyes held a wisdom and intelligence that made the Doctor’s heart leap for joy.

“I-”

“This is no tiger,” Ilunga interrupted. “No tiger, Doctor. Not at all,” he said again. The man’s lips quivered, his hands settling on the pistol attached to his hip.

Trenton sighed, “Then what do you suppose it is?”

“Kongamato, Doctor, Kongamato!” He trembled.

Mama Madeline scoffed. “Kongamato? Hah! Leave your superstitions elsewhere.”

The Doctor nodded. “Agreed, my dear friend Ilunga. Let’s keep our heads about us. There are no spirits. No thunderbirds or Mokele-mbembe. Just animals being animals.” He placed his hand on his compatriot's shoulder.

Ilunga jumped wildly. “I know this. I’ve heard stories! I promise you, Doctor, it is the Kongamato!”

Stifling a chuckle at his companion's dreadful expression, Trenton nodded. “Have you seen such a beast?”

He frowned. Mama Madeline watched the two carefully.

“Once . . .” Ilunga mumbled, “In my village. Hunters left one cloudy morning. My father among them. I watched him go . . . the fog grew. Great clouds overtook the canopy as thunder roared! There were screams in the jungle. And I saw, in the clouds, a creature’s shadow!”

Just the shadow? Trenton was skeptical. He may have been sent to the Congo to ascertain the truth behind rumors of Pteranodon-like creatures assailing the Belgian colonists, but to him, the whole ordeal seemed a waste of time and talent. Cryptozoology may have been his interest in the later years of university, but it was only a hobby beneath his love of environmental study. Why should one focus on what truly doesn’t exist when such an array of beauty exists around you? He’d never understand.

“Then we will keep our eyes to the sky, my friend,” he comforted Ilunga. “But I assure you no such monstrosity exists. Whatever attacked your father, whatever attacked this poor soul here,” he gestured toward the bones, “requires a scientific explanation, not superstition.”

“Agreed,” Mama Madeline added. The woman was his contact within the Congo and the one who had reported the first attacks. She’d requested aid. Originally, Madaline sought out hunters, but after being laughed at by most of the lodges within the northern United States, she settled on requesting help from the university. After all, who would be more apt to die for no reason in the Congo – a hunter seeking glory or a researcher with nothing better to do?

And now Doctor Trenton was out here with a beautiful Congolese woman, a superstitious guide, a humidity of 80% mid-June, a killer creature, and an ungodly number of mosquitoes.

What a life.

“Let us press on,” Mama Madeline reminded after a few minutes of silent contemplation.

“Yes, let’s,” Trenton added as they began to leave.

Ilunga hesitated. “To go deeper into the jungle would be suicide, Doctor!”

“And to flee from such a beast would be intellectual suicide. Come,” he commanded, marching forward into the jungle. Madam Madeline followed close behind. Shifting on his feet uncomfortably, Ilunga squeezed the handle of his machete with one hand and his gun with the other. Reluctantly, he followed the suicidal pair deeper into the Congo.

Hours had passed before they set up camp, following broken branches and splatters of blood as the Doctor relentlessly tracked his prey. The Doctor couldn't tell when night had truly fallen; the dense canopy overhead made most hours of the day as blessedly dark as the night. He didn’t mind. His pale skin would have likely burned and shrivelled beneath the direct African sunlight. Although the Doctor had initially resisted Illunga’s insistence to make camp, Mama Madeline had insisted. They had no real tent, but with a simple canvas, bug netting, and some machetied wood from their guide, the trio had crafted a cozy enough abode. It’d do, Trenton thought, at least for the night. But before sunrise, luck willing, he’d be back on the trail after their quarry.

“We should keep watch,” Ilunga said, poking a small fire in the midst of the camp.

“Is that so?” Doctor Trenton responded between mouthfuls of beans.

“Yes, the jungle does not sleep, although we must,” the guide responded.

“As you wish, but I really see no need,” the Doctor locked eyes with the man. Ilunga had been spouting spiritual nonsense about the Kongamato all day, an incessant buzz almost worse than the mosquitoes themselves. “We haven’t seen anything but bones and dried blood. Whatever killed that man is likely miles away by now.”

Ilunga shook his head. “It knows we track it.”

“What makes you say that?” The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

The man shivered. “I know it.”

“You know it?” Mama Madeline asked. “How do you come by this knowledge?” She’d already retired to the tent, obviously awakening at the conversation.

Ilunga looked away, shivering as he scanned the rustling canopy. Wind howled overhead, breaking only against the thick jungle. Doctor Trenton was glad that the Congo provided such a natural, albeit bug-infested, shelter.

“The wind knows.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Then let the wind keep watch, Ilunga. I need you to rest. Besides, there are three of us. If anything wanders into camp, it’ll either run when it sees us or become breakfast.”

His guide seemed unconvinced, instead scooting against a tree and clutching his machete and pistol, staring into the canopy with wide eyes. Doctor Trenton glanced toward his own sidearm just inside the tent. If Ilunga lost it, would the Doctor be able to handle things? He imagined that he would but preferred that he did not have to.

The forest was alive with music. Bugs chirped, bats screeched, and animals howled deep within the forest. They sat inside a dome of shrinking orange light as their fire began to dwindle. Pardoning himself politely, the Doctor retired into their makeshift tent. Mama Madeline was now deeply asleep; a peaceful smile adorned her lips. Ilunga refused to budge, staring into the sky as the wind picked up steadily.

It’d rain soon, but what should one expect in the Congo? Sighing, Doctor Malone Trenton closed his eyes for the night, hoping that the weather would pass without difficulty.

“Doctor? Doctor!” Mama Madeline shouted above the cacophony of rain. The tent sank where water accumulated, and puddles formed along its edges, soaking into the Doctor’s night clothes.

He shot up quickly, kneeling as he threw on his vest, secured his pistol, and assessed the situation. They were swamped. How the deluge had not awoken the Doctor, he knew not, but one thing was for sure: the trio was in danger.

Or, rather, the duo. Ilunga was nowhere to be found. Even through the blanket of rain, the Doctor knew that the guide’s post was vacant. He stepped outside the tent, throwing up his hands to peer around the campsite.

It was empty.

Mama Madeline joined him, quickly dismantling the tent’s canvas and tossing it around her shoulder as a makeshift poncho. She seemed equally distressed.

“Where is Ilunga?” She cried.

“I don’t know!” Trenton shouted back.

They searched the immediate area, careful not to stray too far, to no avail. Meeting at the extinguished campfire, Trenton smiled cynically. “It appears we’ve been abandoned.”

Mama Madeline frowned, shaking her head. “No. I have known him since we were kids. He’d never do such a thing!”

“Hmm,” Trenton thought for a moment, “Do you think something could’ve got him?”

“Ilunga is a warrior!” Mama Madeline replied indignantly. “Nothing could take him so easily!”

“Regardless-” Doctor Trenton’s breath caught as he noticed something through the torrent, a small hint as to Ilunga’s whereabouts that was barely visible through the water.

The branches above his post were broken, hanging by threads.

Something had descended upon their guide.

Mama Madeline followed his eyes, noticing it as well. She gasped. “Do you think . . .?”

Doctor Trenton swallowed hard. “I hope not, but I wouldn’t be too sure.”

Exchanging glances, and without further discussion, the two quickly packed up camp. A half-washed trail of crimson led away from camp, and an unspoken agreement was made between the two academics. They would track down their guide and rescue him, should he still live, from whatever misfortune had befallen him. Besides, neither Mama Madeline nor Doctor Trenton knew the way out of the rainforest. Their best hope lay with Ilunga.

Without tarrying, the two marched deeper into the jungle, disappearing into the dense fog that accompanied the rain.

Hours passed as the duo continued their desperate pursuit. Mama Madeline took the lead, her athletic frame pulling her further ahead than the Doctor. He was used to books and libraries, this being his first true field experience, but the Congolese woman had a graceful way with the jungle. They hiked an incline, following tiny red puddles and disturbed branches to the base of a cliff. Pausing, the Doctor assessed the situation.

The cliff was tall, but rugged and not completely vertical. It was more like a jumble of rocks than a true mountainside. Nevertheless, the fog and rain had intensified to such a degree that any upward trek would be treacherous. It wouldn’t take much imagination to slip, fall, and die.

“The trail leads up,” Mama Madeline said, pointing to a deep scratch in the rock. Trenton noticed its similarity to the ones on the tree near yesterday’s corpse. Same pattern, same depth, different material. He surmised that whatever creature had severed that femur had taken Ilunga and must be returning to a nest. Animals rarely trekked up rock faces like this, but some airborne predators relished the privilege of high-altitude shelters. It must be something that flies. Something that, for one reason or another, cannot fly as it normally would. The trail proved that it had only managed to get a few feet off the ground during its escape from camp, breaking limbs and disturbing brush that were only a few meters above ground. What would make a flying creature stay so low? A wound perhaps? Preference to avoid the rain? Or . . .

Was it carrying something?

Something heavy?

Someone?

“I’m not one much for heroics . . . but . . ." Trenton gulped, “I see no other option but forward. Do you think you can scale these rocks in the rain? Or should we wait for it to pass?”

Mama Madeline frowned, her eyes narrowing as she gazed upward. “We go now.”

“Well, okay then,” Trenton responded, patting his pistol. Although his vest covered it, the rain had soaked through. Hopefully, it’d still fire.

Slowly, carefully, they started to scale the cliff. Sharp rocks met slippery hands as they struggled toward the heavens. Blessedly, the incline lessened to a harsh slope as they ascended over the jumbled rocks and boulders. Despite the heavy rain and fog, there was nothing more besides a gentle breeze. Another hour passed before Mama Madeline’s arm shot out as she ducked behind a large rock.

“Down! Shhh!” She whispered aggressively.

Trenton, annoyed by the soggy feeling in his trousers, obeyed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Shush!” She hissed, pointing.

Doctor Malone Trenton, a student at the Massachusetts University, on his first-ever field expedition, peered around his companion to make one of the most fascinating and hotly debated discoveries in scientific history.

The fog that enveloped the rainforest was deep, but the dark cloud atop the mountain formed an impenetrable dome. Light crackled within the cloud with bursts of dazzling yellow and pulses of orange like lightning. His hair raised at the electric beat of something massive. Wings, he realized, as the cloud grasped and swirled like an angry river with its wind. The angry flashing revealed the silhouettes of a creature unlike anything that Doctor Trenton had seen outside of paleontology textbooks.

For a brief, horrendous moment, as the cloud cleared due to its thunderous wingbeats, Trenton caught a glimpse of the thing.

It hovered above the ground, something dark and ruined within the grasp of its long talons. The monster, from talon-tip to scaly head, stretched an easy four meters tall. Its wings, fleshy and thin like a flying lizard, spanned close to eight meters. A long beak-like structure adorned its face, ending in a sharp point when closed and a massive maw when opened. Atop its head sat a single-point crown. The beast roared in a high-pitched gale as it battled the ragged thing that struggled to escape its grasp.

“It’s Ilunga!” Doctor Trenton realized, surging forward only to be pulled back by Mama Madeline.

“Stop! Do you not see it?”

“I do, but he needs help!”

“Shush!” She hissed. “Or we will need help too!”

“We can’t just leave him out there!”

Ilunga swung his machete wildly at the beast with one hand, keeping its sharp beak at bay in an odd yet elegant dance. In his other hand, he bashed the Kongamato’s talons. The guide was covered in blood but valiantly resisted the creature’s advances. How he had made it this far, Doctor Trenton could only imagine.

Doctor Trenton took out his pistol, prepared to fire upon the beast. Mama Madeline set her hand upon his, staring sternly at the beast as she took the weapon from the Doctor’s hand.

“Madeline?” He asked, dropping the cultural mama added to the beginning of most Congolese women’s names.

She didn’t respond with words, only levelling the barrel at the beast. It flapped its massive wings vigorously, sending sprays of wet clouds and crackling electricity flying. Mama Madeline did not waver, taking careful aim at the Kongamato’s center mass.

BANG!

The gunshot rang out above the roaring wind and cascading rain, the flashing muzzle blinding.

A spray of blood erupted from the beast’s chest. Kongamato squealed, loosening its grip on Ilunga, who took full advantage by rolling out of its grasp. Standing as Mama Madeline fired once again, Ilunga struggled to reload his pistol. The creature landed as the second shot made contact. Yelling, Ilunga unleashed a full barrage of lead into the monster.

No. Not a monster, an animal, thought the Doctor. A beautiful – but dreadful animal.

The Kongamato slowed, attempting to stab Ilunga with its beak. Jumping to the side, Ilunga dodged. In one swift motion, as the Kongamato tried to stand, he brought the machete down upon the creature's neck.

With a sickening squawk, the mighty Kongamato fell, its body twitching twice before falling still. Eight gunshots and a decapitation brought the horrifying legend to a close.

As the wind and rain dissipated, the sporadic lightning that accompanied the creature’s every wingbeat ceased, and the fog lifted – Doctor Trenton did not feel relief. No. Not even as he and Mama Madeline ran to Ilunga and found him miraculously in good health. The man sported only bruises and nasty scratches, both of which he promised were of no import. Even as the Doctor took the hand of his friend and smiled at the celebration of his peers, he felt no joy. Even as he filled his notebook with drawings and observations of the creature, even taking a sample of the Kongamato's skin to take home, elation evaded him. Even as he sailed home and basked in the adoration of his peers, Trenton found no smile.

No. Only a deep, profound sense of loss.

A legend had died. A beautiful creature.

And Doctor Malone Trenton swore to never let it happen again.