Far Horizon (33 page)

‘What gives?' a bare-chested Sam called from the railing on the houseboat's lower deck. The captain and his mate were also awake and glaring angrily at Mike, along with everyone else from the tour group.

‘Poachers, but they've probably gone now. Sam, George, jump aboard and I'll run you to shore to pick up the tender boat,' Mike said as the Parks boat drifted up to the houseboat.

‘Probably gone?' Jane asked in alarm, a protective arm around Julie's shoulders. Sam and George stepped onto the boat, which rocked and dipped with the extra weight.

‘Fucking hell, what's happened to him?' George asked.

‘Gunshot wound. We're taking him back to Kariba.'

‘Can I help, Mike?' Kylie asked. ‘I
am
a nurse, remember?'

‘Thanks, Kylie, but we've got no dressings and no drugs. Our best bet is to get him to a hospital as quick as we can.'

‘What about us, Mike?' Jane cried. ‘You've got to look after
us
!'

Mike knew she was right, but there was too much to do and not enough people. ‘Samson here will take care of you,' he said, gesturing to the tall ranger now
standing next to him in the boat, cradling his AK-47. ‘You'll be safe with him.'

Samson slung his rifle, reached out and grabbed the railing of the houseboat. With a deft step he was aboard. Linda and Mel parted from their places at the railing next to Jane and Julie to make way for him.

Once Samson was on board Mike said to him, ‘Ask the captain to let you use the houseboat's radio. Call Kariba police and tell them to meet us at Andorra Harbour, with an ambulance. OK?'

‘
Yebo
,' he said. ‘Take care of Patrick, please.'

‘And you're just abandoning us?' Julie interrupted. ‘With people firing bloody machine guns around us!'

‘There's a man dying of blood loss here,' Sarah spat back angrily at the mother and daughter. ‘For God's sake, stop thinking about yourselves for one minute.'

Jane looked tired and worried. ‘Mike, tell the captain to take us back as well on the houseboat. Tonight!'

The captain spoke for the first time. ‘I'm sorry, madam, but we can't travel at night, in case the winds pick up.'

Before Jane could reply, Mike said, ‘You'll all be fine. Captain, bring the boat back tomorrow, as scheduled. I'll explain everything there. Sarah and I will meet you at the dock.' To forestall the anticipated argument and barrage of questions, Mike gunned the motor and raced into shore.

‘Bring Samson back to shore once everyone on board the houseboat's calmed down, OK, lads?' Mike said to Sam and George as they closed on the beach. ‘Samson's a good man. You'll be safe with him. The poachers aren't after you guys.'

‘No, they're after you two, aren't they?' Sam said.

‘Jump ship,' Mike said as the boat skidded up onto the sand, next to the houseboat's dinghy. When the two young men were out of the bigger boat they gave Mike a hand to push the National Parks craft back out into the lake. ‘Take care,' Mike said.

‘You too,' replied Sam.

T
he water's surface was etched with lines of white-topped waves as they sped into the centre of the inland sea. The swell sent shock waves through the boat's hull as it bounced across the peaks. Sarah looked up pleadingly from the bottom of the boat, concerned about the constant slamming on Patrick's body.

‘Take the cushion from the back seat,' Mike suggested, then returned his concentration to the choppy water. Mike knew the rough ride wouldn't be helping Patrick, but speed was what mattered now. There was nothing they could do for the ranger on board the small boat.

Spray flew up over the bow each time they crested a wave, stinging Mike's bare torso and soaking Sarah. He was bitterly cold and he had to continually wipe water from his eyes with his free hand. His mind raced in time with the screaming outboard as the boat thudded across the lake. He had plenty of questions to mull over, but not enough answers.

Where were the poachers staying and what would they do next? Could he, or even should he, continue with the tour after what had happened tonight? Was it safe for them to complete their journey while the poachers were still at large? Where was Fanie Theron, and did he have enough information on Hess and Orlov for him or his counterparts in Zimbabwe or Zambia to arrest them?

The last question concerned Mike the most. He and Sarah had been shot at and a man was close to dying but, as far as he was aware, none of them had actually seen their assailants. The only witness who could identify the members of the poaching party, and confirm whether or not two white men were involved in the hunt, was dead. There was a frightening possibility that even if the authorities could pick up Hess and Orlov – for Mike was convinced it was they who had been hunting the rhino – they would get off through lack of evidence.

He decided to find Gerry O'Flynn again. He needed to know if Flynn knew anything about what Hess and Orlov planned to do after they left him. For all Mike knew, Flynn might have been with them on the night hunt.

Mike looked down at Sarah and Patrick, and saw the ranger was now lying on the long green vinyl-covered cushion from the boat's rear bench. His eyes were closed.

‘How is he?' Mike yelled.

Droplets of spray fanned from the top of Sarah's head as she ran a hand through her short black hair. She placed two fingers on Patrick's wrinkled neck to
check his pulse. ‘He passed out a little while ago. He's still breathing, but his pulse is very weak.'

‘Thank God,' Mike said, pointing to their front. The lights of Kariba's shoreline were now revealing the shapes of houses and other waterfront buildings. Mike saw a flashing blue light on the shore and swung the steering wheel so the bow pointed towards it. Never had he been so pleased to see a police vehicle.

‘Mike! Mike!' Sarah screamed. Mike looked down.

Patrick's eyes were open now, but not focused on anything. His mouth was wide open, revealing stained yellow teeth. ‘He's stopped breathing!' Sarah yelled, looking up at Mike with pleading eyes.

‘We're nearly there, Sarah! Start CPR!'

‘What?'

‘Mouth to mouth! Do you know what to do?'

‘Oh, shit! I think so.'

She rocked Patrick's head back, pinched his nose and placed her lips over his. Mike watched as the ranger's skinny chest rose and fell twice.

‘Good girl!' Mike said. ‘Now the compressions.'

Sarah shifted her position so that she could press her left palm on Patrick's chest. Covering that hand with her right she started compressions in exactly the right spot, at the base of Patrick's sternum.

Again she switched positions and blew more hard breaths into the old body. Suddenly, Patrick coughed. He was alive.

‘Bugger me!' Sarah said, looking up at Mike with a broad smile. Blue light bathed her face, on and off. ‘I did it!'

‘You certainly did.' Mike cut the engine and the
boat settled in the water and coasted up to the concrete launching ramp beneath the darkened Kariba Yacht Club. A white mini-van ambulance was parked on the ramp, its back door raised, and two paramedics in green overalls pushed a wheeled folding bed down to the water's edge. At the top of the ramp waited a white Land Rover with the blue and gold stripes of the Zimbabwe Republic Police. The blue beacon that had guided them there continued to flash. Two officers dressed in khaki were waiting for them and one grabbed the bow of the boat as it nosed in.

‘Mr Williams?' the taller of the two policemen asked.

‘That's right.'

‘We have received a message from National Parks. It seems congratulations are in order, but this is a very irregular business, as I am sure you will appreciate.'

‘Irregular is hardly the word for it, mate. But we've got a badly injured man here,' Mike said.

‘Of course, he will be taken to hospital immediately.'

Mike busied himself in helping the paramedics lift Patrick from the bottom of the boat. Patrick was cold and wet where the bilge water had soaked his back. As the ambulancemen laid him on the stretcher he reached out and locked a bony hand around Mike's wrist.

‘Thank you,' he whispered hoarsely.

‘Thank the lady,' Mike said, gesturing to Sarah with a flick of his head. ‘She saved your life.'

Patrick nodded and smiled at Sarah. ‘Madam . . . forgive me my rudeness earlier . . .' He coughed painfully. ‘And thank you, too.'

Mike looked at Sarah and there were tears in her eyes as she took Patrick's hand in hers. The paramedics broke the contact by pushing the wheeled bed up to the waiting ambulance. ‘We must hurry,' one of them said.

‘Yes, of course,' Sarah said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

The ambulance sped off, and Mike walked over to the policeman who had first spoken to them, taking note of his rank, as he was the most senior of the two. ‘Inspector, are we going to be charged with anything?'

‘Charged?' the officer asked, his face puzzled. ‘No, of course not. We were told that you were tourists staying in the camping ground who had gone to the aid of Parks officers who were under fire. Your actions may not have been the wisest, but you have committed no crime.'

Mike mentally thanked Samson for neglecting to mention they had been prowling around, unauthorised and armed, after dark. ‘We have information about the men who shot at us –' he began.

‘Everything is in hand, Mr Williams. We spoke to the other ranger at Matusadona and we have also received some information from the South African Police Service. A watch will be put on our border posts at Chirundu and here at Kariba for some men we wish to talk to in relation to this matter,' the inspector said.

Mike was relieved that Fanie had apparently been able to make contact with the local police, but he imagined Hess and Orlov were long gone by now. If the police were already aware of the suspects' identities,
there was no need to involve himself and Sarah in unnecessary paperwork. ‘I hope you catch them,' he said.

‘Thank you, Mr Williams. Come see us around ten in the morning, if that is convenient, and we will get a formal statement from you about the shooting of the ranger and the poacher who was killed. Now, perhaps we can give you a lift somewhere?'

Mike thanked him, and he and Sarah climbed into the back of the Land Rover. They sat side by side on a padded bench seat as the old vehicle groaned its way up from the boat ramp and then down the hill out of the yacht club. Sarah moved closer to him until their legs were touching. Mike reached out and put an arm around her.

She laid her head on his shoulder and said, ‘You sure know how to entertain a girl.'

A short time later they waved their thanks to the policemen in the Land Rover and promised to see them later that morning. The bleary-eyed security guard at the camping ground let them in through the barbed-wire-topped gate and they walked over to Nelson, parked where Mike had left it at the far end of the camping area, under the high, shady branches of an apple ring acacia tree.

Mike patted the truck's yellow metal bodywork affectionately. ‘Nice to be home,' he whispered. ‘I need a beer,' he said to Sarah.

‘I need a shower,' she replied, looking down at her bloodstained T-shirt, ‘and a beer.'

‘Let's combine them,' Mike suggested.

‘Combine what?'

‘A beer and a shower. Nothing like it.'

He walked to the back of the truck, got down on one knee and reached under the chassis as far as he could. Above the rear axle, welded to the underneath of the cab floor, was a small metal box with a lid secured by a sliding bolt. Mike worked the bolt and fished inside for the spare set of keys.

Before leaving the truck he had run an extension cord from the external power socket on the right side of the cab to a power box mounted in the camping ground. He unlocked the main door to the cab and climbed inside. The car fridge was humming away contentedly. From inside he pulled four ice-cold bottles of Zambezi Lager.

Mike snapped the lids off two of the beers and handed one to Sarah. ‘One for now and one for just now. You've earned it.' He unlocked the storage locker at the back of the truck, where everyone's spare bags and backpacks were stowed.

‘Mine's the light blue backpack. God, that tastes good,' Sarah said, taking a second long swig of cold beer.

Mike passed down her pack and fished a towel, soap, clean shorts and underpants from his kitbag. He took his first sip of beer and toasted Sarah. She was right, it tasted good.

He finished the first bottle before they made it to the ablution block on the other side of the camping ground. Sarah, too, upended her bottle, draining the suds as they arrived.

‘See you soon,' Mike said.

‘Soon,' she said.

He walked into the gents side of the empty block, into the first shower stall. It was an old building and there was no curtain or door on the cubicle. Mosquitoes buzzed his ankles and ears, and moths and flying ants hovered around the bare light bulb over his head. Frogs and cicadas croaked and chirped in a ceaseless nighttime concerto outside the cubicle's open window.

Mike stripped off his shorts which, like Sarah's shirt and his hands, were stained with Patrick's blood. He turned on the water, leaving red fingerprints on the chrome taps. The water was still hot and the pressure was strong. Mike realised he had left the bottle opener in the truck, so he laid the edge of the cap of the second bottle on the concrete windowsill and slapped down on the top with the palm of his free hand. The bottle top jangled on the concrete floor when it struck and Mike took a long, deep swallow of the cold golden fluid as he leaned back and put his head under the water. Bliss.

‘Mike?' Sarah called tentatively from somewhere nearby.

‘In here,' he replied after swallowing a mouthful of beer.

‘The light's out in the ladies. I'll have to use one of the showers in here, OK?'

‘Sure,' he said, placing his bottle on the window ledge and reaching for the soap. He closed his eyes and rubbed the cake of soap into his hair. Blindly, he replaced the bar on the ledge and massaged his scalp hard with his fingers. He heard footsteps in the corridor and turned to face the wall as he let the water wash the suds away.

With the soap gone and his eyes clear he turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Sarah was standing motionless outside the cubicle, staring at him. It was hard for Mike to read the emotions in her eyes, in the set of her mouth, but he knew what he was feeling.

‘Are you OK?' he asked.

‘I'm fine,' she said in a low voice. Still she stood there, immobile, hesitating. She held up the green bottle and added, ‘I need some assistance.'

He turned to face her, completely naked. She kept her eyes fixed on his as he walked towards her. He stood, dripping water, centimetres away from her and she looked up into his dark eyes.

Sarah blinked, twice, but there were no tears there, then bit her lower lip. It was as if she was giving herself one last chance to change her mind. Mike took the bottle from her hand and sat it next to his on the window ledge. He turned back to her, wrapped his wet arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

‘We're safe,' she said.

‘Yes,' he whispered, stroking her short dark hair. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face, then kissed her. It was a long, slow kiss, passionate but gentle. The kind lovers still enjoy after years of togetherness. He could feel the heat of her through her damp, clammy clothes.

The kiss broke and Mike whispered, ‘Let's get you out of these.' She raised her arms and he pulled the knotted T-shirt over her head. She ran her fingers through his hair as he bent to unzip and lower her denim shorts and pants. The woman smell of her filled his nostrils and he felt himself harden.

‘Clean me,' she said, and they both stepped under the hard, purifying spray of the shower.

It was a long shower, punctuated with bouts of laughter and progressively longer, wetter kisses. They explored each other's bodies, washing and teasing at the same time.

‘Not here,' she whispered, nibbling his earlobe as he ran his nails down her long smooth back to the cleft of her buttocks.

‘No. Let's go,' Mike agreed.

They hurriedly dressed and he led her back to the truck, hand in hand. From the rear of the truck he pulled out two camp mattresses, a mosquito net, sleeping bag and two pillows and passed half the load to Sarah.

‘Follow me,' he said. They walked to the back of the truck and he started to climb the tubular metal ladder welded to the rear of Nelson's cab.

‘Up there?' she asked, surprised.

‘No one will see us, and the view is unbelievable.'

The big truck rocked slightly as Sarah's torso appeared over the top edge of the back of the cab. The roof was flat and there was plenty of room. Mike laid the mattresses side by side, and Sarah spread out the sleeping bag as he tied the mosquito net to a low branch of the acacia tree.