It was the irony of ironies. The Riyadh Zoo was one of my favorite places in all the world, a spot where the architecture of the old Nasiriya Palace had been blended with the special needs of the world’s animals, to create a magical Arabian Nights atmosphere. In the past I had always felt rushed for time. A concert or a plane trip was only a few hours away. Now I could look forward to the whole night here — if I was clever or lucky enough to avoid Zan, Scouse and Pudd’n.
How did my chances look? As I headed deeper into the Zoo I made my checklist.
I was unarmed; they had at least one gun, plus other weapons in Zan’s case. There were three of them; I was alone. I was exhausted, brain-damaged, and hallucinating; they were rested from a day’s sleep. I had a bullet wound in my leg — blood was trickling down now into my left shoe, leaving a trail they would find easy to follow; they were fit, and Pudd’n at least was as strong as a bull.
A hopeless situation. I knew it, but I dared not admit it.
And I knew one other thing.
As it grew darker, I plodded on deeper into the Zoo. The layout of the interior was not simple. A series of avenues led out from the central elephant house to each major phylum of the Zoo’s contents. I had to head inward a hundred and fifty yards towards the center, around a circular footpath by the aviaries, then out again along another one of the spokes of the wheel. It took longer than I wanted, though I forced myself to hobble along as fast as I possibly could. By the time I reached the reptile section the last of the sunset was a burnish of brass to the west. I slipped along from one enclosure to the next, looking down at the signs in the last of the cold desert light.
Popular names were given only in Arabic — completely unintelligible to me. I had to rely on my memory of the full Latin names of each family.
Anilidae, Uropeltidae, Typhlopidae, Colubridae — not what I needed at all (but I shivered to myself when I thought about what I did need). The snakes had all been assigned to one set of enclosures, within the general area of the reptiles. Here were the egg-eaters, Dasypeltidae, and farther on I found Pythonidae — the big constrictors. I could handle them, but they wouldn’t do. Nor would the large tanked enclosure of Hydrophidae, the sea snakes.
At last, three large fenced areas next to each other. Crotalidae, Viperidae, Elapidae: all the worst of the poisonous snakes. I stood in deepening darkness and pondered what I would find in each habitat. Crotalidae meant diamondback rattlesnake, water moccasins, copperheads, fer-de-lance, and pit vipers. Perhaps bushmasters, too, though it was hard to keep them alive in captivity. Elapidae would be most dangerous of all, hooded and spitting cobras, coral snakes, kraits, mambas, and death adders. Neurotoxic venom, nerve poisons that would kill but might not cause instant agony; also, I didn’t think I could handle them — they were bad-tempered, agile, and unpredictable. A black mamba would be up to twelve feet long, and in my present condition it could travel a lot faster than me. Steer clear of the Elapidae.
**Steer clear of all of them.** The shadow thought quivered in my brain, and I paused for a moment. This was one area where I would be a lot braver than Leo. And I had to be.
Each fenced area was protected by chain gates with double safety catches. They were designed to keep out small and inquisitive children, but not a determined adult. After a few moments of careful manipulation I eased open the gate of the middle enclosure and went inside. I left it open behind me. This was the home of the Viperidae, the vipers and adders. Hemolytic poisons, instant agony when you were struck by one of the worse species. I had seen the effects of the hemotoxins, and I knew how quickly the swelling and the pain would start. It took all of my will power to go down onto my hands and knees, ignore the pain from my bleeding calf, and begin to inch forward into the darkness. The enclosure was big, perhaps fifty yards across, and in that space the surface varied from dry desert to a lush irrigated area.
Just enough light left for me to see where I was going. I knew what I wanted: Bitis gabonica, the Gaboon Viper.
No matter which snake I went near, there was a high risk. The Gaboon Viper had two big advantages. It was nocturnal, so it would just now be waking; and although it looks hideous it is sluggish in habits and doesn’t attack or run away when you get near. It flattens into the sand.
I knew where to look. Along the western side of the rocks, where the sun’s heat still lingered. The big danger was that I would in my dizzy and exhausted condition stumble across a snake and annoy it enough to strike. A big Gaboon Viper has fangs two inches long, and injects enough venom to kill five men.
The one that I found was a huge specimen, six feet long and four inches across the body. The heart-shaped head turned lazily as I came close, and the thick body snuggled closer to the side of the ledge of rock. It made no attempt to escape, but sounded an angry blowing hiss and jabbed at my handkerchief when I held it forward.
The sand was cooling rapidly, giving up its stored heat to the cloudless sky. I took off my jacket, draped it around the body of the snake, and lifted it with both hands just behind the head. The lidless eyes shone a glassy silver-white in the darkness, and the elliptical pupils stared up at me. As the bloated body wriggled from side to side, the blowing hiss became a steady rhythm. As each breath was expelled the top of the ugly head flattened a little. I shivered, and held on tightly. Gradually, the noise grew less. The snake was infuriated, but it could do no more than open its jaws wide and reveal the monstrous fangs.
I slid my way, step by cautious step, up a rocky incline that led to the artificial peak at the center of the enclosure. This was a dangerous time. It was too dark to see what lay in front of my feet, and the nocturnal snakes were waking.
Behind me I heard muttered words from outside the main enclosure, and saw the reflected flame of a cigarette lighter. Scouse came first, with Zan just behind him. He was following my tracks across the sand. Pudd’n was a reluctant third, well behind the other two.
“Salkind! We know you’re there. Better give up now, an’ we’ll go easy on you.” Scouse sounded furious, his voice cold and calm. I felt sorry for anyone who had to rely on his goodwill. “We’ll have you soon. Don’t think you can get away. Come out of hiding, or we’ll make it that much worse for you.”
They were inside the sandy arena, no more than twenty paces from me. I didn’t dare to breathe. My arms were aching from holding the weight of the snake, and my head chose this moment to turn the whole world into dizzy pinwheeling patterns of colored stars. I gritted my teeth and hung on, willing the whirling scene to stabilize.
Scouse was ten paces away. Five, coming confidently forward with his gun in one hand. He knew I was unarmed, and Zan and Pudd’n were backing him up.
Three paces. Two. It had to be timed precisely.
As he moved up to the last ledge, I shook the snake to bring it to a higher point of fury, and swung it forward.
Scouse had been walking with his eyes still down to the bloodied track my feet had made. The Gaboon Viper opened its jaws wide and sank the fangs into his exposed neck, just to the right of his Adam’s apple. For one moment Scouse was quite motionless, rigid against the sudden weight of the snake. Then he gave a high-pitched, horrified scream, dropped the gun to the sand, and grabbed at the bloated body. The viper hung on for a few seconds, then the jaws slackened. As it came free of his throat, the fangs sank deep into his right forearm.
The pain came at once. Unlike Dixie , Scouse carried no prototype of the Belur introsomatic chips. He was screaming, thrashing at the snake and staggering from side to side on the rocky hillside.