by Bear Grylls
He cocked one eye at the ramshackle shelters that people called home. He had built a few shelters out of less than these guys had. But then, he had only needed to stay alive for a night or two. He had never had to live in one. They had never been his home.
Maybe he could help out there too – show them how to make the shelters better, more wind- and waterproof . . .
As they approached the Jeep, Al turned to Beck. ‘You’ve been brilliant, but please can we now get some sleep?’ he begged.
Beck smiled, and turned round. A small crowd, mostly children, had silently followed them all the way down the alley. He waved at them, saying, ‘Got to go. I’ll be back!’
The solemn faces split into big smiles, and they waved enthusiastically. Beck grinned back. He gave a final wave and turned towards the Jeep.
An engine roared and another Jeep, black, modern and shiny, skidded to a halt next to them. Its tyres sent a cloud of red dust billowing up into the air around them.
Beck coughed, and suddenly his eyes were streaming. ‘What the—?’
And then a tall, burly man emerged through the dust. He had a shock of grizzled hair that had once been dark, and muscular shoulders that strained at the fabric of his shirt. His jaw was set and determined as he wrapped his arms around Beck, lifted him up and hurled him towards the Jeep.
It was like being attacked by an agile silverback gorilla. Beck fell against the side of the vehicle, still too stunned to react. The man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and the belt of his trousers, and pushed him through the open back door into the dark, cool interior. Beck blinked with streaming eyes and saw a face he had never thought he would see again. It belonged to a skinny blond boy a couple of years older than him, who had grabbed him by the arm.
James Blake. The boy who had tried to kill him once before . . .
Chapter 9
Beck swung a fist at James and wriggled out of his grasp. He reversed as fast as he could out of the Jeep, straight into the arms of the Silverback guy.
‘No way, kid—’ the man began.
Then he suddenly vanished as Al, in an astonishing blur of movement, brought him down in a charging rugby tackle. The two men sprawled on the red dirt in a winded heap. Beck and Athena ran forward to help Al up. The man who had attacked Beck tried to get to his feet, and then disappeared again amongst a mob of shouting, angry African children. The small crowd that had followed Beck set about him like a swarm of insects, kicking him, hitting him, pelting him with stones and mud.
‘Come on,’ Athena said, and she dragged Al and Beck back towards her car.
Beck took one last look at the black Jeep, its back door hanging open. James must still be in there, nursing his wounds.
Athena slammed Beck’s door shut and clambered into the driver’s seat. The engine roared and they surged away, leaving in their wake a cloud of red dust that soon obscured their view.
Al’s chest heaved. ‘Who the blue blazes was that?’ he gasped.
‘It was James,’ Beck said. He inspected the hand with which he’d hit the other boy. It still hurt. ‘James Blake. He was in that Jeep.’
Al stared at him with eyes like saucers as they sped along the track, rocking from side to side. ‘James? Our friendly teenage psychopath James? James-who’s-meant-to-be-dead James?’
Beck nodded.
Al swore and thumped the upholstery. ‘That does it. This whole thing is one big Lumos trap. James failed once, so he’ll try again and again, and each time he’ll try harder. You need to keep on being lucky over and over again to stay alive. He only needs to get lucky once to kill you. So we leave now, today.’
The Jeep slowed down a little to negotiate the potholes. Beck glanced behind them, but there was no sign of pursuit.
‘I’ve already told you,’ Athena said calmly. ‘The airport is closed. Where do you suggest?’
‘We go . . .’ Al waved his hands in frustration. ‘Somewhere! Just drive into the interior! Somewhere . . . anywhere they won’t be expecting us to go!’
‘What, like the townships?’ Beck asked. ‘Look, James failed – he won’t have another plan immediately. He’ll have to think about it. We should go ahead to the rhino reserve.’
‘Which is exactly where James knows you’ll be going,’ Al pointed out.
‘And we’ll be surrounded by Green Force people,’ said Beck. ‘You know – anti-poaching rangers with big guns. And they’ll know everyone, so any stranger will stand out like a sore thumb.’
Al’s lips pursed thoughtfully. It looked like Beck’s words had hit home.
‘And remember,’ Athena told him, ‘the whole point of you being here was so that Beck could make an advert to front the campaign.’
‘Yes, but now we know that was Lumos’s idea!’
‘It doesn’t matter whose idea it was . . .’ For the first time Athena lost a little of her usual calm. Her anger and passion for the cause began to show through. ‘It’s still a critical one. This is so important, Al. So important! We are desperate for any help we can get. So what if this Lumos has accidentally helped us . . .’
Beck sensed that his uncle was weakening – though Al had one last stab at talking some sense into his nephew.
‘There are still plenty of opportunities for Lumos to have another try,’ he pointed out. ‘If I remember correctly, it must be a seven- or eight-hour drive to the Kruger National Park. That’s a lot of ground to cross. They could have men and guns strung out all along the way. They could strike at any time.’
Athena smiled. ‘I think we can get there quicker than that, and I have a plan to make sure that Lumos won’t have any chance at all.’
Chapter 10
The helicopter was cramped and noisy. Beck, Al, Athena and their luggage were crammed into the back, in a space not much larger than the inside of a saloon car.
But it was fast.
Athena had driven Beck and Al north to Pretoria, and then they had transferred to this helicopter, the property of Green Force. Athena had called ahead, so it was waiting for them, engine running. They had met the pilot, and another man who wore the faded khaki safari suit and sun hat of a park ranger.
Beck looked out of the window and saw low, rolling hills and grassland that flashed past beneath them. They had flown through the Drakensberg mountain range, the highest in Africa. It was torn and twisted land, pushed up by volcanoes millions of years ago, with some peaks over 3,000 metres high. And now they were flying low over the veld – rolling savannah that was home to all Africa’s big game animals. Rhinos and elephants. Lions and leopards.
It was late in the day by now. The sun was starting to think about setting, and the shadows of trees and animals stretched out in front of them. The helicopter’s own shadow looked like a giant insect running across the landscape. It leaped up and down as the ground rose and fell. A herd of zebra broke into a gallop for a few hundred metres, spooked by the roar of the flying object above them.
‘We are under siege,’ said a solemn voice in Beck’s ears. Everyone wore headphones, so that they could communicate over the racket of the engine. The ranger, whose name was Bongani Peterson, had twisted round in the co-pilot’s seat to talk to them. He was a tall Zulu man with hair that was starting to go grey at the temples.
‘We have used the army, we have helicopter patrols, we have even started using drones to keep a lookout,’ Bongani went on. ‘But still the enemy comes.’
Beck and Al listened intently to the words of a man who spent his life in the front line of a battle that cost lives – not just rhino lives but human ones too. Rhino poachers knew the harsh penalties that awaited them if they were caught, and they would not hesitate to kill any ranger who found them.
‘Where do they come from?’ Beck asked.
Bongani pointed eastwards, ahead of them. ‘Usually, over the border from Mozambique. The border is over two hundred miles long – difficult to police. And the park covers more than two million hectares. That is the size of Israel! They come
in small groups, no more than four or five, and once they are here they can just disappear.’
‘But four or five guys couldn’t carry away a whole dead rhino – could they?’ Beck was baffled.
‘They don’t want the whole rhino.’ Bongani tapped his nose. ‘They want just one bit – the horn. Unfortunately rhinos don’t like parting with their horns, and so they have to kill them to get at it. The horn is worth more than gold on the black market. You hear all sorts of rubbish spoken about it. People think it is some kind of magical medicine – but, Beck, the horn is made of keratin! That’s the same as your fingernails! If people think it’s medicine, they might just as well put their fingernails in their tea and drink that.’
Beck pulled a face at the thought of fingernail tea. ‘I hope it makes them really ill.’
Bongani’s face broke into a grin. ‘It does now! We’re trialling a scheme where we inject the rhino’s horn with pink dye. It doesn’t get into the bloodstream so it won’t harm the rhino – but any human who consumes it will suffer severe nausea and cramps. And because the horn is pink – which the rhinos don’t mind; they’re colour-blind – hopefully the poachers should be warned off killing that animal in the first place.’
Beck laughed. ‘That’s a neat idea.’
Bongani’s smile faded and he shrugged. ‘We hope so. But it’s a never-ending battle. We can’t inject dye into every single horn of every single rhino – and sooner or later the poachers, or the people they sell the horns on to, will work out how to bleach the dye out again. That means it will no longer appear pink – but the poison will still be there to make people ill. You have to remember, Beck: people are stupid, and greedy, and wicked – and so the rhinos die.’
The pilot’s voice broke into the conversation.
‘Ten more minutes and we’re there.’
Chapter 11
The sun was on the horizon when the helicopter touched down amidst a cloud of swirling dust. It stayed on the ground just long enough for everyone to pile out with their luggage. Then it took off again while they hurried over to the lodge.
This was Green Force’s local headquarters. It was a working building, not the kind of place where rich tourists were accommodated. No Jacuzzi or sun deck here. It was a low wooden bungalow, raised on stilts as a precaution against insects and snakes. The roof was dry thatch and the windows were unglazed.
Until you saw the other rangers, or the vehicles parked out front, the satellite dish at one end was the only reminder that you were still in the twenty-first century.
The wooden steps and veranda led straight into the lodge’s main room. It was furnished with cane chairs, and ceiling fans lazily circulated the air around the wide open space. An African girl Beck’s age sat at a table, hunched over a laptop. She lifted her head long enough to smile at them, but then her attention went back to the screen while she scribbled notes on a pad.
‘Samora,’ Bongani started to say, ‘this is—’
‘She’s on the move again,’ Samora whispered, waving him to silence.
Bongani cocked an eyebrow at Beck and Al and Athena, but he looked amused. They walked over to the table to see what was absorbing the girl’s interest.
It meant nothing to Beck. The screen showed a bunch of wiggling lines superimposed over a map. A dot on the screen was slowly moving along one of them. A cluster of digits next to it showed what Beck presumed were its latitude and longitude. Every now and then a digit would change as the dot’s position shifted.
Bongani put a hand on Samora’s shoulder and she squeezed it. They were both obviously pleased with whatever was being shown on the screen. Beck wondered why they were all being so quiet; whatever the computer showed, it couldn’t exactly hear them, could it?
‘What is it?’ he asked softly.
‘She’s an elephant,’ Samora said, not looking up. ‘She was raised by humans but we released her into the wild. Now she’s pregnant and . . . see the routes she’s following?’ She indicated the lines on screen. ‘Those are the usual migration routes. We can see she’s falling into the same behaviour patterns as the rest of the herd.’ She flashed Beck a brilliant smile and he could sense her happiness. ‘It means they’ve accepted her.’
Bongani made the introductions. ‘Samora, sweetheart, this is Beck and Al. Athena you know. Samora is my daughter . . .’
‘So, do you know all about rhinos too?’ Beck asked on an impulse. He hadn’t realized that there would be someone his own age here; he would be glad of the company, he thought.
Samora smiled. ‘A little.’
Bongani rolled his eyes. ‘What doesn’t she know? Come on, you can catch up later. You’ll both maybe want a lie down before we eat . . .’
Chapter 12
After breakfast the next day Beck sat on the veranda of the lodge and looked out at the park. Trees and shrubs stretched out to the horizon in every direction like a thin veil across the ancient land.
This, he thought, this was Africa – a land rich in majesty and beauty. The shanty town from yesterday was like a cancer in a healthy body. Cancer happens when a body’s natural mechanisms go wrong. The shanty town was a place where Africa, which could be so great with all its riches and its vibrant people, turned in on itself instead.
Beck wanted to be like a doctor, helping it to right itself again. Somehow . . .
The previous evening, after an early supper, Beck had fallen asleep with his mind full of the wild. The scent of the dry grass, and the endless song of insects and the occasional animal cry in the distance. The next morning he woke early, full of anticipation – though he had a strange fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach, half excitement, half fear.
He wandered out onto the lodge’s veranda and looked across the game park.
Now that he was viewing it at ground level, rather than from the air, he finally felt like he had properly arrived in Africa.
Twenty metres away stood a wooden sign, aimed at any visitors who might not be used to the park:
DO NOT WEAR BRIGHT CLOTHES – IT UPSETS THE ELEPHANTS
Beck thought of the sign outside his own house back in London – RESIDENTS’ PARKING ONLY – and smiled to himself. He preferred this one. He would like to live in a place where elephants might come wandering by.
Beck and Al, who were no rookies to life in the wild, had brought the right clothes with them, so the elephants had nothing to worry about. They had hats with wide, floppy brims to shade their eyes and protect their brains from the sun. On their feet were lightweight, sturdy safari boots, which cushioned their soles and supported their ankles on rough ground. Their shirts and trousers were made of tough ripstop material, loose enough to let the air circulate next to their skin; the dull greens and browns looked almost like camouflage.
Beck felt comforted by the thought that he could just blend into the background of the park if he had to.
He heard footsteps on the decking, and Samora came to sit down beside him.
‘Morning!’ She waved a hand out at the park. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said sincerely.
‘Dad said you’re going to make a video about rhinos?’
‘That’s right. On the way here he was telling us about the poaching.’
A cloud passed over Samora’s smiling face. ‘Bad people. Bad, desperate people. I’m learning about conservation – I’m going to be a ranger when I’m older.’
Bongani and Athena had come out of the lodge too. Athena had a camera bag slung over her shoulder and Bongani was carrying a tripod. They walked down the steps to set up the tripod on the dusty ground.
‘Samora is already a veteran at taking DNA samples,’ Bongani said.
‘DNA?’ Beck asked in surprise. Surely she didn’t need to be a genetic scientist in order to become a ranger . . .
‘We take the DNA of dead rhinos that we find and send it off to Johannesburg,’ Samora explained. ‘It goes into a database so that it can be matched against any products
that come onto the market. And we collect the bullet cases for evidence too.’ Her smile died away. ‘Did Dad tell you about the mother and baby we found yesterday?’
Beck shook his head.
Her eyes went a little distant as she remembered. ‘We knew something was wrong because we saw the vultures circling. They always do that above dead animals – it’s usually the first sign that something is wrong. So we went looking. The rhinos must have been killed four or five days earlier. First we found the baby. The vultures and hyenas had stripped it down to its bones.’ She paused.
‘The poachers must have shot it first – they were probably aiming for the mother and missed. They would have left the child because the horn was too small. So, one less rhino for absolutely nothing. The mother was lying a few hundred metres away, with a huge hole where her horn used to be. There is nothing more disgusting than that hole – it’s dark and ugly, full of thick black blood and buzzing flies.’
Samora’s voice trembled for a moment. She paused, rubbed one eye with a finger, and continued more calmly, back under control.
‘She must have run for her life when the baby was killed. She would have been in agony . . . there was a wound in her shoulder – they hit her at least once before killing her.’ She was clearly struggling to contain her fury at the loss of these magnificent creatures’ lives.
Beck felt it too. An anger that burned deep inside him. He remembered Bongani’s remark about fingernails. Who were these people? How could they do this to those beautiful animals? And all for fingernail medicine . . .
‘Perfect!’ Athena said. ‘Hold that thought!’ She had clamped the camera onto the top of the tripod and swung it round to face Beck.
He blinked. ‘What thought?’
‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I’m angry!’
‘Then that’s the thought to hold. We need to hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes. You can start by telling the story that Samora just told you, while it’s fresh in your mind. OK! Set, and . . . go!’
