Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) (28 page)

Connor and Amber trudged through the brush in
silence, heading south once more. Flies buzzed incessantly around them and the sun beat
down, its punishing heat unrelenting. They heard gunshots somewhere in the distance,
impelling them onward. As they dragged their feet through the long grass, hunger sapping
at their strength with every step, their thirst intensified. But without the Lifestraw
they didn’t dare drink untreated water from the river, afraid not just of
crocodiles but of making themselves ill.

The only items Connor now possessed were his
Rangeman watch – still unblemished; his night-vision sunglasses – a little bent and
scratched but serviceable; and his father’s knife. He’d cut away the excess
fabric of the Go-bag, leaving the body-armour panel with its straps as a wearable shield
in case they encountered the gunmen again.

Everything else had been lost – even
hope.

But, spurred on by his father’s words,
Connor had eventually willed his battered body to rise and begin the long trek across
the burning-hot savannah. As he put one weary foot in front of the other, his
father’s advice became a
mantra in his
head –
never give in, never give up, never give in, never give up
…

If they could only reach the lodge, their
ordeal would be over.
For me at least
, thought Connor as he glanced back at
Amber.

Her head bowed and her hair hanging like a
veil across her tear-stained face, Amber’s spirit was all but broken. Only
Connor’s dogged insistence that they keep going, that they didn’t let the
gunmen catch them or become carrion for the vultures, impelled her to move. But she was
like a zombie, her eyes unfocused, back stooped and arms hanging loose, just shuffling
along near the point of collapse.

Connor knew he looked in an equally bad way.
Their fraught escape through jungle, bush and river had taken its toll. With his
tattered muddy clothes, innumerable cuts and scrapes, and his half-loping gait due to
the painful gash in his side, he would be barely recognizable to his friends in Alpha
team. However, the promise of water, food and medical assistance at the lodge kept his
spirits up.

Emerging from the brush into a clearing,
Connor checked the bearing on his compass watch to ensure they were still on track. As
he looked up to gauge their next landmark, he found himself face-to-face with a
buffalo.

The solitary bull glared at them from the
other side of the clearing. The size of a small car and built like a tank, the buffalo
was terrifying in its sheer barrel-shaped bulk, the massive curved horns almost a metre
across. Flies scattered in a buzzing black cloud as the bull snorted angrily and shook
its colossal head.

Drawing Amber closer
to him, Connor took a cautious step back. Confronted by one of the most unpredictable
and dangerous animals in Africa, they couldn’t afford to provoke it in any
way.

The old bull stamped a hoof, kicking up
dust. Then before they could retreat any further, it released another explosive snort,
lowered its head and charged.

Connor stood his ground, shielding Amber
behind him. He simply didn’t have the energy to run. And there were no trees close
enough for them to climb out of danger anyway. His only defence was to show no fear in
the face of the oncoming bull and pray it was a mock charge.

But the buffalo continued to thunder towards
them like a runaway truck, its nostrils flaring, its battering ram of hardened bone
targeted on Connor. They’d done nothing to antagonize the animal. But the beast
seemed incensed.

Amber clung to him, too afraid to flee and
too traumatized to cry out.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut as the bull
bore down on them. He could hear the pounding hooves churning up the dirt and tensed in
expectation of the bone-crushing impact. He tried not to imagine the crippling pain of
being tossed high in the air, a bag of broken bones, or being gored by one of its horns
and trampled to death.

His last act as bodyguard was to shove Amber
aside.

Then a gunshot rang out, followed by two
more in quick succession.

The buffalo was stopped in its tracks and
Connor heard a heavy
whomp
as its mighty body hit the earth. On
opening his eyes he was enveloped in a
cloud of red dust. As the dust settled, the bull’s head appeared no more than a
metre from Connor’s feet, blood streaming from several bullet holes on its neck,
shoulder and flank. Its tongue lolled out and its eyes glazed over as the beast let out
one final snort and succumbed to death.

Connor barely had time to register this when
a voice with a slight Germanic accent barked, ‘What the hell are you two kids
doing out here alone?’

From a dense thicket strode a white man in
an olive-green shirt and knee-length shorts. Stocky, with a severe crewcut and
grey-tinged beard, he was reloading a high-calibre bolt-action rifle fitted with a
telescopic sight. In his wake trailed a thin black man wearing an earth-brown T-shirt
and army surplus trousers, shouldering a canvas pack.

Connor helped Amber to her feet. ‘Are
you all right?’ he asked.

Amber nodded.

‘You could have been killed!’
snapped the white man, inspecting the floored buffalo. Satisfied it was dead, he looked
them up and down in wonder and horror. ‘My God, what’s happened to
you?’

Judging by the man’s attitude and
appearance, he wasn’t one of the rebels and Connor felt safe enough to lower his
guard and explain: ‘Our safari convoy –’ he coughed, his throat dry and
hoarse with dust – ‘was ambushed by gunmen yesterday.’

‘What gunmen are these?’ asked
the white man, offering Connor a hip flask of water.

Connor gulped down
several mouthfuls before passing the flask to Amber to have the lion’s share. The
water revived him and he felt some of his strength return. ‘Rebel soldiers. Boys
too. Possibly they’re the ANL, led by a man known as the Black Mamba.’

Both men’s faces darkened at the
mention of the rebel leader’s name.

‘We’ve been on the run ever
since,’ Connor continued. ‘My friend here is the daughter of the French
ambassador on an official goodwill visit to the park. We believe her parents, along with
President Bagaza, have been murdered. So too has her little brother. We need to contact
the authorities immediately.’

With a pitying look at Amber, the white man
nodded gravely. ‘This is serious.’

He said some words to his companion in a
language Connor didn’t understand but presumed was the local dialect Kurundi. The
black man nodded and hurried off into the bush.

‘You’re lucky you ran into
us,’ said the white man, turning back to them. ‘Listen, our camp isn’t
far from here. Come with me. We’ll get you fed, watered and patched up. Then
we’ll sort this out.’

Both Connor and Amber almost collapsed with
relief.

Against all the odds, they’d been
saved.

‘My name is Jonas Wolff,’ said
the white man as he escorted them through the bush. ‘But my friends call me the
Wolf.’

‘Thank you for rescuing us,
Wolf,’ said Amber.

‘It was either that or watching you
get trampled to death by a buffalo,’ he replied, his tone matter-of-fact and
devoid of humour. ‘Those animals show no pity. They kill more people in Africa
than any other large game.’

‘I was told hippos were the most
dangerous.’

The Wolf snorted dismissively. ‘The
locals don’t call a bull buffalo the Black Death for nothing. And such beasts
don’t go down easily. You’re extremely fortunate that I’m a skilled
marksman.’

As they walked, the Wolf’s eyes
constantly scanned the savannah and he kept his rifle primed at all times. Connor was
impressed by the man’s vigilance. He was taking the threat of the rebels
seriously.

At the foot of a hill they entered a large
copse of trees, pushing through the dense undergrowth until at its heart they came
across a small rudimentary camp. Three green tarpaulins were strung between the tree
trunks,
the makeshift shelters pitched round
a fire in the centre of a patch of cleared ground. To one side was a large pile of
supplies, partly covered by a tarpaulin, plus several jerrycans of water. Four men,
including the one the Wolf had sent on ahead, eyed their arrival with curiosity as they
squatted beside the fire where a pot sat amid the glowing embers, its contents
steaming.

‘First, food and water,’ said
the Wolf, gesturing for Amber and Connor to take a seat on a felled log next to the
fire. ‘Abel, serve our guests.’

As Connor and Amber settled down, grateful
to rest their weary feet at last, the man in the army surplus trousers lifted the
pot’s lid and gave the contents a stir, sending up a mouthwatering waft of braised
meat. Abel passed them two tin plates piled high with a thick brown stew. Too hungry to
mutter anything more than a quick thanks, Connor and Amber greedily tucked in.

‘What is this?’ asked Connor
after polishing off his plate and receiving another helping. ‘It’s
delicious.’

‘Oryx,’ replied the Wolf,
offering them both a brimming mug of water each.

Connor hadn’t heard of the animal but,
after eating snake, anything was a treat. He downed the water, ignoring its chlorinated
taste, and the Wolf refilled his cup. As Connor drained that too, the Wolf noticed the
bloodstain on his left side.

‘Let me have a look at that,’ he
said.

Connor took off his shirt, grimacing as pain
flared through him.

The Wolf peeled back
the bandage. ‘Nasty,’ he commented. ‘That’ll need a few
stitches.’

Connor managed a wry smile. ‘I’m
afraid I haven’t come across any hospitals in this park yet.’

‘Not to worry. I can patch you
up.’ The Wolf went over to the pile of supplies and returned with a medical kit.
He took out an emergency suture pack. Removing Connor’s bandage, he cleaned up the
wound with a sterile saline solution, then laid out a scalpel, needle and thread.

‘You’ve done this before?’
asked Connor, growing more and more anxious as he watched the Wolf insert the thin nylon
thread through the eye of the needle.

The Wolf nodded. ‘A few times. I trust
you’re not squeamish?’

Biting down on his lip, Connor winced as the
Wolf cut away a small piece of loose flesh with the scalpel. Once satisfied the gash was
even enough, he pinched the skin together to seal the wound. Then Connor felt the harsh
sting of the needle’s tip piercing his flesh, followed by a sharp tug as the Wolf
tied off the first stitch. The process was repeated three more times, each stitch more
agonizing than the last.

‘All done,’ said the Wolf,
cleaning away the blood with an antiseptic wipe.

A sheen of pained sweat on his brow, Connor
glanced hesitantly down. The gash was as neatly sewn together as a woven shoelace.

‘He’s done a great job,’
said Amber encouragingly. She turned to the Wolf, who was packing away his suture kit.
‘Are you a doctor?’

‘No. But
I’ve had enough practice on myself,’ he explained, lifting his shirt to
reveal a massive outline of scar tissue running across his chest and belly.

‘What happened?’ gasped
Amber.

‘A lion is what happened,’ he
replied, but said no more. Re-dressing the stitched wound, the Wolf handed Connor two
small foil packs. ‘Take these.’

‘What are they?’ Connor
asked.

‘The white tablets are
painkillers.’

Connor stared at him. ‘Couldn’t
you have given me these
before
you stitched me up?’

The Wolf shrugged indifferently. ‘They
wouldn’t have taken effect in time. The red-and-white ones are antibiotics.
You’ll need those to stop any infection. Take one a day for a week.’

‘Thanks,’ said Connor,
immediately popping an antibiotic and chasing it with a couple of painkillers. He
slipped the remaining tablets into his pocket.

‘I don’t know how we can ever
repay you for your kindness,’ said Amber, setting aside her plate.