by Bear Grylls
Chapter 30
Beck chose a point on the zebra’s hindquarters that was well away from the damage caused by its killers. It was also good and meaty, with no bone to complicate matters.
The tip of the bone knife easily pierced the skin; then Beck could work it back and forth. The skin yielded beneath the blade with each stroke. He cut a flap of skin and peeled it back. The meat he now exposed was fresh, red and glistening. He carefully and methodically began to cut away chunks, each one no bigger than a clenched fist.
He passed the first to Samora. She carefully took the lump of flesh and held it up to examine it.
‘I ordered mine medium-well,’ she joked. ‘There’s no way I’m tipping.’
‘No time to light a fire,’ he said apologetically, ‘and even if we could, I wouldn’t. We’re still too close.’
Samora just nodded. He was right. The poachers could easily spot the smoke from a fire.
‘Oh well.’ Beck held up his own piece of meat. ‘Down the hatch.’
He bit into it, hard. He felt the zebra’s blood ooze out of the flesh into his mouth. It tasted of iron. The meat was strong and tangy, like eating raw beef but with a much more intense flavour. He had to work his teeth hard to get through the flesh, but it then went down quickly.
They both ate one more piece, then Beck spoke through a mouthful of blood and meat. ‘Let’s not have any more until we find water. Eating too much protein will dehydrate us even further. We’ve got some energy inside us now, so let’s use that to get moving, and try and find more water on our route. We’ll take some of this meat with us for later.’
With that, he continued cutting and slashing at the carcass so that they could fill their pockets for the journey that lay ahead.
But talking of water had given Beck another idea.
This was going to be messy, though.
He rolled up his sleeves, knelt down and pushed his hands into the mess that was the zebra’s organs. Feeling about for the stomach was like rummaging about in a pile of slippery rubber balloons. Soon his arms were covered with slimy blood and juices, and the mess of organs sucked and gurgled under his hands.
The stomach was easy to find because the throat led straight into it. When he pulled it out, it writhed between his hands like a rubber sack full of water, quivering and squelching. He held it up triumphantly.
‘Pass me the knife, Samora.’
The stomach was connected to the throat at one end and the zebra’s intestines at the other. He cut through both ends to free it. The remains of the zebra’s last meal splattered then dribbled out of both openings. Beck squeezed the stomach to remove every last bit that he could.
‘And what are we doing with that?’ Samora had worked with plenty of dead animals, torn apart by other creatures. She was used to this and she wasn’t turning green. But she looked curious.
‘You’ll see when we find water . . .’
Suddenly, on the wind, they heard the distinct sound of barking dogs. The zebra’s killers were still in the neighbourhood.
Beck and Samora both paused. Then Beck quickly slid the chair leg through the two openings of the stomach and held it across his shoulder. It was the easiest way to carry something slippery and floppy, and it kept a hand free. He tucked the bone knife into his belt.
‘We should press on,’ he said grimly.
Chapter 31
The river was thirty metres from bank to bank and cut its way across the grassland. On the far side some antelope were bending down to drink. The bank on their side was churned up by countless animal foot-, hoof- and claw-prints, though none of their owners were about.
‘That is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen!’ Samora exclaimed.
‘Yup,’ Beck agreed. ‘Sometimes elephant poo just isn’t the same.’
They had walked for another two hours with the zebra meat in their pockets. The dogs hadn’t appeared. Beck hoped that if they felt hungry again, then they would prefer the safely dead zebra to two very much alive humans.
But he knew that they needed water. Every drop of sweat that they produced was one more drop of water that wasn’t inside their bodies where it could help them.
They had come to the top of a small rise and had simultaneously spotted the green banks of a river in the far distance. Another hour of walking and they had reached it.
The ground sloped gently down to the water and gently up again on the far side. The banks were lined with reeds and small shrubs and bushes.
Samora ran forward before Beck could stop her, and knelt down so that she could scoop water up into her mouth.
‘Hey!’ he called as he caught up with her. He thought of all the dangers that might lurk in African waters. ‘Crocs? Hippos?’
Samora stood up, wiping water from her mouth. ‘Too shallow for hippos to be hiding. You can see it’s not deep. And there’s no crocs on the bank, and they’d only be hiding underwater if they thought they’d get a meal. They’re more likely to be on the other side, eyeing up those antelope.’ She pointed over at the far bank. ‘If they don’t get attacked in the next five minutes, then there aren’t any crocs.’
‘Makes sense . . .’ Beck found it hard to argue with the voice of experience. ‘Just making sure we survive now that we’ve found this river.’
But he still ran his eyes slowly over the running water, searching for anything that might look like a log but turn out to be something reptilian and armour-plated, with a whole host of teeth and claws.
He unshouldered the zebra stomach, and knelt down to drink some water himself. It was cool and refreshing, and strength seemed to flow from it into his tired muscles. It washed a fuzziness out of his mind that he hadn’t even realized was there. He felt more awake and even a little taller when he stood up again.
He surveyed the river once more with a thoughtful eye. They had to get across it. He could see how wide it was – but not how deep. Or how fast it was flowing . . .
He snapped a branch off a bush and walked over to a small raised knoll – the highest point along the bank that he could find. Then he hurled the branch out across the water. From his slightly elevated position he could see it spin round as the current caught it. It was carried away down the river at a fast walking pace. If he followed it on foot, he wouldn’t quite be running, but he would be walking pretty briskly.
‘We can get across that,’ Samora said. She sounded slightly less confident now; perhaps she had visions of being swept away.
‘We can, but if it gets too deep or we lose our footing, then we could easily get carried away.’ Beck made his decision. ‘We should try to tripod it.’
‘What? We build a tripod?’
‘No,’ Beck said with a grin. ‘We are the tripods. Come on. We need two strong, sturdy branches. They have to be the same height as we are, and they must be able to take our weight if we lean on them.’
They searched among the bushes that lined the bank. It took a while, but finally they both had branches that satisfied him. Beck leaned hard on each for a final check, gripping it with both hands and putting his full weight on it. Neither of them snapped.
Beck kicked off his boots and his hands reached for his belt buckle. Then he paused. ‘Uh . . . We need to, uh . . .’
‘. . . take our trousers off?’ Samora asked matter of factly.
He nodded. ‘Kind of.’
She turned her back, pulled off her own boots and proceeded to remove her trousers. ‘Why?’ she asked while she was changing.
‘They just make extra drag in the water. And you’ll be glad of the dry clothes when you get to the other side. And take your socks off too, but put your boots back on. We don’t know what’s on the river bed.’
Sharp objects might cut their bare feet, but rocks or gravel could just be slippery and painful.
They stuffed their socks into their pockets and wrapped their trousers around their necks. While they did that, Beck explained how they were going to get across. He was still using the chair leg to
carry the zebra stomach. He stuffed it down his back, under where he had tied his trousers around his neck, so that they held the chair leg in place. Then he picked up his branch.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
Samora took one look at him, and burst out laughing.
He supposed he probably did look funny – boots with no socks, bare, skinny legs and boxer shorts.
‘Ready,’ she agreed, still chuckling.
And together they edged their way into the water.
Chapter 32
‘Eww, it’s getting into my boots!’
‘Well, yeah . . .’
‘I know, I know. It just feels so . . . squidgy.’
There was something horrible about the sensation of water trickling into a dry boot. That was why Beck had deliberately stepped out and made his boots flood straight away. The water felt slick and cool against his skin. He felt it rising up his legs as they moved out into the river.
They moved sideways, facing upstream. Beck was slightly behind Samora. This meant that they could always see anything that might be carried downriver towards them, and if Samora fell, Beck would be there to catch her.
As Beck had said, they were human tripods. They each had two legs and a branch, so they had three points of contact firmly planted on the river bed. Only one point of contact moved at any time. They would carefully slide one foot along to find a secure purchase. Then the next foot, and then the branch, to catch up. And so on.
‘And be careful not to cross your feet, but shuffle instead, so that you don’t trip up.’ Beck spoke calmly, concentrating on the job in hand.
He had remembered that tip from when he was little: his father had given him a demonstration in a shallow stream – purposefully falling head over heels to make the point. Beck smiled at the memory.
But this crossing was getting harder now.
Close to the bank, the river had been sluggish, and they could just splash their way through it. But as they neared the middle of the stream, so the current increased. It began to pull at them. By the time the water was up to their knees, there was a definite bow wave as it flowed past.
To Beck it almost seemed as if the river was toying with them. As if it was quietly watching, waiting for a mistake; given the slightest chance, it would have them over. The bed was soft mud – he could feel no rocks or gravel that would provide a grip. It would be all too easy for their feet to slide and for one of them to topple, taking the other with them.
The river got deeper – deeper than Beck had expected. If it came up much over their waists, then he knew there would be no way they could avoid getting swept away. They would have to throw themselves to the mercy of the current.
The water rose slowly, soaking into his shorts and then the hem of his shirt. Every part of him below his waist was now being pushed back by the water. To compensate for the force he moved his feet back a little, and pushed the branch forward. The points of the tripod were further apart, which would make him more stable.
‘How are you doing?’ he called. Samora was a little shorter than he was – the water would be higher on her.
‘It’s . . . yeah.’
He didn’t press the point. She needed to concentrate on staying upright, not talking.
The cool torrent soon reached his waist. The bow wave thrown up by his body made a sinister gurgling sound in his ears. The pressure was like a giant hand placed flat and pushing harder and harder against his whole body, forcing him backwards.
And then at last the water began to go back down again. At first he wasn’t sure, but after another minute there was no doubt: it was back to just below his waist. They were past the halfway point and heading up the other side.
Samora let out a whoop as she realized the same thing.
‘Don’t let up,’ Beck called. ‘Keep concentrating—’
Suddenly something wrapped itself around his legs and pinned them in place. The foot he had been edging along was unable to move any further. The rest of his body was already shifting, on the assumption that his foot would be there to take his weight. He stumbled over to one side, and the force of the water hit him. He tried to shift his legs, but the thing under the water slithered against them and locked them together.
With a yell he found himself being pushed back. He had to wave his hands to stay upright, which meant taking the pole off the river bed – which meant that he was even less stable.
Just as he was about to topple over completely, he managed to use the pole to regain his balance. The water surged up against his back, but he was more or less upright. Whatever was around his legs was trying to untangle itself. Beck tried to dance away from it before he realized that he was making the situation even worse. He forced himself to keep still and stared down into the water. Something long and thin was wrapped around his ankles.
It was definitely some kind of fish, not a length of weed. His pounding heart, he prayed that it wasn’t a water snake; as soon as it got annoyed, it would strike out at him. Now that he was standing still, whatever it was managed to free itself with a couple of deft wriggles. It flicked away from him over the pebbles.
‘Mottled eel.’ Samora laughed. ‘Probably fully grown – they can reach nearly two metres. And they just love to eat boys. They trip them up so that they fall over in the river’ – her eyes grew wide as she held back the smile – ‘and they never come up again!’
‘Oh, yeah . . .?’
‘Yeah . . . Well, no, actually . . .’
‘You mean they’re really completely harmless?’
‘Well, yes. To humans.’
‘Shame,’ Beck muttered. ‘We could have eaten it.’
They continued to work their way towards the far bank, one step at a time.
Chapter 33
Samora dropped down onto the grass.
‘That,’ she declared, ‘was harder than I thought it would be. Even allowing for eels.’
Beck smiled, though he stayed standing. He paced around slowly, letting the sun and wind dry off his soaked lower half. The antelope – a couple of adults and some smaller young – were clustered further down the bank. One of the adults was clearly keeping an eye on him while the others drank, but none of them seemed spooked.
‘It would be even harder for those dogs,’ he said. ‘I think we’re in the clear.’ He peered curiously at the antelope. ‘At least, these guys don’t seem worried.’
‘The water is so important to them, they’ll let predators get quite close before running. Though in your case, if they feel threatened they come straight for you. Those horns are sharp.’
Beck stepped a careful couple of paces away.
‘And, Beck, there will be other dogs on this side, and you’re still carrying a smelly bit of zebra carcass to attract them.’
‘Aha! And didn’t I tell you it was for the next time we get water?’
Samora watched as Beck untied the zebra’s stomach and went back to the river. He thrust it into the water so that water glugged through the two openings. Then he pulled it out so that the water came splattering out again, mixed with the remains of the stomach’s contents. Beck repeated the process until the water ran completely clean.
Finally he used one of the poachers’ ropes to tie a tight pair of half-hitch knots around one of the openings, sealing it tight. Then he filled the stomach up again. The knots held and no water came dribbling out of the end.
‘So it’s a water bottle!’ Samora commented.
‘Makeshift, but it will do. Handy thing about stomachs is they’re as waterproof as any bottle. And these ones can double up as a pillow too! Could you hold this?’
Samora held the stomach upright while Beck sealed off the other end. Then he tied a longer piece of rope to the two ends of the stomach and slung it back over his shoulder.
‘What about the poachers?’ she asked while he was doing that. ‘And your friend from Lumos? They’ll be more persistent than a pack of wild dogs.’
‘I broke the tracking device, rememb
er? I’m hoping that means we won’t see him again. The poachers . . . Hmm.’
Beck squinted back the way they had come. There were no dust clouds, nothing to suggest a pursuing vehicle, but that meant nothing. The men probably knew the country better than they did. They would know where there might be easier fording places. He and Samora had only crossed the river here because they needed to keep moving. They didn’t have the time to go up- or downstream looking for shallower crossing places.
But assuming they had won their gunfight, would the poachers come after them anyway?
‘They don’t know that we memorized their location – or that we know how to survive out here,’ Beck said. ‘Hopefully they’ll just think we’re a couple of kids who’ll get lost and die in the wilderness.’
Samora held up her fingers to make air commas. ‘Hopefully.’
‘Yeah. Well . . .’
Sometimes hope was all you had. Beck had had plenty of opportunity to learn that lesson. But if there were alternatives, then it was better to go with them. If the poachers caught them, they would have no qualms about turning a couple of kids into vulture food.
And that meant they had to keep on the move.
He patted the zebra stomach, which now bulged and gurgled a little with the water inside it. ‘We’ll take sips every hour and fill it up at the next opportunity. Right now’ – Beck waved a hand at the river – ‘drink all you like, we’ll get a few more pieces of zebra down us and then we’ll be off.’
He paused as Samora looked at him with a little smile; then he added, ‘Hey, Samora, cheer up . . . this adventure is only just getting going!’
Chapter 34
There was something about putting on dry clothes that always made one’s spirits lift. Their boots were still damp, but they would dry off as they walked. Every time they stopped for a rest, they would take them off again and give their feet a bit of air. Otherwise there was a danger of getting a fungal infection that would eventually cripple them – though Beck fully intended to be back in civilization long before that happened.
