Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) (14 page)

All around, the savannah buzzed with life.
Insects flitted from bush to bush, guinea fowl squawked as they scurried for cover, and
brightly coloured birds darted between the trees dotting the landscape. The air, no
longer tainted by the Land Rover’s exhaust fumes, was heavy with the scent of
animal dung, dried grasses and the dust kicked up from the baked red earth.

The whole experience was totally different
from riding within the safe confines of the Land Rover. Connor felt exposed and, for the
first time, vulnerable. He was suddenly aware they were on an equal footing with all the
other animals in the park. Were it not for Alfred’s rifle, they’d be poorly
equipped to defend themselves against lions and other predators with teeth and
claws.

Yet, at the same time, he felt a thrill at
being so immersed in the wild. His senses seemed sharpened and he was alert
to even the tiniest of details: a column of
black ants marching across their path, the scrunch of dried grass beneath their boots,
and a shiny beetle rolling a ball of dung three times its size up a slope. This was
Africa in its rawest form.

Buju came to a halt beside a clump of thorn
bushes. Gunner beckoned the group to join them. Peering over, they spotted a bull
elephant feeding on the leaves of an acacia tree. Henri’s eyes widened at the
sheer size of the animal no more than ten metres away from them.

‘The largest land-living mammal in the
world,’ explained Gunner under his breath as the elephant entwined its trunk round
a branch and ripped off the leaves, the twigs crackling in its grip. ‘They can
spend up to sixteen hours a day foraging for food. The trunk is remarkable. Made up of
over a hundred thousand muscles and no bones, it can tell the size, shape and
temperature of any object. And its sense of smell is four times more sensitive than that
of a bloodhound. Thankfully, due to Buju’s guiding skill, we’re downwind of
this one.’

‘It’s magnificent,’ Cerise
remarked as Amber focused her camera and took a photo.

‘What would happen if he noticed
us?’ asked Connor, the thorn bush seeming an ineffective barrier against an
elephant charge.

‘Most elephants are understandably
wary of humans and will move off,’ Gunner replied. ‘But if threatened it
would stomp the ground, fan out its ears and raise its head. However, you know
you’re in real trouble when it pins back its ears, curls its trunk and issues a
loud trumpeting.
That means it’s about
to charge. And, for their bulk, elephants are extremely fast and surprisingly agile. If
on foot, as we are, I’d advise making for the nearest tree or embankment.
Elephants seldom negotiate those obstacles.’

‘Are the elephants protected within
this park?’ asked Amber, taking another photo.

‘They’re as safe as in any other
national park,’ said Gunner. ‘They have no natural predators, apart from
man, of course. But they’ve developed an extraordinary ability to differentiate
between humans. They can tell a man from a woman, an adult from a child – all from the
sound of a human voice.’

‘What about poaching?’ asked
Laurent.

‘Armed rangers patrol the different
sectors. However, with ivory fetching up to sixty-five thousand dollars per kilo – more
than gold and platinum – I admit poaching is still a massive problem.’ Gunner
sighed heavily. ‘The poachers of today are well-resourced and heavily armed. A few
will be rich Europeans and Americans seeking the thrill of the hunt, but most are locals
looking to make a quick buck. Organized crime gangs, rebel militia and even terrorist
organizations are getting involved. But we’re fighting back, thanks to the funding
from countries like yours.’ He nodded towards the elephant. ‘And if this
one, with tusks his size, can survive this long, we’re doing a good
job.’

Having had its fill of the acacia tree, the
elephant lumbered off. Buju waited until the animal was a good distance away before
continuing the safari. In single file, they crossed a dry riverbed and passed a herd of
impala. The
wind shifted slightly and the
herd started as they caught the human scent. Buju paused beside an enormous tree that
looked as if it had been planted upside down. The trunk was several metres in diameter
and towered some twenty metres above them, where the leafless branches spread out like a
profusion of roots in the sky. From these hung velvety pods the size of coconuts.

‘This is a baobab tree,’ said
Gunner, patting the massive trunk. ‘Otherwise known as the tree of
life.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked
Cerise.

‘For both wildlife and the local
population, the baobab is a vital source of shelter, clothing, water and food. The bark
is fire resistant and can be used for making cloth and rope. The fruit –’ he
pointed to the hanging pods – ‘can be broken open and eaten raw. Its flesh,
somewhat crumbly and dry, is packed with vitamin C. The seeds can be ground into coffee.
And, if you’re thirsty, just cut out little sections of the trunk’s inner
bark and suck them to get the moisture out. Mature trees are also often hollow,
providing ideal shelter, and traditionally the children of Hadza tribe are born inside a
baobab tree. So, with very good reason, it’s called the tree of life.’

As they rounded the colossal trunk, they
were met by a cloud of black flies. They buzzed round the remains of a carcass that lay
festering in the sun. The stench of rotting meat was overpowering and made Connor and
the others gag.

‘What’s that?’ asked
Laurent, holding his hand over his nose.

Gunner knelt down
and inspected the ravaged remains. ‘A gazelle.’

‘Poor thing,’ remarked
Amber.

‘In Africa only the strong
survive,’ stated Gunner. ‘Every morning, a gazelle like this wakes up and
knows it must run faster than the quickest lion or it will be killed. And every morning
a lion wakes up knowing it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death.
So, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle in this life; when
the sun comes up, you’d better be running.’

‘Did a lion kill this gazelle?’
asked Henri, fascinated by the fly-infested carcass.

‘Most likely,’ replied Gunner.
Then Buju said something and pointed to a patch of sandy ground. ‘Hang on, I might
be wrong.’

They gathered round the tracker, who was
crouched on his haunches.

‘See track here?’ said Buju
softly. ‘Four toes, no claw marks, rear pad with three lobes. That’s the
spoor of a big cat.’

Henri glanced up at Connor, his eyes wild
with excitement.

‘It’s relatively small and
circular in shape, so indicates leopard,’ said Buju.

‘A
leopard
killed the
gazelle?’ gasped Henri. ‘I’d love to see a leopard.’

Buju pointed to another set of prints.
‘Here are lion tracks.’

‘How can you tell?’ asked
Connor, unable to spot any difference.

‘More oval
and larger, because of the animal’s weight.’

The tracker’s eyes scanned the ground
as if reading the scene that had played out. He waved a hand east. ‘Leopard made
the kill on the plains. Dragged the gazelle here.’ He indicated the wide scuff
marks and broken grass. ‘Tried to carry his kill up the tree, but three … no, four
lions chase leopard off.’ He drew everyone’s attention to the cluster of paw
marks by the base of the trunk. ‘Then hyena come and drive away lions.’

‘They look the same as leopard tracks
to me,’ remarked Laurent.

‘No, see the claw marks,’ said
Buju, his finger tracing the tiny points by the toes. ‘And only two lobes on the
pad. Definitely hyena.’

‘So which way did the leopard
go?’ asked Henri eagerly.

Buju cast his eyes around, then pointed
north-east towards a craggy peak in the distance, atop which stood a single acacia tree.
‘That way, towards Dead Man’s Hill.’

‘Sounds a pleasant place for a
picnic,’ remarked Amber as she took a close-up of a lion print.

‘It’s a known haunt for the
leopard,’ Gunner explained. ‘Locals have always been fearful of the hill and
its adjoining gorge. Superstition says those who venture there never return. But
let’s see if Buju can track these prints for a little while. We might get lucky
enough to come across the leopard if it’s settled in a tree, or otherwise the
lions who stole its kill.’

At Gunner’s suggestion they swapped
places in line to give everyone a chance upfront and Connor found himself
behind the ranger. They trekked in silence
as Buju paused every so often to examine the ground before heading off again, sometimes
in a different direction.

‘Buju can read the bush better than
anyone I know,’ Gunner whispered over his shoulder to Connor as the tracker
studied a clump of grass. ‘By following tiny traces, he gains a sense of the
animal’s direction, then assesses the landscape as a whole to gauge where it may
have gone next, before searching for another sign. It’s much quicker than
following each track slavishly.’

‘What sort of things is he looking
for?’ asked Connor.

‘Grass that’s been trampled
down. Vegetation that’s been broken or bruised. Soil or rocks that have been
disturbed. But where he really comes into his own is ageing the tracks. Buju can
determine how long it’s been since the animal passed by simply from how dried out
a broken leaf or stem is, or by the moisture in the ground beneath a disturbed rock. A
good tracker is like an expert crime-scene investigator.’

After half an hour of tracking with no
sighting of a leopard or a lion, Henri declared, ‘I’m hungry.’

‘But we’ve only recently had
lunch!’ his mother sighed.

‘Not to worry,’ said Gunner,
bringing the party to a halt. ‘Out in the bush there’s always food. You just
need to know where to look.’

He led them over to a fallen acacia tree,
put his ear to the trunk, listened, then pulled back the bark. The rotting wood was
infested with white worm-like creatures.

‘Rhino beetle larvae,’ said
Gunner in delight, picking out
a plump one
between his fingers. ‘Cooked, they’re a bush delicacy, but you can eat them
raw.’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’
said Amber, eyeing the creature with disgust.

Gunner shook his head. ‘Pound for
pound such insects contain more protein than beef or fish; they’re the perfect
survival food.’

He held the bulbous wriggling larva in front
of Henri’s nose. The boy grimaced. ‘I think I’ll pass.’

‘Fair enough. But I’m sure you
eat honey and that’s been regurgitated by bees countless times. So this
food’s no more unsavoury.’ Gunner popped the larva into his own mouth and
began chewing. ‘I have to admit, though, rhino beetle larvae do taste a bit like
bogeys!’

Henri sniggered as the ranger washed down
his live snack with a swig from his water bottle.

‘If that doesn’t appeal to you,
then you could try termites,’ Gunner suggested, heading over to a tall earthen
mound. He plucked a long grass stem and fed it into one of the small holes in the
structure. ‘These are an excellent food source and if you chuck a piece of termite
nest on to the embers of a fire it’ll produce a fragrant smoke that keeps the
mozzies away.’

He tugged the stem from the hole, which was
now swarming with pale brown ant-like insects.

‘Connor, perhaps you’d like a
taste?’ said Gunner, offering him the stem.

‘I’m not
that
hungry,’ Connor replied, wafting a hand at the persistent flies that buzzed round
their heads.

‘You
can’t be too choosy in the bush.’

‘Go on,’ urged Amber, her green
eyes watching his reaction.

Not wishing to be thought of as a wimp,
Connor took the stem and ate a mouthful of termites. He felt the little insects crawling
all over his tongue. After a couple of quick chews, he swallowed, swearing he could feel
them wriggle down his throat. ‘They taste like … dirt,’ he admitted.

‘But they’re fresh!’ said
Gunner with a grin. ‘Fried, the termites have a lovely nutty flavour. Well, if
that’s not to your liking, we could always hunt for snake.’

‘
Snake?
’ exclaimed
Connor, his stomach turning at the thought.

‘Yeah, a snake is steak in the
bush!’ Gunner laughed. ‘Sixty per cent protein and that means
energy.’

‘But aren’t most of them
poisonous?’ questioned Laurent.

‘Only the end with fangs. Chop off the
head, sling the body on some hot coals, skin and all, and you’ve got yourself a
hearty meal. The only problem is killing the snake in the first place without getting
bitten!’

He turned back to Henri. ‘So what will
it be – larva, termite or snake?’

His face a little pale, Henri replied
sheepishly, ‘Umm … I was hoping for something along the lines of a chocolate bar
…’