The Greystoke Legacy (11 page)

Half an hour passed before Mister David held up his hand.

“Stop!”

Clark looked around to see what the danger was. “Stop? How the hell can we stop? This thing doesn't have a brake!”

“Hippos!” hissed Mister David.

Now Clark could see them, like brown barrels just breaking the surface ahead. Beyond they could see where the three rivers became one and the water churned with powerful currents.

“They don't look dangerous,” said Archie. He couldn't remember if they were or not. “I read on the Internet that they're fine in the water. Look at the bank. If Jane was in the water, this'd be the perfect place for her to get ashore.”

Mister David gave him an incredulous look. “Of course they are dangerous!”

The hippos had picked up the scent of the group long before they saw them, and the moment their poor eyesight made out the yellow raft the alarm call went up. The bloat of hippos began loudly snorting and grunting, sounding like a herd of cattle. Then they submerged without leaving a ripple on the surface.

“What did I tell you?” said Archie. “Head to the bank, now!”

Clark and Serge delivered swift strokes toward the bank. Serge stabbed his paddle in again—and was surprised to hit something beneath the surface. The metal oar slipped from his grasp as a hippo rose beneath them in a flurry of whitewater.

The raft twisted sharply out of the water, tossing Archie, Mister David, and Serge out, then splashed back down. Clark, still aboard, was smashed flat on his face. Anil had gripped the boat's safety rope to secure his position, but was now looking into the hippo's gaping maw. The hippo's massive ivory canine teeth clashed down inches away from the petrified logger—puncturing the rubber with a loud hiss.

Mister David and Serge desperately swam for shore. Archie treaded water and watched helplessly as the hippo tore into the raft again. This time the flapping rubber caught on its tusk and, as the animal pulled, the raft half submerged. Anil jumped into the water and swam for the bank. Clark was still on board, his foot tangled in a rope, the deflating rubber folding around him as the hippo pulled him down.

“Clark!”

Archie swam as fast as he could to the stricken raft. He grabbed the side and reached in for Clark. Only Clark's thrashing feet were visible. The rest of him was trapped under water, smothered as the limp rubber­ slowly tangled around him. Archie fumbled for the knife strapped to Clark's exposed calf. The hippo had reached the bottom of the river, so only the tail of the raft was still on the surface—but now the animal powered forward along the riverbed, dragging the boat with it. Archie almost lost his grip as he was propelled sideways.

“Hold on, Clark!”

He unsheathed the knife and hacked at the rubber around Clark. Clark forced himself free as the rubber cocoon split open and Archie dragged him to the surface. Clark coughed up water and sucked in a lungful of air, his face bright red. He had been seconds away from drowning.

Archie pulled his friend to the bank. Slip-sliding through the mud, they collapsed ashore, helped by Mister David, Anil, and Serge, who had beaten them to safety. They watched as the remains of the raft, and all their provisions, sank beneath the muddy water.

Clark was still breathing hard. He looked at Archie, and then punched him in the arm. “Don't you ever believe the crap you read on the Internet!”

•••

Jane was proud she hadn't screamed. She was no judge, but she thought the grave must have been there for several years. She looked at Tarzan, suddenly afraid. Had he killed the man?

Tarzan knelt down and covered the exposed bones with scoops of dirt. He didn't exhibit revulsion in his actions, but Jane thought she detected a trace of sadness.

“D'Arnot, Tarzan's friend.”

“D-did you kill him?” Jane couldn't believe she'd spoken the question aloud, but she needed an answer.

If Tarzan was angered by the comment he didn't show it, he just shook his head. “D'Arnot friend, not enemy.”

His answer calmed Jane a little.

“You want to see D'Arnot.” He gestured to the mound.

“Did he arrive on the plane? The aircraft? Er,” Jane tried to think of any way she could describe the airplane in simple terms.

Tarzan surprised her with his answer. “No. Airplane always been here. D'Arnot teached Tarzan to speak. He teached Tarzan about the world beyond.”

“How did he die? Was it an animal?”

A dark look crossed Tarzan's face. “D'Arnot leave Tarzan. Tarzan find him dead.”

Genuine regret flooded Tarzan's face and Jane felt guilty for accusing him of killing his friend. She automatically reached out an arm to comfort him, but hesitated. She wasn't sure how he'd react.

“Where'd he come from?”

“D'Arnot was French soldier from a place called,” Tarzan hesitated as he recalled the name, “United Nations. Here to stop war, keep peace. D'Arnot killed for helping Tarzan.”

Jane's mind was racing. Whoever D'Arnot was, he'd done an excellent job at teaching him English. “I'm sure he didn't die because he helped you.” She tried to sound consoling, but it did little to break Tarzan's mood. “How long did you know him? How long was he here?”

Tarzan frowned, searching for his words. Jane assumed that it had been many years since he'd had the opportunity to speak English.

Jane decided to change tack.

“Where do you come from?” Tarzan pointed to the mountains. “No, I mean, where were you born? Who were your parents?” She knew she was asking too many questions, but she was relieved Tarzan was finally speaking and she needed answers.

“Mother was an ape, Kala. She dead too.”

Jane giggled and shook her head. “No, seriously.” Tarzan treated her to a stern look and she realized he was being serious. “Your mother can't be . . . that's impossible.”

“Kala Tarzan's mother. She dead.”

Jane remained silent. The grief on Tarzan's face was all too real. She had trouble believing that Tarzan was on board the plane when it crashed—how could he have survived in the wilderness since being a baby? That was surely impossible. Perhaps he had lost his memory and had invented his past?

“You've been on your own for a long time?”

“Not alone. With family.” He smiled, but Jane saw something familiar in his eyes, something she had seen every day in the mirror. Loneliness. She had never before thought it would be possible to feel lonely surrounded by so many people, but her life in Karibu Mji had proved otherwise. Even with Robbie for company, she had never felt so alone. In many ways, she could see some of Robbie in Tarzan—the stubbornness and a past wreathed in mystery. Oddly, this thought made her feel at ease. Tarzan definitely was not the killer she'd first taken him for. He had cared for her, healed her, and the evident sorrow when he had spoken of D'Arnot convinced her he was telling the truth.

She suddenly felt weak, and the wound in her leg throbbed. She rubbed it, hissing at the pain.

“Rest,” stated Tarzan.

“I need a doctor,” said Jane as she sucked in a sharp breath. “You know, medicine man, healer . . . medic?”

“Tarzan heal you.”

“I don't think Tarzan can heal me. No offence, but a Ph.D in tree roots and,” she touched the sap on her scalp, “whatever this goop is, is not going to cure me. I need tablets, antibiotics. Medicine.” She wasn't getting through to him. “I need to get back home.”

“Too weak. When you strong again.”

Jane
was
too weak to argue. She sat down, hoping the dizziness would pass. She noticed movement across the glade. For a moment she thought it was a trick of the light . . . was it a man, maybe her father? That was wishful thinking. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. It was a huge silverback gorilla but she wasn't alarmed, she felt safe in Tarzan's company.

“Your family have come to find you,” teased Jane.

Tarzan's face was set in a snarl. His eyes never left the silverback as more gorillas, blackbacks and females, sauntered into the glade, picking at the flowers. The silverback galloped toward Tarzan, pounding its chest. Then stopped and stood sideways, displaying its mighty bulk as its knuckles pawed the earth. It grunted a challenge at Tarzan.

“Terkoz not family. Terkoz enemy,” snarled Tarzan.

Jane suddenly felt alarmed. She couldn't tell one silverback from the next and was sitting between the menacing gorilla and Tarzan.

Terkoz's eyes fixed on her. His face was covered in scars from previous battles for dominance, and this was one fight the ape refused to back down from.

With a bellow of rage, Terkoz charged.

R
obbie couldn't stop scratching the bites on his neck and the welts on his fingers. At least the pain was a distraction from his concern over Jane and the fate of the camp.

The rebel guerrillas chose their path with care but their progress was swift as they used animal trails rather than hack through the thick bush. Robbie kept behind, always out of sight. The noise of the six men made following them easy. A few times Bapoto fell back and Robbie had almost blundered into him before darting into the greenery. During those times Bapoto's keen eyes scanned the trees for half a minute, before joining his men.

The more Robbie saw Bapoto, the more he was reminded of his stepfather. They had the same cruel eyes, the same powerful build and, Robbie was certain, the same ruthlessness.

With each tiring step, Robbie's mind drifted back to New York.

Skipping school to work in a garage allowed him to find happiness. He learned to drive and lost himself in the intricate mechanics of engines. The garage was a whole new world and a place he felt so safe that he would often sleep there for days on end . . .

Robbie stumbled on a rotting log. No, he refused to think about the past. Jane was more important. He couldn't change the past but he could help Jane and his new friends.

The memories continued to flow unbidden.

Climbing the creaking stairs after being away for almost a week of freedom. His hand ran across the peeling wallpaper. The smell of nicotine and alcohol; a single naked light bulb in the hall.
Robbie's memory threw these small details into sharp relief.

I don't want to remember
, Robbie said to himself. He looked around the jungle, eager for something to distract him.

His mother's bedroom door was ajar and he caught a glimpse of her snoring on the bed, half a dozen empty wine bottles on the dresser.

I hate you
, thought Robbie. He slapped a fly that was crawling on his neck, but the stinging pain didn't vanquish the memories. He fought against them, but they broke into his consciousness like a tidal wave of regret.

Laughter from the television in the living room. His stepfather was home. His stepfather, the source of all his anger and hatred, which he focused on the filthy overweight . . .

His memories clumsily cycled through his head like a film with frames missing.

He entered Sophie's room. There was still a small Mexican hat nailed to it; a cherished gift from some long-lost uncle.

He wanted to tell her all about the escape plan he had conjured up while in the garage. A plan guaranteed to get them both to a better place.

She was under the sheets, unmoving.

No!

A stale smell in the air.

“NO!” Robbie growled to the jungle. He stopped on the muddy animal track and put his head in his hands as he recalled the events with sickening clarity.

He nudged her. Whispered her name, but she didn't respond.

With rising panic he shook her thin frame, noticing fresh purple bruises on her arm. Her pale face limply rolled to once side, a nasty lump on the side of her forehead where she'd been struck the week before had now gone bad.

Why hadn't he had the guts to face his stepfather then?

The faint click-clack of steel in the real world made him freeze. He listened intently as the rebels primed their weaponry in readiness for an imminent attack. Robbie couldn't see them, but maybe Bapoto had finally spotted him and was laying an ambush?

Robbie slowly edged from the trail and pushed his way through the tall bamboo that towered around him, its leaves casting everything in a green hue. He trod as stealthily as possibly, but still couldn't avoid crunching detritus underfoot. Judging from the direction of the rebels' whispered conversations, he was arcing around them, inching slowly ahead.

The bamboo thinned out, revealing a natural ridge a couple of feet higher than the riverbank below—where Archie, Clark, and Mister David were having a heated argument with Anil and Serge.

Robbie couldn't believe his luck. They had circled back to the same spot on the river.

However, before he could warn his friends of the ambush a volley of automatic gunfire cracked through the jungle and Bapoto appeared above them, menacingly waving his AK-47 rifle.

•••

Tarzan and Terkoz collided with a terrible thud of flesh. Tarzan was unable to compete with Tarkoz's weight, but his dexterity made all the difference. He acrobatically flipped over the gorilla, hooking his arm around Terkoz's bull-neck and squeezing him in a chokehold.

Jane was flat on the ground, scrambling for safety, but she didn't get very far before one of the blackbacks stepped in her way. Jane sucked in her breath, bracing for an attack. Instead the gorilla's intelligent eyes swept across her, deducing she was not a threat. Then it sat down next to her and watched the fight, making no attempt to get involved. Sensing she was safe for the moment, Jane watched too.

Terkoz tried to shake Tarzan free, but to no avail. The chokehold was too firm and Terkoz struggled to breathe. Tarzan's teeth sunk into the lank fur, biting into the flesh, his nails scratching like talons. Terkoz roared and suddenly folded to the ground, bringing Tarzan with him. It was a cunning move. The ape rolled, intending to crush Tarzan—but the human sprang nimbly aside.