Far Horizon (16 page)

‘Unusual,' said Sarah.

‘You didn't answer me this morning,' he said.

‘Which of your inane questions was that? The one about the bra size?'

He lowered his binoculars and noticed that she was smiling.

‘The one about marriage. Are you?'

‘Married to my job, yes,' she said.

‘And you reckon I'm one for clichés,' he replied, shaking his head.

‘Touché. But it's tough to get on in journalism and I certainly don't want to stay at
Outdoor Adventurer
for the term of my natural life.'

She made the title sound about as interesting as
Modern Shopfitting
, or
Plasterer's Monthly
. Mike had met people on his travels who would have given their right arm to be sent around the world to write about adventure holidays.

‘Marriage would tie me down, kill off my career before it's really had a chance to start,' she said.

‘Rather be exposing corruption and bringing down governments?'

‘It'd beat driving a tour bus full of teenage hippies,' she replied. Sarah raised her binoculars to the birds again and Mike resumed his sweep of the dam shore. He sensed they would never fully recover from the bad start they had got off to, and that it was going to be a very, very long four weeks.

There was nothing else to see at the dam, except for a pair of yellow-billed hornbills that hopped comically on the ground around the truck, hoping that crumbs or other rubbish would fall like manna from heaven.

‘Make sure you don't feed the birds, or any of the animals we see in the park. They get dependent on humans and eventually become a pest. Some of the bigger ones, like baboons and hyenas, eventually get too bold and have to be shot by rangers,' Mike said. He started the engine and glanced in the wing mirror. Nigel was crumbling potato chips and sprinkling them from the window. The hornbills were jostling and pecking each other to get to the crumbs and squawking with delight. Mike shook his head and despaired at the confrontation that he knew had to come.

They drove back up the dirt road to where it met the main tar road. ‘How's the left?' he asked Sarah.

She stuck her head out the window, and screamed, ‘My God!'

‘What is it?' he asked, leaning over.

‘Lions. Two of them,' she said breathlessly. ‘They're – they're . . .'

‘Screwing!' Linda called delightedly from the back.

Mike felt the truck lurch as all the passengers in the rear compartment shifted to one side and craned out for a better view. The click and whirr of instamatic cameras sounded as soon as their initial surprise had worn off. He cut the engine so as not to disturb the big cats any more than necessary.

They were in the middle of the road. The big black-maned male chomped down on the rippling muscles on the back of the lioness's neck to steady her, then entered her repeatedly and furiously. After about a minute he sat back on his haunches then flopped lazily onto one side, temporarily exhausted. The lioness, restless and unsatisfied, stood and flicked her tail disdainfully in his face. She turned her big head to give the humans an equally contemptuous glance.

‘They'll be doing that about every ten minutes for a twenty-four-hour session,' Mike said, keeping an eye on his passengers now. A couple were leaning a little too far out the windows to get better shots. The last thing he needed was for a backpacker to wind up as part of a feline ménage à trois.

‘Sounds like my kind of man,' Jane Muir said from the seat behind Mike.

‘Do they mate for life?' Kylie asked.

‘No. There'll be a couple of males with a pride. The males take over a pride when they reach their prime, and kick the existing males out. Then, once they get too old, at between twelve and fifteen, they get kicked out themselves by a couple of new guys. The female initiates sexual contact and the male only stays close for the twenty-four hours or so that they're mating.'

‘Now that's
my
kind of man,' said Julie, not to be outdone by her mother.

There was a chorus of laughter from the back and both lions looked up sharply. It wasn't the noise that had disturbed their post-coital relaxation, though, it was the sight of movement. Mike looked back again to see that Terry, one of the English boys, was now standing on a windowsill. All Mike could see were Terry's pudgy white legs in the window. He was hanging onto the roof, and his head and shoulders were sticking out above the top of the rear cab. Mike realised that the lions, while used to the uniform silhouettes of vehicles and even large trucks, had noticed the movement of Terry's head and pointing arm. They fixed cold yellow eyes on the unfamiliar form.

‘Get inside, Terry,' Mike called.

He started the truck's engine again, then turned back to look inside the cab. Nigel was reaching theatrically for one of Terry's legs. Mel giggled as Nigel grabbed hard on the Englishman's right calf. Terry yelped and kicked his leg out in a reflex motion.

‘Stop!' Mike knew what was going to happen next and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Terry lost his grip on the smooth roof of the cab and pitched forward, out of the truck. His arms windmilled as he fell and landed heavily on his side.

Linda screamed.

‘Get him in, get him in!' Sam yelled.

Mike rammed the gearstick into reverse and heaved down as hard as he could on the steering wheel, spinning it to the left. He let the clutch out savagely and the Bedford leapt back violently. There were wild screams from the back as the passengers slammed into each other when the truck started to move.

Mike managed to get the vehicle between Terry and the lions, but the animals were not going to be so easily fooled.

‘They're coming around the front now!' Sarah yelled from the passenger's seat.

The maned lion growled, deep and menacing, showing yellowed fangs each as long as an adult's finger.

Mike knew what that meant. ‘He's going to charge!' he shouted. He climbed into the back of the cab, knocking Nigel aside as he elbowed his way to a window. ‘Terry, here! Give me your hand.'

The lion and lioness moved as one, a tawny blur as they rounded the truck and charged towards Terry.

Terry screamed, a high-pitched wail of primal terror.

‘Hold on!' Mike yelled as he clasped the Englishmen's hands in his own. He leaned back into the cab, dragging Terry up the metal side. ‘Give me a hand, for Christ's sake!' Terry was overweight and
Mike feared his slippery palms might slide out of his grasp.

Sam and George each grabbed hold of Terry, under the big man's armpits.

The male lion ended his charge with a leap, his huge paws outstretched, hooked claws extended. Mike felt the tug on Terry's body and saw the unbelieving fear in his wide eyes. ‘Pull!' Mike bellowed.

The lion hit the side of the truck with his shoulder and the whole vehicle rocked. His jaws closed and locked around the thick sole of Terry's hiking boot.

‘Oh God, he's got me!'

Mike, Sam and George all leaned back as one and, just when they feared they might lose Terry, they crashed back in the cab in a heap, the writhing, screaming Englishman on top of them.

Mike recovered first. ‘Are you hurt?'

‘Oh Jesus. Fucking hell.' Terry was almost weeping. He pushed himself further away from the open window, back against Sam. ‘It's not going to climb in and get me, is it?'

Mike shook his head. ‘Relax, Terry. You're safe now. The lion only noticed you the first time because you put your bloody head up above the truck's roofline. All he can see now is the silhouette of the vehicle, not what's inside. They've got lousy depth perception. He's lost sight of you and he's confused now. Are you OK?'

Kylie knelt by Terry and inspected his foot. ‘You're fine, Terry. He didn't break the skin at all.'

Sam sat up. ‘Dude! He took your boot.'

Mike could hardly believe he had almost lost a passenger. It was the most serious incident he had
witnessed since starting work as an overland tour guide. ‘Terry, are you all right?' he asked again.

The big man nodded, the colour slowly returning to his cheeks. He glowered at Nigel.

‘OK, everyone back to their seats. Kylie, would you mind sitting with Terry for a moment?'

‘No problem, Mike,' she said. ‘Pass us some water, please, Mel.'

Outside, the lion held Terry's boot down with one paw while he tore at the suede upper with his fangs. When Mike put the truck into gear and they started to move forward, the beast gave a deep roar so loud the metal sides of the cab reverberated.

The lioness, unfazed by the noise and commotion, sidled up to her mate and tugged at his shaggy black mane with her teeth. ‘Good girl,' Mike whispered to her.

The lion dropped the mangled boot and, with a last backward glance at the truck, reluctantly followed his mate. They walked into long yellow grass and the old man prepared to do his duty again.

Nigel was leaning out the rear window, snapping pictures of the retreating lions with his tiny camera. Mike ran a hand through his hair and then down his face, trying to steady his nerves. Sarah climbed back into her seat next to him. Mike noticed the camera in her hand and recalled the whirr of its motor drive and the searing light of the flash during the rescue. He realised, with dread, that she probably had the whole episode on film.

He pulled the vehicle over once they were well and truly out of sight of the lions, switched off the engine and turned back to face the passengers in the cab.

‘Now listen up, everyone. You too, Nigel,' he said. ‘I think you can all see now why we don't lean out the windows.' A couple of the group managed a chuckle, though most of them were in a mild state of shock at the near disaster they had just witnessed. ‘And why it's important not to screw around in the back of the truck. Not too much, anyway.' He deliberately did not look at Nigel or Terry as he delivered his sermon. He hoped they had both got the message. He was pretty sure Terry had.

‘Terry, there's a doctor at Skukuza. We can get you checked out there,' Mike added.

‘No, it's OK,' Terry said sheepishly. ‘I'm not hurt at all . . . although I near shat myself.' More of the group laughed now. ‘But it wasn't your fault, Mike, and I don't want you having to report this, if that's all right.'

Mike appreciated the gesture. Nigel remained silent at the back of the truck. ‘Thanks, Terry. Let's put it behind us, then, OK?' He returned to his seat and started the engine again.

As soon as they moved off, Sarah dropped her camera in the open bag on the floor near her seat and pulled out her spiral-bound reporter's notebook. She then left her seat and climbed into the back cab.

Behind him, Mike could hear her interviewing Terry.

‘What was it like? . . . What did you feel when you were on the road? . . . Did you think you were going to die?'

Mike eyed the expensive camera on the floor. He looked back over his shoulder once more, just to
make sure she wasn't looking his way and that no one else could see him as he quickly reached across.

After the morning's excitement, Mike decided to cut the game drive short. The crew had already seen two of the big five – lion and rhino – in their first two days in Africa, and almost seen one of their number eaten. He wanted to lower their expectations, not raise them. At this rate he'd have to feed Nigel to a leopard at the end of the first week just to keep the rest of the passengers interested. Not an unattractive proposition, he thought, as they drove through the imposing thatch-topped gate into Skukuza Camp.

Skukuza was more like a town than a rest camp. Hundreds of National Parks staff and their families lived there, and it was the park's administrative and operational headquarters. Big and noisy and crowded – Mike hated the place.

As he drove down the paved road he pointed out the main reception complex to their left. The building was laid out in a horseshoe shape and included a post office, a bank, a bookings office and a car rental agency. Chattering maids in bright printed uniform pinafores and matching headscarves moved in and out of rows of round, thatch-roofed
rondavels
, gardeners watered and tended immaculate lawns, and sand-coloured National Parks vehicles whizzed past.

They came to a T-junction and Mike swung Nelson off to the left, to a parking area reserved for trucks and buses.

‘OK, the main shop and restaurant are off to the
right, the big thatched building over there, and there are toilets and a picnic area just past it. Stretch your legs with a walk along the riverside, if you like. You might see some elephant grazing there.'

He told the passengers to take an hour and a half. In the shop they could buy postcards and stamps, safari clothes, carved wooden animals and other tacky curios, books and maps, food and camping gadgets.

‘I don't suppose there's anywhere I can get some film developed, is there?' Sarah asked.

‘There's a photo-processing place in the shop,' Mike said. ‘But the quality is rubbish, so I've been told,' he added quickly.

He suggested the group have brunch in the restaurant or cafeteria, or at least get some snacks for the ride back to Pretoriuskop, which was just under fifty kilometres away. After the morning's dramas he was tempted to start the day properly, with a beer, but he was the only one allowed to drive the truck.

Terry and George set off for some food and most of the others headed for the souvenir shop. Mike ambled along behind the group and lit a cigarette as he walked. It had been quite a morning and he needed something to settle him down. He sat on the dark log fence that separated the paved car park from the picnic ground and enjoyed his smoke in peace. There was still a slight tremor in his hands, he noticed inspecting the cigarette, as he thought about how close they had come to disaster.

It was a busy day in Skukuza, like any other in the bustling camp, and the car park was full. Many of the
spots were taken up by game-viewing vehicles, open-sided four-wheel drives fitted with three or four rows of seats behind the driver and topped with a canvas sunshade. The game viewers ranged from old ex-army Land Rovers, converted to their new role, to brand-new purpose-built Nissan Safaris. The game viewers and their drivers were waiting for coach-loads of well-heeled foreign tourists, who were ushered by their guides out of their climate-controlled coaches into the open vehicles. There were also private cars and rental cars driven by local South African tourists and independent travellers from around the world.