Mikayla and the Dogmen

Mikayla stood draped in darkness at the edge of the jungle; the canopy blunting the rays of the sun some 40 feet above her. Sloping gently from where she stood, a verdant savanna lit brilliantly by the sun, rolled to a stop a mile or two before her, forming the banks of the Yamani River. She was surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes; she was not an overtly emotional person. However, to finally be here, to see the river revealed so beautifully in front of her in a panoramic view that seemed to extend forever, surpassed everything she had imagined or expected. She felt overwhelmed.

She could smell the cool moisture of the water radiating up to her. Was that even possible, to smell a river, perhaps even feel and taste it at such a distance? Or, was her formidable thirst triggering the synapses in her brain, screaming for her to take notice of the very object on which she was focused, the very thing that had brought her to this place; the Yamani river.

The six-day slog through the jungle had been a series of dead ends and backtracks when the landscape closed in around her, choking her path. She had finally punched a hole through that green wall, fueled by her tenacity and fear of failure, but not without cost. The pack she carried weighed close to 60 pounds and pushing through this last but thickest part of jungle had wicked every ounce of moisture from her body. Her canteen had given up the last droplets of water over three hours ago. What had started as a small tendril of thirst a short time ago had now grown into a desperate need.

She hadn’t noticed that her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth until she tugged it away making an audible click as she did so. Her eyes darted up quickly to the sun. She could have pulled the GPS tracker out of her backpack to check the time, but she didn’t need to. It was a little before noon, which meant she would be hiking the two miles across the savanna down to the river under the full heat of the day. Fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all it would take, but she was alone, she would be easily seen in the clearing, and you didn’t play games with thirst or exposure out here.

She needed water.

And the water that stretched out before her was special. Magical if you believed the historical records written by some early explorers who had tried to settle this area. Cursed if you read the accounts of others. She had read them all. The Yamani River had captivated her imagination since she had first read about it as a child.

The true source of the Yamani had never been found. Many had traced it back but lost the waterway where it forked into 1000 streams. Indeed, one searcher had been her own father, but he had come up empty like all the rest. When she told him, she was going to find it, that she was going to come to the Yamani to discover that which remained hidden, he had come unglued. He would give no reason for his adamant concern, only that she should not come, that he forbade her. She laughed at this, until the anger radiated out from her gut and into every tributary of her hands and feet. She is not a woman who waits for permission. She did not suffer his attempts to control her well. Which is why she had left her father sipping his morning coffee in the kitchen as she quietly walked out the front door. This would be her prize; the history books would add her name to the records, Mikayla Kuvasz, the woman who solved the mystery of the Yamani River.

A smile played across her face. She pulled the weathered fedora from her head, loosing the long, auburn tresses she had coiled beneath it while pushing through the jungle. She learned long ago how tangled branches and twisted vines sought to ensnare her hair if left uncovered. She nearly had a chunk ripped out of her scalp while moving quickly through the undergrowth in Viet Nam. A simple solution would be to shore it up in a bob prior to these excursions, but she would never. Some might call it vanity, or conceit, she did not care. She loved this display of her femininity and the incongruity it struck against the backdrop of the remote places she so often trekked. Here, there was nothing but clearing and scrub brush between her and the Yamani; she could safely let her hair cascade over her shoulders and down her back and let the wind run freely through it without fear.

She tucked the fedora into her backpack sitting at her feet, then with a grunt, hoisted the load back up onto her shoulders. Amazingly, it felt lighter now. In one fluid movement she launched her feet forward leaving the shade at the edge of the jungle and strode across the threshold into brilliant sunshine and light grass toward her destiny.

The sun felt bold on her face and body after six days under the canopy. Mikayla turned her copper-flecked brown eyes up toward a cloudless sky. Her broad smile revealed a flash of white, a white so pure it seemed unnatural in this world of bright greens and drab olives. The microfiber cargo shorts she wore allowed the grass to softly brush against her bare legs, toned from walking thousands of miles just like these. Tired, yet buoyed by the thought that the most difficult part of her journey was now behind her in the jungle and soon, she would slake her thirst by drinking directly from the Yamani quickened her pace. She did not feel the eyes that followed her every step from low cover. She did not hear the soft growl or see the long tongue swipe smoothly across a perfect pair of canine teeth. She was oblivious that with each step toward the river she was getting closer to the greatest challenge of this journey, not moving away from it. The most arduous test she would ever experience up to this point in her 24 years, lay in front of her, not behind.

The Yamani

The river itself created a great deal of interest when it was “discovered” by 16th century colonialists. According to the detailed written records of the time, what made this river noteworthy was its clarity. These experienced sailors had seen crystal clear lagoons, bottomless atolls, and shimmering transparent reefs the world over. But, a clear river? Clear rivers are rare in any part of the world. Most rivers, including all 23 that ran through this part of the world flowed red or brown depending on the loam deposits they picked up along the way, save the Yamani. Coursing as deep as 43 feet in certain stretches, the visibility in this waterway remained unlimited.

The clarity, it was theorized, was accountable for another of its mysterious attributes. As the explorers ventured further from the sea, moving inland, they became desperate for fresh drinking water. Gambling hope against hope they had tried drinking from other rivers only to find them to be cesspools of dysentery and other alien disease which decimated the first groups that came through. One record described the scene of the first group of explorers to come upon the banks of this clear river; how they tore the filthy rags from their bodies and dove in. The journal described how they set aside all caution and raised their cupped hands to their lips to drink deeply, tasting the sweet coolness that rushed down their throats. Not a single case of illness was recorded as a result of drinking directly from the Yamani. It was pure as it was clear.

There had been documentation regarding a conflict between the colonialists and the indigenous people that lived along the banks of the Yamani, who were given the derogatory name of Homo Canis – Dogmen. Modern researchers dismiss much of the discussion in the texts regarding these people, citing the well-known xenophobia of the time for their outlandish, even impossible deions. Several references described these men as being men by every measure yet possessing some behavioral and physical attributes common among canids.

Reports stated that while they were equipped with fully-functioning arms and hands, legs and feet, these men had turned their backs on walking upright and had learned to move proficiently on all fours; the balls of their feet and the pads of their hands. Many sources described impossible feats of speed associated with Dogmen using this mode of locomotion. One author claimed that he had witnessed a Dogman overtake a horse at full gallop in this manner which is preposterous.

Several tomes included artistic sketches of the skull and mandible of this creature which appeared human in every way except for the overly enlarged canine teeth some 2.5 inches long. Additional sketches depicted the Dogmen with long, heavily furred tails, though no reference was made to whether this feature was a natural extension of the man, or a cleverly devised modification of the body.

One entry alluded to some abnormality attributed to the genitalia of these men. While the puritanical bent of the time precluded this historian from providing a full deion of the reproductive organs, it was quite clear what was meant.

Completely absent from the record was any mention of the female version of the tribe.