by Birte Lämmle
Charly bent over, hands braced on his knees, gasping for air. He leaned against a waist-high white wall near the ferry pontoon in Alcoutim. After his breathing had somewhat calmed, he lifted his head and the wind whipped through his dark hair. Despite almost superhuman effort, he had taken far too long to get here before nightfall. Now it was too late. The ferry stopped running the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. No one dared cross the river after dark.
With a sharp tug he tore down a poster behind him. Danger to Life it screamed in bold red letters. For weeks, they had been plastered all along both banks of the Guadiana. He crumpled the thick weatherproof paper and hurled it into the current. “She’s leaving – because of you I can’t reach her!” he shouted, then resumed his restless pacing, back and forth, never too close to the water.
Three blue and white kayaks lay tied at the pontoon, cordoned off with red police tape. They had belonged to the last tourists who had vanished without a trace. Some of the posters bore their portraits: smiling, sunburned faces in colourful shirts and floppy white hats. Seven missing in all.
Some whispered of a released alligator. Others insisted on a cunning killer who had planted the stories. And some swore they had seen it themselves – the thing that prowled the river at night. A serpent as long and thick as an ancient eucalyptus tree, its olive-brown hide striped with broken bands of black and white, its maw wide enough to swallow a dinghy whole.
The only man to escape alive should have known the truth. An old drunk who lived on his boat had been pulled half-dead from these very waters; teeth marks raked into his leg. He remembered nothing. And now Charly stood at the same pontoon.
Man, beast, or monster – whatever it was, it kept killing. And tonight, he had to cross this damned river.
He watched the crumpled paper drift into the darkness, swept away by the current. The Guadiana continued to rush, moonlight scattering silver over its rippling surface. His gaze returned to the far side, to the tiny pontoon. Was she waiting for him? Why else would she have written? His heart quickened as he glimpsed a slender figure bracing against the wind in the shadow of the boats.
For what must have been the hundredth time he pulled out his phone, staring at her message: “I’m leaving tonight – take care! Live your dream!” And then the little waving-hand emoji. Was she serious? Taking that tiny sailboat out on the river, in the middle of the night? There was no resisting the image in his mind: a great serpent coiling around her fragile vessel.
He exhaled sharply and pushed off from the cold wall, pacing again, desperate. There had to be some way to stop her. What she planned was madness. He’d make her understand.
Why tonight? Because the tide was right, because there would be wind at sea? Why, why, why? She hadn’t told him. She hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t read a single one of his over thirty messages. Her phone must have died.
Solveigh – the most beautiful woman he had ever met, with a smile that made the sun rise. Swedish, fearless, determined to sail the world alone. He had secretly dreamed of joining her, of stepping onto her boat and leaving everything behind. They fit together so well. It was the perfect chance. His own boat was little more than wreckage; it might take years to repair. For her too it would be a gain – he was an experienced sailor, he could help, he could teach. She had come this far on her own, true, but a little company would not hurt. Surely she would be glad if he came. He was certain of it.
But he had never told her. She didn’t know. He had to tell her – tonight. And first, he had to keep her from being devoured by the serpent. He had to stop her.
Should he shout across? Would she even hear him over the wind?
His eyes fell on a paddle, left behind in one of the confiscated kayaks. Or was it waiting for him? His pulse quickened. This could be the beginning of the adventure he had always longed for. Five minutes, no more, to cross. Perhaps he could slip past the terror of the Guadiana unseen – the Leviathan.
He drew three deep breaths and set his hand on the rail of the pontoon. The metal was wet and cold beneath his trembling fingers. The dark water rushed below, ominous. Had something moved among the waves? Was the monster already watching from the depths? He shook his head. Monsters weren’t real. He could handle a crocodile. A murderer, though…?
He ducked under the police tape, hesitant, his steps unsteady as he made his way to the kayaks. This town needs a bridge, he thought grimly, reaching for the paddles.
Then something burst from the water beside him. Charly jerked violently, frozen in place. His heart thundered, blood roaring in his ears. Just a fish, he told himself. But then came the thought: What was the fish fleeing from?
He thought he saw something big moving beneath the surface. Ice filled his veins. The paddle clattered to the pontoon as the police tape tore loose and fluttered to the ground.
Instagram, the next morning:
“Bella Orca has reached the Atlantic. Next stop: Canary Islands. See you in a week. Over and out, Solveigh.”
By Birte Lämmle
Bio – Birte Lämmle
Born in Hamburg – Germany, she grew up with a passion for creativity and technology. She studied communication design and later worked as a web developer, combining design and digital skills in her career. Since 2015 she has been living aboard, traveling through Europe by boat. For four of those years, she sailed single-handedly. Alongside life on the water, she pursued her love of storytelling and self-published two novels. She is now based on the Guadiana River, where she is refitting a Meta Joshua – a classic French cruising yacht – to set out on new adventures with her family.