Captive_A High-octane And Gripping African Thriller

by Tony Park

  ‘Don’t just walk away from me like that,’ Kerry said. She was angry at him and the slur he had cast on her background. He was infuriating.

  Graham said nothing but emerged less than a minute later. He had put on a pair of shorts and sandals and was buttoning up a stained bush shirt. ‘Wild dog. Hit by a car on the road into Hoedspruit. We can continue this later.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Kerry said.

  He shrugged and checked his watch. ‘Suit yourself. I’m leaving in three minutes. The dog’s still alive – just.’

  Kerry rushed back to her room, took off her pyjamas and shrugged on a shirt dress. She grabbed a pair of shoes and her camera, and went outside. Graham was in his Land Rover and had the engine running. She could see he was putting the truck in gear as she opened the door.

  ‘You don’t have any shoes on, Graham.’

  ‘So what? I wear them as little as possible. Hurry up and get in.’

  She climbed into the four-wheel drive. Graham let out the clutch and the wheels crunched the gravel drive. They bounced along the Raptor’s View dirt roads as fast as Graham dared, although Kerry noticed he didn’t break the speed limit. At least, she thought, he cared about not injuring wildlife, even if he paid no attention to hurting people’s feelings. She had been almost ready to walk out of his house – she was sure that was what he wanted – but she had come here to help save wildlife and that was what Graham was doing.

  For all his faults, and they were many, Graham had a genuine passion for wildlife. It seemed to Kerry that he preferred the company of animals to people. She’d often heard people say they were like that, but had never met anyone of whom she truly believed it, until Graham.

  He stopped for a giraffe to cross the road, then sped down the hill and across the low-level bridge of the creek bed that was dry except for a reedy pool. He left the estate, impatient for the boom gate to rise, and then turned right. Each four-way stop in the town seemed to increase his level of frustration and anxiety.

  When he came to the Pick n Pay centre he turned right again and picked up speed as soon as he was away from the town proper.

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled. It’s somewhere on this road.’

  After a few kilometres a gaggle of three cars parked off on the grassy verge of the main road told them they had found the right spot.

  Graham opened the back of the Defender and took out a leather bag. It was the same one he’d had with him at Costa’s farm, but in the light of day Kerry could see that it was old and the skin looked like it could have been crocodile – not very PC, but sturdy enough to survive a long time.

  ‘Get that lappie off the back seat,’ he said to her.

  ‘That what?’

  ‘Tea towel.’ She picked up the rectangle of grubby fabric.

  The crowd of people standing in a circle broke ranks to let Graham in.

  ‘We’ve tried to give it some water,’ a woman said.

  ‘Step aside, please. Kerry, put the towel over its face, please.’

  The dog was weak, barely able to open its jaws. She tentatively hovered over it.

  ‘Just cover its face.’

  Kerry dropped to her knees and found that when she did put the cloth over the dog’s face, it calmed down.

  Graham set about examining the dog, thoroughly yet gently. ‘This leg is broken, but it looks like there might be internal injuries as well.’ He opened the bag and drew up a syringe from a vial. ‘I’m going to immobilise it, then we’ve got to get it into the truck.’

  Kerry ran her hands over the dog’s coat. It was a stunning patchwork of brown, black, golden tan and white. ‘This is the first wild dog I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Well, shame it had to be three-quarters dead. Bastards. There’s good visibility either side of the road here; whoever did this must have been flying, or half-drunk, or both.’

  Kerry heard the anger in his voice and realised that even amid the chaos and gunfire of Mozambique she hadn’t seen him this emotional. He seemed to treat life as a joke, but she could see he was seething now.

  Once they had loaded the wild dog into the truck, Graham turned it around and headed towards Ukuphila Wildlife Orphanage, where his surgery was located.

  ‘Where would it have come from?’ Kerry asked, looking over her shoulder at the sedated dog. She could see its narrow chest rising and falling, which was something. ‘The Kruger?’

  Graham shrugged. ‘Originally, maybe. However, there’s a pack that hangs around this area. They move from Hoedspruit Wildlife Estate to Khaya Ndlovu, then on to Raptor’s View.’

  ‘Where you live? Like in among the houses?’

  He nodded. ‘Yip. Same as the wildlife estate, the dogs get under the fences, come in and have a field day with our resident impalas. Some people don’t like the dogs being around; they say they eat all the game. It’s true, they have to eat every day, but when you think there are about one hundred and fifty thousand impala in the Kruger Park alone and about five thousand wild dogs in the whole of Africa, I’d say it’s not a bad sacrifice to lose a few antelope in support of an endangered species. But some people don’t see it that way, and even plenty of game reserves don’t want wild dogs for the same reason.’

  ‘And they were persecuted in the past, right?’ Kerry said.

  ‘Yes. Farmers used to shoot them on sight, here and in Zimbabwe and South-West – Namibia, that is.’ Graham patted the breast pocket of his bush shirt. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m out of cigarettes.’ He looked ahead, then indicated.

  ‘What about the dog?’

  Graham turned off the road and pulled up in front of a bush pub. There were a couple of Hilux bakkies parked outside. ‘He’ll stand a better chance if my hands aren’t shaking. You stay here and mind him.’

  Kerry shook her head. She didn’t relish the thought of riding even the short distance to Ukuphila with Graham puffing away. His vehicle smelled like an ashtray as it was. While she waited for him she pinched her nose with the fingers of her left hand and removed the Defender’s actual ashtray from the dashboard with her right. She climbed out of the car with the ashtray and saw that the nearest rubbish bin was by the entrance door to the bar. Kerry made a quick check of the dog and saw that its condition was unchanged.

  As she walked towards the bin, Kerry noticed that one of the two other vehicles in the car park had been in a collision of some sort and there was a dark sticky substance on the front bull bar. Then, as she stood there shaking the foul contents of the ashtray into the bin, the plate glass window next to her suddenly exploded outwards.

  Graham rolled over in the dirt, wincing in pain, and got to his feet. Two young men came running out.

  ‘And stay out of here, you old drunk.’

  ‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ Kerry said, hands on hips.

  ‘These two – the one on the right – he hit the dog,’ said Graham coldly.

  ‘Ja, so what?’ The man, no more than twenty, Kerry thought, looked back at him defiantly. ‘It’s just a fucking dog, man. My old man used to kill them and get paid a bounty.’

  ‘How can you say that? That’s an endangered animal,’ Kerry said.

  ‘Sheesh.’ The man turned on her. He raised his fingers to his eyes and pulled them into a slit. ‘Listen to that. It’s a Chink with an Australian accent. Doesn’t get much worse than that.’

  ‘You take that back.’ Graham charged at the man, and ducked under a swinging fist to get his arms around the youngster in a tackle that brought him down.

  The other man came over and brought back his foot, preparing to kick Graham. Kerry had darted behind him. She pulled the fingers of her right hand back into her palm, making a pointed fist, drew back her arm and delivered a short, sharp punch to the boy’s kidney, just as her father had taught her in a comprehensive series of self-defence lessons he’d given her when she turned sixteen. The would-be kicker howled in pain and grabbed at his back.

  The man Graham ha
d tackled was younger, fitter and faster than the veterinarian, and had rolled him over and straddled him. He punched Graham in the face.

  Two other young men emerged from the pub. The one Kerry had punched came towards her, his face red with fury. Bruce had taught Kerry that there was a time to fight and a time to run, so now she sprinted for Graham’s Defender. She opened the passenger door, jumped in, and slammed the door behind her. Kerry searched around for a weapon. There was nothing to hand so she checked in the cubby box between the two front seats.

  She heard the door open and felt a hand grab her on the thigh.

  ‘Get out here.’

  Kerry saw a small spray can and grabbed it. As she spun around, she pushed the button on top and a cloud of stinging, choking pepper spray hit the man in the face.

  He yelped again like the pathetic specimen he was and tumbled out of the truck backwards, hands clawing at his eyes. In the confines of the Defender Kerry had caught some of the blowback of the spray and tears streamed down her face. Her throat and nose were on fire as she, too, stumbled out, can still in hand.

  She staggered across to where the other young man had landed another blow on Graham’s jaw. Without warning she stuck the can in the man’s face and emptied the contents onto him. He, too, fell over, and Kerry helped him on his way with a shove. She grabbed Graham’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Get in the bloody truck,’ she ordered.

  Graham clutched his side.

  ‘Get in the passenger side, I’ll drive.’

  Graham looked relieved as he hauled himself up into the truck. Kerry was anything but and her eyes streamed with stinging tears. She got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, dropped the clutch and planted her foot on the accelerator. The man who had been punching Graham was banging on the side of the Land Rover as she pulled away. Graham stuck his head out the window, gave him the finger and swore at him.

  When he turned back to look at her he was grinning wildly, though blood was streaming from the corner of his mouth. ‘Now that was fun!’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re certifiably fucking crazy.’

  ‘Ooo, good. She swears.’ He laughed some more.

  ‘Don’t mock me.’ She wiped her eyes.

  He checked the wing mirror. ‘Pull over, they’re not following us.’

  He found a bottle of water on the floor, picked it up, and when she was safely parked he told her to lean her head back. Graham poured the water liberally over her eyes and she blinked and spluttered as the water went into her nose and mouth, but the relief from the effects of the pepper spray was immediate.

  ‘You fought like a champion, my girl. Well done.’

  ‘I’m not your bloody girl.’

  ‘Well, you did well, and I couldn’t have those buffoons insulting your racial background.’

  ‘Why not? You insulted me,’ Kerry said dryly.

  Graham dabbed his bloodied lip with the tail of his already filthy shirt. ‘Yes, but we’re friends.’

  Kerry looked across at him, wiped her eyes, and burst out laughing.

  Chapter 13

  Kerry borrowed Graham’s Land Rover and drove to Nelspruit, which was about one hundred and sixty kilometres south, on the R40. She had delayed her departure until after lunch so she could watch Graham perform surgery on the wild dog.

  Graham had acceded to Kerry’s wish to name the dog, which she’d christened Bubba, as Graham had said it was still quite young, probably less than two years old.

  ‘It’s alive,’ was the best Graham could say about the animal’s prognosis. ‘You should go see your father; there’s nothing more you can do to help me here now.’

  Graham had told her that if he received a callout he would use one of the Ukuphila Wildlife Orphanage vehicles, which he usually did when his old Land Rover was at one of its regular visits to the mechanic.

  Kerry found her way through the sprawling settlement of Bushbuckridge, then down through Hazyview, White River and on to Nelspruit. Graham had a satellite navigation device so she located the Mediclinic hospital without problem. Her biggest concern was the speed at which many other drivers travelled and the frequent stop-starts of minibus taxis that pulled out in front of her several times without indicating.

  In the hospital a nurse gave her directions to her father’s ward.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ she said.

  A very handsome man in pyjamas with a broad chest and a mop of dark curls stood up when she entered her father’s private room. A hand of cards lay face down on the table and her father sat on the other side on a chair. He started to stand.

  ‘It’s OK, Dad.’ She went around and kissed her father.

  ‘How do you do, ma’am,’ the other man said in an American accent, ‘we haven’t officially met, but I feel like I know you already. I’m –’

  ‘Eli Johnston. Lovely to meet you.’ Her hand felt tiny in his, but he was gentle with her as he looked her in the eye.

  ‘You were truly a warrior out there in the bush, ma’am. I can see that the apple didn’t fall too far from this old tree over here.’

  ‘Watch who you’re calling “old”, Yank,’ her father said.

  ‘Call me Kerry, please,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll just get another seat.’

  Eli walked out and Kerry’s eyes followed him.

  ‘Like what you see?’ Bruce asked her.

  ‘Dad! Don’t be embarrassing.’ She sat down where Eli had been.

  Bruce snuck a look out through the door then started to lift Eli’s hand of cards. Kerry slapped his fingers. ‘Stop that.’

  ‘Just like your mum, bloody goody-two-shoes. That crooked SEAL is fleecing me. I won’t have a brass razoo left to my name if his winning streak keeps up.’

  ‘How are you, Dad?’

  ‘Me? I’m fine. Can’t wait to get out of this bloody place. The doctor’s given me some medication that I have to keep taking, but he says I’ll live and don’t need surgery, thankfully. He asked if I suffered any unusual stress lately.’ Bruce laughed.

  ‘Well, take it easy,’ Kerry said.

  ‘I didn’t expect a holiday in South Africa, but being cooped up in a hospital is driving me crazy. If it wasn’t for young Eli I would have broken out by now.’

  ‘He seems nice,’ Kerry said.

  ‘You only just met him, but he has that effect on women.’

  ‘I don’t mean it that way, and stop being creepy.’

  ‘You should see the way the nurses check him out, all queuing up to change his bandages and give him his sponge bath.’

  With that a nurse walked in. She had short spiky blonde hair and was probably in her late forties or early fifties, Kerry thought, with a buxom figure that her rather severe old-style uniform couldn’t hide. Bruce smiled broadly.

  ‘Shower time, Tamara?’ Bruce said.

  ‘Ag, Mr Maxwell, I’m getting tired of that one.’ She consulted the chart at the end of his bed.

  ‘Tamara, this is my daughter, Kerry.’

  She lowered the chart. ‘Hello. I feel your pain.’

  Kerry rolled her eyes. ‘You should try living with his jokes for twenty-five years of your life.’

  ‘I would have run away from home,’ Tamara said.

  ‘I’m her favourite patient, really, aren’t I, Nurse Shepherd?’ Bruce said.

  Tamara looked at the chart again. ‘I see you haven’t had a movement for two days. I’m going to recommend an enema.’

  ‘Hang on! Wait, I went . . .’

  Tamara let out a laugh that was more like a snort. She turned to Kerry. ‘Was he always so easy to trick?’

  ‘Always. Dad, behave yourself, at least while I’m here.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not that bad, really,’ Tamara said. From inside the pocket of her tunic she pulled a brown paper bag. She looked around and passed it to Bruce, who put it under his pillow. ‘Don’t take all your medicine at once, Bruce.’

  ‘Thanks, Tammy.’ He winked at her and Kerry thought
she saw the nurse’s cheeks blush as she nodded to Kerry then walked out.

  ‘Jeez, Dad, you’re here to get better. What is that, Scotch?’

  ‘Nope, some local rotgut brandy they call Klipdrift. Tamara swears by it.’

  ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  Eli came back into the room. In one hand he carried an armchair that looked like a feather in his grip and in the other he had a bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Steal those from room 35 where that bloke died last night?’ Bruce asked.

  ‘Very funny. I went to the gift shop, that’s what took me so long.’

  ‘Well flowers or not, you still can’t top and tail with me tonight,’ Bruce said. ‘I know what you navy types are like.’

  Eli ignored him and turned to Kerry. ‘These are for you, with my apologies.’

  ‘Oh, Eli, you didn’t have to do that. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I was back-up and fire support in Mozambique and I couldn’t be there for you. I feel bad that you had to go through what you did after Bruce found you. It must have been terrible enough being locked up, but then to have to . . .’

  Kerry took the flowers and sniffed them. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you, but you really don’t have to apologise. And after all, if you hadn’t had that drone of yours overhead I might have been a goner. You actually saved my life, after all.’

  ‘This is all very touching,’ Bruce said as he reached under his pillow and slid the small flask of brandy from the bag. ‘Fetch some glasses, Yank, and let’s have a drink.’

  ‘Bruce, you shouldn’t have alcohol in here,’ Eli said.

  ‘You Yanks are all so damned puritanical.’

  ‘No, I mean you should give it to me. I’ll hide it for you.’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. Pass me that glass.’

  Bruce poured three measures of brandy. ‘Cheers, everybody. Here’s to a close shave, and to life.’

  Kerry wrinkled her nose, but took a sip, then coughed. ‘Gross.’

  ‘Your mother was a cheap date too, that’s one of the many things I liked about her.’

  There was a loud cough from the corridor and Eli craned his neck to see through the door. ‘Drink up, it’s the bad guys.’