Savage Lands

by Andy Briggs

  “So let’s head back to camp,” said Robbie, absently massaging his shoulder.

  “No,” said Greystoke. Everybody looked at him in surprise. His tone was imperious as he pointed to Jane. “You led us on a merry romp in a circle, remember? And somebody tinkered with my GPS.” He switched his cold gaze to Robbie. “And I am sure Tarzan is no electrical engineer. I have a facility beyond this range. A little farther than your camp, but the going is easier. Plus, as we draw nearer, I have arranged transport solutions.” He selected another option on the GPS and a fresh set of coordinates appeared on the screen. As he passed Jane, he smirked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t take me for a fool, my dear.” To the others he waved his arm as he marched away. “Onward!”

  Clark and Archie swapped a glance. Greystoke was obviously playing them, and Clark hated being manipulated. But now the stakes had been raised, and with more money on the table, it was prudent to play along. Nobody spoke as they retrieved their packs and followed Greystoke back into the jungle.

  • • •

  The scent was unmistakable, even masked by the noxious fumes of Thunder Mountain. People. Tarzan had spent the morning patrolling the perimeter of the mountain flank the Mangani claimed as home, even venturing to the narrow gorge on the far side of the mountain where a dozen waterfalls cascaded from the walls, creating a myriad of rainbows. Today the mountain had calmed and the sense of danger from it had lessened, but now a new threat appeared.

  Tarzan entered the trees midway down the mountain at a run. He kicked from one trunk to another, zigzagging higher until his hands could grasp the lower boughs. He was traveling so swiftly that his body looped around the first branch before he let go and somersaulted across the void to the next tree, landing on a branch in a crouch. Leaves rustled from the impact, and in a couple of seconds Tarzan was already ten yards above the ground and running through the branches.

  The scent of people grew stronger, and with it, his caution increased. Never before had people come this far, except Jane, and he had needed to guide her there safely. He stopped in the boughs. Drooping leaves provided cover from prying eyes. The sound of approaching people grew, as loud as Tantor the jungle elephant, the clink of metal betraying their “civilized” origins, and they smelled worse than any wild animal. He could hear terse voices, but couldn’t identify the language. It didn’t take long for them to come into view. Like all hunters, Tarzan had deliberately chosen this location to stop because the clearing below offered a natural foraging area, or at least a place for people to rest.

  There were four figures, one a female with light brown skin, cropped black hair, and a taller build than Jane. Their backpacks were almost as big as they were.

  Tarzan felt for the rope looped around his waist, and then his hand slid to the dagger he kept sheathed there. It was his one advantage when facing the talons of jungle predators, and he had no qualms using it on humans. The people looked tired and irritated, and were arguing with one another. Three of them carried machetes to hack through the undergrowth, but one had a far worse weapon slung over his shoulder. It was short and boxy, the kind of thing from which Tarzan had seen Tafari’s rebels shoot death. The man placed the weapon by his feet and wearily sat on a root, mopping perspiration from his brow.

  So close to Tarzan’s family, they were not welcome visitors. If he couldn’t scare them away, then he would have no hesitation to using more deadly methods. He unsheathed his blade and calculated his best form of attack.

  The group put their backpacks down, their argument increasing as they sat down to rest. The female sat at the base of Tarzan’s tree and was arguing the loudest, before she shook her head and leaned back to rest. From her vantage point she could see straight up into the canopy of trees.

  Tarzan froze—she was looking straight at him.

  For a moment she didn’t appear to see him through the hanging foliage, but then her brow furrowed as if she was trying to work out what it was she was looking at. Before she could open her mouth to speak, there was a sharp crack from deeper in the forest and everybody suddenly looked up, alert and tense. The man with the weapon snatched it from the floor and swung it onto his shoulder, aiming it toward the noise. They couldn’t see what was out there, but Tarzan could: the Targarni. He had been so wrapped up in studying the humans that his enemies had managed to sneak in close.

  Silence reigned. Then there was a burst of white fur and Goyad stormed from the undergrowth, bowling over the nearest man. The man flipped through the air and, with a snap of bones, landed hard on his back. Goyad’s black jaws snapped shut across the man’s throat, blood smattering the albino’s snow-white fur and silencing the man’s terrified screams.

  Five more chimps bolted from the sides. Two grabbed another man by his arms and legs and dragged him into the foliage, striking him unconscious.

  Tarzan didn’t flinch, didn’t take his eyes off the attack. He had no emotional attachment to the people below. They were nothing more than two species of animal caught in the eternal jungle conflict, but he watched the unfolding battle with the eyes of a general. This was no mindless attack: Goyad was herding his warriors using his unusual intelligence.

  Tarzan had expected the man with the weapon to open fire, but instead he stood frozen in terror—only having the presence of mind to swing the weapon across the head of the chimp attacking him. To Tarzan’s surprise, the feeble weapon cracked into several pieces and the man was hurled to the ground.

  Goyad gave several sharp hoots as the man finally backed toward the woman, both now pressed against a tree in terror. The albino ape stood taller than the other pale chimps. One eye was permanently swollen shut, the other a deep blood red.

  The Targarni circled the two humans, fangs bared. Then they bolted forward and struck the humans across their heads.

  Tarzan felt a twinge—of what? Regret? Sympathy?—as the female briefly looked up at him with pleading eyes before she was hit. However, the Targarni did not kill them; they had something more sinister in mind. For reasons Tarzan couldn’t fathom, the apes dragged the three unconscious humans with them—taking them back to their lair as prisoners.

  • • •

  The atmosphere became more oppressive. The mist refused to clear, but lingered, becoming uncomfortably humid as Greystoke’s party followed a trail around the mountain. After half a day’s walk, the trail began to slowly descend. Robbie became vaguely aware that the rebel leader, Tafari, had had a camp just northwest of their position—but that was before Tarzan had summoned an army of animals and flattened it to the ground. He hoped the lands were safer now.

  Although there was much to discuss, Clark and Archie were uncharacteristically quiet, doggedly following Greystoke. The lord himself occasionally checked the GPS to note their position, but said nothing.

  Hours passed and the sky grew darker, and still the mist didn’t lift. Hunger gnawed at them every time they sat to rest and if it wasn’t for Jane’s ability to gather edible fruits they would have starved. The only conversation came toward the end of the day when Archie finally told Greystoke they had to stop for the night. Robbie and Clark set up camp while Jane foraged for more food.

  She didn’t venture beyond the warm light of the campfire—the mist-veiled jungle was more ominous than she could ever recall. Tarzan had taught her to understand the jungle just by the sounds—the distinct audio landscape usually warned of danger. But right now it was sullenly quiet. Even the nighttime chorus of frogs and insects had failed to start. It was as if Tarzan’s departure had sucked the life from the land. The forest felt abandoned, haunted even. Just as everybody settled at the campfire, Jane returned with an armful of fruit.

  “I’d kill for somethin’ hot,” murmured Clark as he squeezed the fruit dejectedly.

  “At my facility, I employ the finest chef, no expense spared. Not even out here,” said Greystoke. He was the only one of the team who failed to
pick up on the ominous calm around them.

  “Is that right?” said Clark. “And what exactly do you do at this facility?”

  “Make money,” was the enigmatic reply.

  Clark and Archie exchanged a glance, a humorless smile crossing Clark’s face. “Good, because we have a deal, remember.”

  Under the flickering light, Greystoke examined the fruit Jane had handed him. “I may be many things, but I am not a businessman who goes back on his deals. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. We should be there by the afternoon.”

  Jane’s eyes fell on the case Greystoke had retrieved from the aircraft. He’d kept it by his side the entire journey.

  “So what were John and Alice Clayton doing out here?” Jane asked, referring to Tarzan’s parents. “I thought they were conservationists, not treasure hunters.”

  Greystoke snorted, a fleeting look of disdain crossing his face. “They fancied themselves as adventurers. Throwing the family fortune at hopeless causes. They spent hundreds of thousands trying to educate the Mbuti natives here. They’re a bunch of simple imbeciles who could never be educated, so why bother?”

  “You’re a real saint,” said Robbie sarcastically.

  Greystoke’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should take lessons from you?” he said with venom. “It was Alice’s fault. She married into the family and the next moment the fortune was being squandered. Such a bad influence. My father was distraught but there was nothing he could do… . Uncle John was close to flittering everything away. The family knew they had to take steps.” He lapsed into silence, thoughtfully staring into the campfire.

  Jane suddenly had an unsettling thought. “Take steps? You mean arrange for their plane to crash, maybe?”

  Greystoke didn’t look up. “That’s a serious accusation.”

  “One that you’re not denying,” countered Jane harshly.

  “Jane, that’s enough,” Clark chipped in, keen not to upset their meal ticket.

  “While working with the natives they heard tales of a lost civilization in the heart of the jungle,” Greystoke said slowly, as if marshaling his thoughts. “Stories told of a place of magnificent mineral wealth. As part of their good work”—he spat the word “good” out—“they tried working with the government, what was left of it at the time, thinking that they could convince the greedy junta not to exploit the wealth, but to preserve the environment. Of course, nobody was interested in that, and the city of Opar remained a mystery. Although,” his voice dropped thoughtfully, “they were both convinced they knew where Opar was.” He was silent for a long moment. “The Mbuti called the city a haunted place.”

  The words fell flat in the mist. All day the group hadn’t managed to shake the feeling that somebody was watching their every step. A couple of times Robbie had doubled back along their path to try and catch their tail, but to no avail. On two occasions, Clark had pushed into the bush where they thought they’d detected movement, but found no signs of anybody passing through. It was as if a ghost was tracking them, and now, in the chill night, Greystoke’s words had added menace.

  Archie’s disbelieving snigger cut through the night. “I think we’ve had our share of ghosts out here. We thought our camp was haunted, until Tarzan showed up.”

  Greystoke shook his head. “In my experience, there are still many things on this earth that remain unexplained. Opar is one of them. If it really does exist, we don’t know which civilization built it, or what happened to them. There are legends … terrible tales about the people of Opar.”

  Robbie was enthralled despite himself. He asked in a low hush, “What kind of tales?”

  Greystoke looked thoughtful for a moment, recalling the list of terrors he had heard about. “People who were not quite human. Mutations … hybrids … things that should not be. Bloodthirsty too. Many stories recount villages being attacked, the inhabitants whisked away. Devoured by the Opar’s cannibalistic population.”

  Silence fell once again. Greystoke sniffed the fruit in his hands suspiciously and then bit into it. He let out a gasp of pleasure and smiled. “Incredible! It’s like an explosion across my taste buds. I’ve never tasted such a thing!” he exclaimed.

  Nobody paid any attention. They were all staring over his shoulder, hands frozen midway to their mouths. Greystoke suddenly turned, a chill running through him. A figure stood watching them from the trees. The mist diffused its outline and obscured features, but it looked almost childlike and remained motionless.

  Greystoke shot a look at the others before slowly turning and standing.

  “You must be Tarzan, I assume? Hello. I’m your cousin William.”

  The figure remained silent and Greystoke’s uneasiness increased. He glanced at the others for encouragement, but they all remained motionless. Greystoke gathered himself, refusing to display any trace of fear.

  “Don’t be alarmed. We mean you no harm. You should recognize your friends here,” he indicated to the others, partially turning as he did so. When he looked back the figure had gone. He blinked in surprise, his voice lowering to a raspy whisper. “Where’d he go?”

  “He just vanished,” whispered Robbie who had been watching the figure the whole time. “Like the fog just swallowed him up.”

  “And that wasn’t Tarzan,” Jane added.

  “She’s right,” said Clark, keeping his voice low. “He’s much bigger. And not the kinda bloke to be so shy.”

  The color drained from William Greystoke’s face and he took a step away from where the figure had been.

  Archie insisted they keep watch throughout the night. Despite their exhaustion, it took them all a long time to drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  • • •

  Some primal instinct woke Jane in the dead of the night. The campfire had faded to embers and her father was slumped asleep, still sitting upright, his head lolled on his chest. What had woken her? Instinct told her not to move. Her eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness.

  And then she saw movement. A single squat figure stepped out of the trees, a hunting spear in one hand. His footfalls were silent, like a phantom. The closer he got, the more unusual he looked. It was the same figure they had seen in the mist. Although he had the stature of a child, he had the wrinkled face of an old man. More figures appeared from the trees and Jane couldn’t stop a startled gasp spilling from her lips. She moved to sit up, but felt a gentle pressure press her in place, and heard Clark’s low voice as just the faintest of whispers.

  “Don’t.”

  The figure stopped, looking directly at Jane and Clark. There was no use pretending to sleep now. Jane sat up, and called clearly out.

  “Who are you? What d’you want?”

  Archie woke with a snort, his hand going for the rifle near his feet, but he froze when he saw the dozen figures surrounding them, none bigger than four feet in height, wearing crude garments and wielding primitive spears and bows with arrows notched.

  “Pygmies,” said Greystoke who had just bolted upright, waking Robbie. “We must be on their land.”

  Jane felt icy shards of fear trickle down the back of her neck as she recalled Greystoke’s horrific tales of cannibals. The lead pygmy stepped forward, his face an unwelcoming grimace.

  6

  Even Tarzan found keeping up with the Targarni tough work. The apes carried the unconscious humans on their backs and galloped across the jungle floor with surprising speed. Goyad led the way, leaving the heavy work to his underlings. Thunder Mountain’s steep incline did little to slow them, and the moonless night meant they blended into the jungle with ease.

  From the lofty trees, Tarzan relied on scent and sound to follow the Targarni. Without a moon to light his way, even the trees could prove perilous for the ape-man. His keen eyesight was at its limits. Once in a while he caught sight of the ghostly Goyad below, but then the albino would be lost in the shadows. O
ccasionally, a swarm of fireflies glowed a green hue as the Targarni disturbed them, the only other visual cue Tarzan had.

  There was no doubt they were heading back to their lair, but why? He had seen Targarni hunt game before. Unlike his own Mangani family, they relished the taste of flesh in the same way he did. So why did they need live prisoners? As he dwelled on these thoughts, he became determined to thwart the apes’ plans. Not to save the lives of the prisoners, who would no doubt find other ways to die in the jungle, but to anger Goyad.

  Eventually the relentless pace grew to be too much for the Targarni and they were forced to stop. They chose the banks of a fast-flowing stream that ran down the side of the mountain, stepping down in waterfalls every hundred feet. The trees gave way to a stretch of rocks where the Targarni dumped their captives and drank from the dark water.

  Tarzan was grateful for the respite and gently lowered himself to the jungle floor so he could get a better look at the state of the three prisoners. They didn’t stir. Tarzan crouched so low his chest slid across the cool rocks as he crawled closer.

  Goyad’s head shot up. Tarzan couldn’t see his face, but he was certain the ape was looking in his direction. Surely he hadn’t been detected? The crashing waterfall masked his movements and as he was downwind of the Targarni, they couldn’t pick up his scent. The white ape didn’t move for several long moments before turning back around and lapping water from the stream.

  Tarzan edged closer to the captives so they were almost within arm’s reach. He positioned himself behind a smooth boulder that would provide ample cover if the apes chose to look up again.

  He suddenly heard a sharp intake of breath from the male prisoner. Tarzan recoiled into the shadows as the man groaned and sat up, clutching his head. He said something to the other two prone figures, but they were unconscious. There was not enough light for the man to take in his surroundings, and he hadn’t yet seen the dark shadows of the Targarni against the deeper black of the jungle.