by Andy Briggs
Suddenly she heard movement behind her. The leeches were instantly forgotten.
5
Robbie jogged down the track, weighed down by a backpack filled with provisions and camping supplies that would see him through the three-day trek to Sango. He seriously hoped that Jane would honor her promise to return by nightfall as he had no desire to sleep outside just to catch up to her, but he needed to be prepared.
Clark jogged beside him. The older man was already panting and beneath his wet rain poncho his shirt was dark with sweat stains. He insisted that they slow down. He was carrying the same heavy pack as Robbie, with the added weight of a rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Won’t that girl ever learn?” he growled between breaths.
Archie had been furious when he’d heard what Jane had done, but his anger had quickly subsided after she’d failed to answer her sat phone. Alarmed, he blamed himself for forcing her into acting so rashly.
“Why did I bring her here?” he kept repeating to himself.
Robbie had grown up without a father figure, at least not a decent one, and he hated seeing Archie like this. It just reminded him of Jane’s lack of awareness about how she affected the people around her.
“We’ll go an’ fetch her,” Clark had volunteered.
Robbie had been surprised to find himself included in Clark’s offer. He was quite happy to wait for her to return, since she was more than capable of looking after herself—she was a quick learner and stubborn delete, he thought. But Archie wasn’t convinced Jane could manage driving the off-road route. The deciding factor had been that Sango was simply too dangerous a place for her to be walking around on her own. She might as well throw herself to the savages of the jungle.
They pressed on in silence, heads bowed, through the relentless rain. Trees either side of the track arced above them, forming a tunnel. Ahead, branches hung across the track, freshly snapped in half by the passing jeep.
Robbie was paranoid that Jane had been going to the Internet café in Sango to dig up more information about him online. When she had told him that his stepfather had survived his impulsive attack, he had briefly felt elated. To learn he was not a murderer lightened the weight of guilt that had been smothering him since he fled home. The euphoria lasted for several days before reality sank in that he would still be wanted for attempted murder—then the dark moods that descended upon him were worse than ever.
Attempted. That was the word that burned in his mind. The man who had slowly killed his sister with his callous brutality, the man who hadn’t peeled himself off the sofa while Sophie was dying in the next room, was still alive. Not only alive—he had now turned Robbie into the bad guy.
How is that fair? he ranted to himself. His brief time in the jungle had shown him the harsh balance of nature. Only the strongest and smartest survived—yet in the so-called civilized world, awful people like his stepfather still lived in peace.
“Look out!”
Robbie was so wrapped up in his thoughts he only just had time to leap out of the way as a flash of yellow and a blood-curdling roar bolted from the trees and slammed into his companion.
It happened so fast; Clark was still reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder when the leopard crashed into his backpack. Its talons ripped the bag open, spilling the contents. As the fabric tore, the leopard slipped and razor-sharp claws slashed across Clark’s thigh, drawing blood. He screamed in pain and collapsed, which caused the leopard to lose its balance and roll away, splashing through a puddle.
Robbie stood frozen to the spot. He hadn’t expected the attack. Gathering his wits, his hand went for the machete hanging from his belt.
Clark was already pale through loss of blood. He tried to slide the rifle off, but the strap was caught in the tatters of his backpack.
Powerful muscles rippled under the cat’s golden fur as it clambered back up on all fours and, driven by the scent of blood pumping from Clark’s leg, it rounded on its prey.
Robbie raised the machete as the leopard coiled to spring. No matter how sharp it was, the long blade didn’t offer much of a defense against the beast’s teeth and claws.
Then a chilling bellow echoed across the jungle—the sound of a savage battle cry. The leopard reacted instantly, its ears falling flat in terror as it tried to pinpoint the source of the noise.
Hope surged through Robbie as he recognized the call. His gaze still fixed on the leopard when he caught a movement in the trees. Out of the darkness, Tarzan dropped onto a nearby branch and yelled his challenge once more.
It was a perfect distraction. The leopard didn’t see the dark shape bolt from the jungle behind it. A black panther sank its claws into the leopard and both animals splashed through the mud, locked in a ferocious tussle.
“Sheeta?” Robbie said incredulously, recognizing the sleek black panther as Tarzan’s feline companion, who often fought by his side.
The clamor from the dueling animals was deafening as they rolled on the ground. Sheeta was not only more powerful—he was also a superior hunter. He dug his teeth into the back of the leopard’s neck. The bite was not intended to kill, but served as a sign of dominance that the other cat understood. With a yelp, it sprang from Sheeta’s jaws and fled into the jungle. The panther roared triumphantly; there was no need to follow.
Tarzan leaped from the tree. It was a twenty-foot drop, but he landed gracefully and ran his hand over Sheeta’s head, scratching him between the ears while mumbling soothing words.
Robbie realized he was still frozen to the spot with the machete. He pulled himself together. “Thanks,” he said earnestly, but Tarzan didn’t appear to be listening. Robbie stabbed his blade into the ground and ran over to Clark. The wound in Clark’s thigh was so deep, Robbie felt sick just looking at the blood soaking through his trousers.
“I’m going to need to bind it,” Robbie said. He knew the importance of treating wounds out in the jungle. Just the smallest infection could kill a healthy man. His hands were covered in mud, so he washed them in the rain as best he could. It was far from hygienic, but it would have to do. He fumbled for the waterproof first-aid kit that had fallen from Clark’s pack. “Tarzan, I need some help here.”
Tarzan made no effort to intervene as Robbie pulled a packet of cotton gauze from the kit, tearing open the sterile packaging with his teeth. He pressed them against the wound.
“Tarzan! Please!” He knew Tarzan had no love for the loggers. He only tolerated them because of Jane. Robbie half turned and saw Tarzan disappearing into the foliage. “Come back!” he yelled as he pressed Clark’s wound together. He couldn’t believe Tarzan would leave someone to die. “Tarzan!”
“Forget ’im,” said Clark through gritted teeth. “Survival of the fittest is all he understands, right? We’re all just meat in ’is eyes.”
Robbie tried to press the wound together, ignoring the wet sound the blood-soaked flesh made under his hands. Clark gasped in pain.
“Press here while I find a bandage.” Robbie was becoming frantic and worried his fumbling would make the wound worse.
Tarzan emerged from the trees with several broad leaves. He roughly nudged Robbie aside—which felt like being shoved by a boulder—peeled back the blood-soaked pads and covered the wound in a thick sap he squeezed from crushed leaves.
Clark sighed in relief. “It’s made my leg numb,” he said.
Tarzan wrapped the leaves around Clark’s thigh and bound them with thin vines, pulling them so tight that Clark yelped.
“I felt that!” Clark breathed heavily, but he was alert. With shaking hands he examined the improvised dressing. “Thanks, mate,” he croaked.
“Clark live. Go back,” said Tarzan pointing toward their camp.
“We can’t,” said Robbie.
“Too dangerous here,” said Tarzan gravely. “Tarzan does not watch Robbie all day.”
“We can’t go back, because Jane stole our jeep to go to town.” Robbie pointed down the trail, hoping that
Tarzan understood at least some of the words.
He did. His eyes narrowed as he repeated one. “Jane?”
Then he bounded into the trees without another word.
•••
Black fumes poured from the outboard motor as a rusting speedboat bounced across the choppy waters of the Congo River. Nikolas Rokoff sat at the prow, enjoying the wind brushing his face. Paulvitch sat in the middle, his head hung over the side as he felt another bout of seasickness churn his stomach. They had been traveling on the river for the best part of two days and were relieved when they turned yet another meandering bend to find the town finally coming into view.
The boat’s captain skillfully brought them level with a crowded jetty surrounded by dozens of other vessels, all of which had seen better days. The strong river current forced him to keep the throttle high until Rokoff had secured their mooring. The Russian shoved a fistful of Congolese francs into the captain’s grubby fingers and pointed to the five large silver flight cases in the boat.
“Put them ashore and guard them with your life. If anything goes missing, I’ll have your hand off.” Although his tone was calm and measured, the captain had no doubt Rokoff would stick to his word. His eyes flicked to the black-handled serrated hunting blade that hung from Rokoff’s belt. He judged that it was more than capable of slicing through bone.
Paulvitch staggered onto the jetty. His trembling legs forced him to reach for a wooden post for support. Rokoff didn’t give him a second glance. He was studying the town. Once a ramshackle fishing village, its location on the bank of the river had made it a well-placed hub for people traveling through the jungle. The village grew into a town as a thriving black market overtook fishing as its largest business. Rokoff liked it. It had the atmosphere a Wild West frontier town would have possessed, he imagined. It was the end of the road for civilization, surrounded by expansive jungle in which Okeke’s prize lay.
But that was not the reason he was here. Any good hunter could do the task Okeke had set. Rokoff was here to hunt a prize that had eluded him in the past.
He would have the head of the legendary White Ape, no matter what the cost.
6
Jane was rooted to the spot as the trees shook all around her and harsh grunts came from the foliage. A familiar sense of fear returned as dark shapes flitted in the treetops. The rain dribbled into her eyes and made it difficult to see, but she could clearly hear the grunts turn into shrill calls that conveyed aggression from her unseen opponents. She raised her machete, although she did not know how effective it would be.
The trees shivered once more and a chorus of high-pitched screeches drowned out any other sounds. Their intensity increased, the prelude to an attack that Jane expected at any moment.
But it didn’t come.
The foliage behind her split apart and something huge burst through, sailing over her head and landing in the mud on all fours. It took a second for her to recognize Tarzan. The ape-man now stood between Jane and her unseen enemy.
Tarzan’s stomach heaved as he bellowed, punching his fist repeatedly into the mud. It was a fighting display she had seen the silverback gorilla Terkoz perform once when he clashed with Tarzan. This time, it appeared to have the desired effect on whatever was lurking in the bush. With a sharp screech, the trees shook defiantly one last time, then Jane’s stalkers retreated with a loud crack of branches. The jungle was silent once more.
“Tarzan!”
Only when Tarzan was satisfied the enemy had gone did he turn to look at Jane. His brow was furrowed with anger.
“Jane nearly died alone here! Targarni are bad. Dangerous!”
Jane was startled by his harsh words. “I had this.” She held out the machete. “And I wasn’t originally planning on taking a walk out here. I crashed the jeep.” She wanted to ask what the targarni were, but Tarzan interrupted.
“Robbie come for you now.” He studied her carefully. Jane self-consciously followed his gaze to the leeches on her leg. In the last few terrifying moments she had forgotten about them. Now they were fat with her blood and fell harmlessly into the mud. While she was still repulsed by them, Tarzan’s news was worse.
“You saw him? He’s going to be mad when he sees the jeep.”
Tarzan must have seen her worried expression, because he started to smile.
“Jane in trouble?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Jane didn’t want to dwell on Robbie—she had had dozens of questions for Tarzan since she last saw him. Why hadn’t he come back to the camp? Should they tell his real family that he was alive? She had her own ideas and theories but, now he was standing before her, she didn’t know how to begin. Instead she found herself asking about Tarzan’s adopted family.
“How’s Karnath?” She had been there when the lion had killed Karnath’s mother and often thought about the little ape.
“Karnath miss Jane. You want to see?”
Jane’s heart leaped. She had longed for an opportunity to return to the paradise high up in the cloud rainforest. A silent nod was all it took for Tarzan to lift her onto his back and into the trees. She gripped tightly around his neck as they hurtled through the jungle. Rain stung Jane’s eyes as Tarzan gained speed, leaping upward from tree to tree to gain height, then running to the slender ends of branches that he used as springboards to sail across yawning gaps in the canopy.
Jane had been terrified when she first traveled this way in the dizzying heights of the jungle. Now she found it exhilarating. She still had to force herself not to flinch when branches whipped close to her face, but she trusted Tarzan. He had been doing this all his life.
They made a quick stop off at the jeep for Jane to leave a message for Robbie, then Tarzan took them deeper into the jungle.
She wasn’t sure how long they had been traveling. It could have been an hour, possibly two. Tarzan didn’t slow his pace for a minute. They climbed higher up the side of a tree-clad mountain, passing through the heart of the storm that was drifting from the peak into the valley below. As soon as they broke through the low clouds, a vivid blue sky greeted them and Jane felt the tropical sun on her face.
Tarzan leaped from a branch and snagged a liana to slide onto the plateau he called home. He gently put Jane down and she couldn’t help but smile. It was exactly as she remembered. Most of the gorillas had climbed to the lake shore below to forage, but the few who remained near the aircraft recognized Jane and gave low welcoming grunts of reassurance. A steady drum of footsteps across the earth made her spin round—just in time to see Karnath leap at her. Jane caught the little gorilla in her arms and almost fell backward.
“Wow! Karnath! You’ve grown.” The young ape threw his arms around her, hooting excitedly. Jane laughed. She couldn’t remember anybody ever greeting her so enthusiastically. Tarzan certainly hadn’t. Karnath played with her blonde hair and she had to pull some out of his mouth. “Don’t eat my hair!”
Tarzan smiled, taking simple pleasure in seeing his friends reunited. Cradling Karnath in her arms, Jane walked out onto the plane wing that hung over the edge of the plateau like a diving board. The dizzying height no longer bothered her and she found the view across the caldera as breathtaking as ever. Now the rain had passed, the air was thick with birds and insects. Gorillas moved around the foot of the waterfall below, seeking food. Jane focused her attention on listening to the environment: Karnath’s excited breathing; the faint thunder of the torrent; the occasional hoots from the gorillas; the menagerie of birds calling from the rich jungle. It was like something out of a dream.
“I love this place,” she said.
She was suddenly aware of Tarzan standing close behind her. Even though she was listening she hadn’t heard his footsteps.
“Mangani must leave this home,” said Tarzan sadly.
“Why?”
“Need food. Stay too long here.”
“Where will you go?”
Tarzan pointed to a range of mountains. “Tarzan travel
s to new lands. You will come?”
Jane hesitated. Trapped at the camp, she had longed to go on another adventure with Tarzan, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her head was bursting with questions that needed answering. If she asked Tarzan to return her to the camp, then she wouldn’t have time to get any more answers from him. The note she’d left in the jeep’s engine explained that she may be gone with Tarzan for a day or two—she hoped that was long enough to find out more information from him.
“What’s at the mountains?” she asked.
Tarzan shrugged. “Tarzan only go when young. Dangerous place.”
“So why there? There must be lots of places for them to eat.”
Tarzan pointed from the direction they had traveled, back to the camp. “Because father of Jane destroy best lands.” He looked straight at her with his piercing grey eyes; they suddenly had the steely edge of a killer. Even though she trusted Tarzan with her life, Jane was still frightened by his sudden shifts in mood.
“You want him to stop? You want him to go?” she asked.
Tarzan nodded, then hesitated as he thought about the words he was using, a difficult task since he had not spoken in weeks. “He only live because he your father.”
The statement sent a shiver down her spine. There was no emotion in his voice, just cold reason.
“If he left, I would have to go with him. We wouldn’t see each other again.”
Tarzan hesitated, his brow knitting with a flash of sorrow. Again, he picked his words with care.
“Tarzan not want you to go.”
“I don’t want to go either.” A month ago she would have been shocked to hear herself utter those words, but now she spoke them with conviction. “But . . . if I had to . . . maybe you could come with me?”
Tarzan shook his head dismissively. “Tarzan home is here.”
Jane hadn’t wanted to speak so soon about what was on her mind, but she seized the opportunity.
