Blood Trail

by Tony Park

  Jeff didn’t care. He began kissing her, down there, softly at first, gently brushing the insides of her thighs as his lips fluttered over her. He was mapping her, drawing each part of her into his mouth and sucking, tasting, until his tongue parted her and found the spot that was so hard, so swollen for him. She felt his hair, long, soft, between her fingers. Graham had a crew cut; Jeff’s hair was almost like a girl’s.

  She wanted him now, but not soft and gentle, not his caresses. Mia was opening herself to Jeff, whispering to him, dirty words, hidden secrets, urging him on, and she could feel the change start to come over him.

  Good, she smiled to herself.

  This is a dream, she told herself, but then the guilt surfaced again. This could not be happening. Jeff was touching her now, in the dark under the covers, his finger finding her, rubbing her, becoming more slippery with each movement. She was arching her body, tilting her pelvis to reach for him, pushing herself onto him.

  Was she? Really?

  She was beyond caring as she felt her arousal mounting, like riding the crest of a perfect wave one time at Ballito, on one of the rare holidays her father had taken her on. He had gone to the coast for an army reunion, got drunk, abusive, and Mia had cried, but for the one moment when she had been on one of his friends’ kids’ boogie boards, she had felt the weightless rush of freedom and ridden that wave right in to shore, grinning all the way.

  Jeff was taking her back there, giving her that feeling of pure bliss, of freedom, and she knew it was what she needed right now, to escape this terrible nightmare that her waking life had become. All she needed to do was surrender to his touch, whether that was happening in a dream or otherwise. For now, she enjoyed the sensation of his fingers on her.

  ‘Yes,’ she heard herself say.

  Mia felt his stubble on her chin, scratchy, raw, possessive, not caring that he might mark her as he kissed her, passionately. She opened her mouth to him as she moved her legs to help him. She wanted him. It felt bad, wrong, but good and unstoppable, as though she had no hand in this, no say in the morality of it. She existed, in that moment, for him and his touch.

  Mia’s eyes felt like they were glued shut, so that even if she wanted to open them, to double-check whether or not this was a dream, she was incapable. Part of her wanted to tell him to get his hands off her, but the other wanted him to get her off. She needed this, to clear her mind, she told herself.

  ‘Hey.’

  Hey what? she asked herself in reply.

  ‘Hey, what the fuck?’

  Jeff was on top of her now, between her legs, rubbing himself against her. Her sense of pleasure, of anticipation, was heightened to the point where she wanted to scream at him to stop.

  The problem was, someone was speaking – no, yelling.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here, man!’

  Mia thrashed in the bed, arms reaching up, to push Jeff off her, but she could feel nothing. Her hands flailed in thin air. She flung an arm out to the side in her bed and it connected with something.

  ‘Ow!’

  Her brain was foggy with fatigue, unable to comprehend what was happening here, whether she was moving from sleep to wakefulness, or if she had been conscious the whole time. If she was in the here and now, then why wasn’t Jeff still touching her?

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Mia saw the man she had shot, standing in her doorway, bellowing at Jeff, who was on his feet, still fully clothed.

  Her heart pounded with fear and at last she was able to open her eyes properly. It was not, she saw with a relief that was immediately overtaken by dread, the dead poacher, but rather Graham, and he was punching Jeff.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Graham, no!’

  Mia scrambled out of bed just as Jeff hit the screed concrete floor next to her.

  Graham growled like a bear and stood over Jeff, reaching down for him and picking him up with one big hand wrapped in his shirtfront. The Canadian looked groggy, blood already flowing from his nose.

  Mia had time to register that Jeff was fully clothed, and from the indentation on her mattress and drawn blankets on his side it looked as though he had remained on top of the bed and had not, in fact, been trying to make love to her. It had been a dream. That was a relief, but now Graham looked ready to kill Jeff.

  Graham drew back his free right hand and prepared to knock Jeff unconscious.

  Mia stepped between them and Graham’s blow bounced off her forearm.

  ‘Ow!’ she protested.

  ‘Sheesh, sorry. I mean, what were you up to?’

  Jeff seemed barely conscious as he hung in Graham’s grasp.

  ‘Why was he in bed with you?’

  ‘He was on my bed, you bloody brute.’

  Graham let go of Jeff, who stumbled backwards a step, trying and failing to regain his balance. He fell to the floor and tenderly touched his nose, then shook his head.

  ‘What was he doing on your bed in our room?’

  ‘It’s not “our” room, Graham,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘And you can’t just storm in here and beat people up. Jeff was kind to me. I thought I couldn’t sleep after yesterday and he helped me get to bed.’

  Graham sneered. ‘Then crawled into bed with you. Hell, Mia, what are you doing to me? I came here to see how you were getting on. I didn’t know you’d be . . . entertaining another man.’

  ‘What is this, the nineteenth century? I wasn’t entertaining anyone.’ She looked at her watch. It was one in the morning. What the hell had Graham come here for anyway, a middle-of-the-night booty call? ‘For goodness sake, get a Coke or a beer or something out of the fridge and apologise to Jeff. He didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Yeah, man,’ Jeff said, at last able to speak, ‘nothing happened.’

  Mia turned to Jeff. ‘Thank you for looking after me, but . . .’

  He touched his nose and winced. ‘Yeah, maybe I should go. I don’t want a broken arm.’

  Graham glared at Jeff.

  ‘Say sorry to him,’ Mia said.

  Graham said nothing.

  ‘Sheesh, men.’ She turned to Jeff. ‘I’m sorry for what happened.’

  ‘OK. Just do me a favour and think about what I said to you, about medicine – umuthi.’

  ‘Ah, kak,’ Graham said. ‘Has this oke now been filling your head with more of that . . . more of that shit?’

  ‘Graham, please –’

  He waved a hand in the air. ‘These bastards are running rings around us and we’re all contemplating our flippin’ navels and talking about black magic. It’s crazy, Mia.’

  Jeff ignored him. ‘You’ve been through a trauma, Mia. You should think about doing something to help yourself. Maybe talk to a sangoma.’

  ‘Jislaaik, I’m going to shoot someone just now,’ Graham said.

  Jeff held up a hand and backed out of the doorway.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mia said again.

  Jeff shook his head. ‘You don’t need to apologise, Mia, and besides, I can understand how Graham might have felt.’

  ‘Graham is in the fokken room, man,’ Graham said.

  Jeff nodded to her and closed the door.

  Mia turned to Graham. ‘There was no need for you to act like a bloody Neanderthal.’

  ‘I’m no caveman.’ He stabbed a finger at her. ‘And you shouldn’t let strange men into your room when you’re alone.’

  Mia seethed. ‘Get out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Out!’

  ‘Babe . . .’

  ‘Don’t Babe me. Get out.’

  ‘Mia, listen to me.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘No. You listen to me. Nothing happened with Jeff. He was kind and he helped me and I was so tired. I don’t belong to you, Graham.’

  He looked her up and down, as if
appraising some farm animal. ‘No, you’re right. You don’t.’

  He turned and walked out. Mia slumped, her anger gone as fast as it had risen. She wondered if she had reacted so strongly because she did feel a tiny bit guilty over what had turned out to be her dream. It had seemed so real, though, Jeff gently though expertly and effectively coaxing her arousal. Graham was not like that when he made love. He was not ungenerous, but he was always in a hurry. That was not all bad, and she liked sex with him.

  Liked.

  Too tired to stay awake worrying about men, Mia lay down and drifted back to sleep, still in the grip of the joint and the beer.

  Another nightmare, in which the man she had killed had Laura in his grasp, woke her again. It was still dark outside her window. Mia checked her watch and saw she had only slept another three hours or so. She sighed. She was still tired, but there was still so much to be done. She found her phone and texted Julianne Clyde-Smith, asking if there was any news of Laura. Her phone rang a few seconds later.

  ‘Hello, Julianne, how are you?’ she began.

  ‘Still no sign of Laura.’

  Julianne was English, so she spoke directly, straight to the point. African people, black and white, placed a high stock in manners and always asked after one another before getting down to business. Mia couldn’t blame her employer this time, she supposed.

  ‘Sue is under sedation,’ Julianne continued. ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘A few hours. Not well.’ She left out the business of the boys fighting.

  ‘I told Graham and Sean and the others to get some rest,’ Julianne said. ‘However, Sean’s still out searching with his dog teams.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Mia asked.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

  Mia was fairly sure the comment was not meant as a direct criticism, but nonetheless it stung.

  ‘Bongani and I can help man the Vulture system again,’ Mia said. ‘We might pick up something.’

  ‘Yes, sure, fine. Anything else?’

  ‘No,’ Mia said. Now sure that she was being chastised, she ended the call.

  For God’s sake, Mia thought to herself, I killed a man trying to catch these people. She closed her eyes and saw the dead body again.

  A hot shower helped revive her, marginally. Afterwards she dressed in fresh clothes and WhatsApped Bongani. He was awake and agreed to meet her at the Vulture monitoring room.

  Mia stopped by the kitchen for a cup of coffee, which she took in a takeaway cup, along with a muffin.

  Pretty, the cook, looked distraught as she served her. ‘Ah, Mia, I am so very, very sorry.’

  ‘What for?’ Mia sipped her coffee.

  ‘The food poisoning yesterday. I have no idea how it happened.’

  ‘Oh.’ With the shootings and the kidnapping, her temporary bout of an upset stomach had faded away as the least of her problems. ‘No problem, Pretty, these things happen in any kitchen.’

  Pretty pursed her lips, looking more defiant than contrite now. ‘Not in my kitchen.’

  ‘I didn’t mean any offence.’ Sheesh, Mia thought, I was the one who ended up throwing up.

  ‘I mean, I am still sorry, but I can’t imagine how it happened. I taste all my food myself, hygienically of course, while I’m cooking.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Pretty’s waistline and boobs did not for a moment suggest that the chef was lying.

  ‘And there was nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Might have just been one bad batch of fish, I guess,’ Mia said.

  Pretty shook her head. ‘My supplier has never let me down, and nor has my refrigerator. Miss Clyde-Smith has asked me to investigate.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.’ Mia had bigger problems right now than a bug in Pretty’s kitchen. She took her coffee and muffin, assuming it would not make her sick, and walked out to the Land Rover. Bongani was waiting for her. Dawn was coming earlier every day and the sky was turning pink. ‘Did you sleep?’

  He smiled. ‘Like a baby, for a few hours. I snuck out of my sister’s place an hour ago. I wanted to be here early.’

  ‘How do you do it?’

  He shrugged. ‘We – you and I – must be rested and strong in order to catch this man whom we seek. We will find him.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘Your confidence never ceases to amaze me,’ she said, climbing into the Land Rover and starting the engine.

  Bongani got in next to her, in the passenger seat rather than on his tracker’s perch. ‘Your problem is that you are a woman.’

  She laughed, despite her fatigue and fear and frustration. ‘Do you know that in most of the rest of the world you could be busted for sexual harassment for a comment like that?’

  ‘Yes. But it is true.’

  ‘Hey –’

  He held up a hand. ‘You are the best tracker I have ever met, apart from myself.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  Mia shrugged.

  The morning air was chilly as they drove the short distance to the anti-poaching rangers’ camp, where the Vulture system was located. Bongani was looking over the edge of the Land Rover’s door as they went. ‘Stop, there are tracks.’

  They had work to do, but she pulled over.

  ‘Switch off the engine, get out.’

  Mia frowned. ‘I told Julianne we’d go man the Vulture system.’

  ‘I know, but this is important.’

  She pulled over and turned the key. A nearby spurfowl was squawking its morning call like a bush rooster. Mia listened for other sounds. Off to their left, she heard the faint ka-ka, ka-ka of monkeys who had clearly been woken by something scary.

  ‘They’re alarm-calling.’ She got out and walked around the front of the vehicle to where Bongani was standing, looking down.

  ‘Lioness,’ she said.

  Bongani nodded. ‘And?’

  Mia looked up and down the dusty road and took a few steps. She circled the area. ‘It’s One-eye from the Little Serengeti pride.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘How do you know?’

  Mia started to look at her watch, but checked her impatience. ‘She’s huge and heavily pregnant, as you very well know. A lioness only moves off by herself if she’s about to give birth to her cubs. So, those tracks are hers, for sure.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, I’ve told you what I know. What does that mean?’

  ‘That means that you are as good as any tracker here, and that you know this land intimately. Yet, because you are a woman you feel as though you need to be better than the men, just to be grudgingly seen as their equal.’

  She supposed he was right. ‘So?’

  ‘So, you need to let go of that, Mia, of trying to be the best. You need to just be who you are, which is the best tracker on this property, probably in the whole of the Sabi Sand Game Reserve.’

  ‘I thought you were the best tracker?’

  He smiled. ‘No, I am just a man. And, because I am a proud man, I sometimes cannot say out loud what I know to be true.’

  It was his way of complimenting her, or stating the fact that he – perhaps grudgingly – acknowledged that she was not just as good as him, but possibly better.

  ‘So why can’t we find this poacher?’

  ‘Because you are letting your self-doubt get in your way, just as I am allowing my pride to cloud my judgement.’

  ‘What do we do about that?’ she asked.

  He looked down at the tracks. ‘We go find this lioness, quickly.’

  Mia rolled her eyes. ‘Bongani, there’s a girl missing, and a poacher busy killing our rhinos. How can tracking a cranky old lioness help us? You know One-eye; she’s not keen on people. You’ve seen her charge our vehicle enough times. And now
, if she’s had her cubs, she’ll be extra protective. It’s crazy.’

  He folded his arms, immovable, implacable, and he seemed to tower above her. ‘If you do your job, she will not know that we have even found her.’

  Mia drew herself up to her full height. She would not let him intimidate her. ‘No.’

  He turned and walked off, into the bush.

  ‘Bongani!’

  Mia balled her fists. She reached into the Land Rover, pulled out her gun case and unzipped it. She took the rifle and set off into the bush after him. He had gone mad, clearly, and she felt that if she ended up having to shoot the lioness because Bongani spooked her and the cat charged, then she would save the next round for him.

  ‘Bongani,’ she hissed.

  She came to him, and he had his hand raised. Mia crept up behind him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have lost the spoor.’

  Her eyes felt like they might spin out of her head at this rate. ‘Sheesh, man, let’s go to the Vulture.’

  He turned and stared at her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  Now she was becoming angry. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘I thought you had it, but it seems you’ve lost it.’

  ‘What?’ Now he was talking in riddles.

  He stopped and looked her in the eyes. ‘The hunger. You know, we have talked about this before. What makes a good tracker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then tell me,’ he said.

  She sighed again. ‘Technical competency, an understanding of animal behaviour . . .’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And a devotion to tracking bordering on the fanatical.’

  He nodded slowly.

  He was right. She did not feel it. Normally as soon as either of them picked up a track it was like a compulsion, an inability not to follow it, as long as it was something they wanted to find. They had both, for different reasons, lost it when searching for the poacher.

  ‘We gave up,’ she said softly.

  ‘Yes, Mia. We did. I was blinded, scared even, by umuthi. You let the pressure get to you.’

  She wanted to scream, But he disappeared!