Trackers (21 page)

'I said get out!' he shouted.

On the back of the truck the rhinos shifted: stamping, a
disturbed snort. The attackers' feet shuffled on the gravel, AKs were cocked.
Flea's hands were visible at the window, then her head, fear on her face.

A cold barrel touched the back of my neck. A calm voice
behind me, so close: 'Put down the gun.'

I lowered the MAG.

Our pursuers. They must have seen me bail out.

I put the shotgun down carefully, still on my knees. He moved
around me, into my field of vision. A big black man, massive silver revolver
held with both hands, arms straight, aiming between my eyes.

Then he smiled. 'Mr Stuntman.'

He lunges
forward suddenly, kicks me. I fend with my arms, deflecting, so he gets me low,
in the belly. I fall over backwards, roll away, but he keeps coming, kicks me
again, in the back. I change direction, roll towards him, wait for the next
kick, grab his boot and pull with all my strength. Both feet leave the ground,
he falls on his back, hard, bellows: 'Hit!' I am on him, my knee sinks into his
belly, his mouth wide, croaking for air. My left hand grabs his revolver arm, I
bring my right elbow down on his face, smash his
nose, feel
the blood spatter over me. His revolver hand opens, I grab the gun, shove it to
his temple, cock the hammer, throw all my weight on him.

Amasimba,'
he hisses and touches his nose with
both hands. Blood on his mouth. 'You are a fucking fool!

A gun
against the back of my head, a voice behind: 'You want me to kill him,
Inkunzi?'

The big man
pushes the revolver away from his temple with an impatient gesture. 'Not yet.
If he's stupid, shoot him in the leg!

'Nazo-ke,
Inkunzi!'

'Get off
me,'
Inkunzi says.

I turn my head.
There are two of them behind me, AKs at the ready. I stand up. Slowly.
Inkunzi's revolver is a Smith & Wesson, the giant Model 500, two kilograms
of stainless steel. I drop it in the grass. Inkunzi swears in some African
language, bends and picks it up, swings it at my head. It's too heavy for
surprise. I duck with ease, grab his arm, pull him off balance. An AK butt hits
me in the back. I fall forwards. Instantly, Inkunzi kicks me in the ribs, dull
thud, sudden pain. The other two kick me from behind, running shoes, less
effective. I kick back, connect with one's knee, try to get up, my only chance.
Inkunzi grabs my collar, jerks. I fall back again. Another one joins them, four
now. Kicks rain down on me, I roll onto my back, must protect my spine, pull my
knees up to my chest, arms over my head. I jerk back and forth, pain
everywhere, a dull thud to my head, another, I move my balled fists to protect
my skull, I smile faintly, slip away to a safe place in my head, seeing the
shoe sole on the way to my face too late.

Buzzing in my head, smell of dust, faraway sounds, shadows
leaping in the dancing light, my body a sea of pain.

One swollen eye. Struggle to focus.

Figures.

They slowly took shape.

I was lying on my side in front of the Mercedes, one arm under
me, awkward. They must have dragged me here.

To the left of me, Flea knelt with her hands behind her head.
Lourens on his knees beside her, Inkunzi's revolver to the back of his head.
Between us our belongings were strewn across the road, my sports bag, Flea's
medical case, coffee flasks, mugs, cushions, clothing, tools.

Beside me lay the body of the man we had knocked down. As
still as death.

Time seemed to stop, no one moved.

Sounds gradually penetrated. At the truck, metal on metal,
someone hammering. Men's voices talking.

Flea sobbed.

I had no idea how long I had lain here.

Two men walked past me. A strong smell of diesel. 'Nothing in
the tanks,' said one.

'It's not in the lorry,' said the other.

Inkunzi swore. 'Where is it?' he asked Flea.

'I don't know.' Drained.

I lifted my head slowly. A rifle butt hit me in the back.
'This one is awake.'

'Good,' said Inkunzi, and looked at me. 'I will shoot this
boy if you don't tell me.'

'Tell you what?' but my voice would not work. I tried again.
A hoarse rasp sent flames down my ribcage.

'You know what we want. Where is it?'

'What is he talking about?' Desperate fear in Flea's voice.

'You know,' said Inkunzi.

'I don't,' she implored him.

'Then I will shoot him,' and he cocked the revolver.

'No!'

Someone bent over the motionless figure lying beside me,
rolled him over. 'Snake is dead, Inkunzi.'

'Shit. Are you sure?'

'Looks like it.'

'He was a fucking fool... Make sure ...Wait. Where is her
pistol?'

The man walked to where our belongings were strewn. 'Over
here.'

Inkunzi came closer. 'Give it to me.' He shoved his big Smith
& Wesson in his belt, took the other firearm from his assistant. It was my
Glock.

'Now why would a lady carry such a gun?'

'It's mine,' I tried to say, my voice hoarse.

'What?'

'It's mine.'

'Good,' said Inkunzi, went to the body of Snake, pressed the
barrel to the skull and fired. Blood, fibre, bone spattered. Flea made a high-
pitched, frightened mewl. Lourens shouted, bent over, and vomited.

'Now, let's shoot a live one,' said Inkunzi and walked back
to Lourens. He stood behind the bowed figure and pressed my Glock against his
neck.

'Where is the stuff?' A slight African accent.

'I don't know,' Flea screamed.

'One ...'

'Please!'

'Two ...'

'Take the horns,' she screamed, terrified, shrill.

'I don't want the fucking horns.'

'So what do you want?' I groaned.

'You know very well.'

It made no sense. 'No,' I said, trying to shake my head
emphatically. Bad choice.

'You stopped, back there.'

'Because you were following us.'

He inspected the defenceless neck of Lourens le Riche thoughtfully.
Pulled the trigger. A shot thundered, Lourens jerked, Flea's cry was primitive.
Lourens was still sitting, I realised the significance of the dust exploding
from the road surface. A deliberate miss.

One heart-rending cry from Lourens. He threw up again.

Flea wept, her shoulders jerked.

The big man looked over us, one by one. Lourens gasped
raggedly, he tried to stop his sobs. Then Inkunzi strolled over to me. 'You
threw it in the veld.'

'What?' I asked.

He made a noise, a laugh perhaps, but his lip was split, his
nose would be hurting. I took satisfaction from that. 'We know all about it,'
he said and bent down, a big palm pressed to my chest.

Concussion does not lend itself to clear thinking. I didn't
know what to say. 'Take the lorry,' I said. 'Take everything. Take me too.
Leave them. Please.'

'No,' he said in a reasonable tone. 'Just tell me if you
threw the stuff in the veld. Where must we look? Over the fence?'

'I wanted to see if you were following us. That's all.'

He thought before he answered. 'You're a pro,' he said. 'I
wonder why you are here. All that fire power, the route you took. There's a
reason.'

'It's because of the rhinos.'

Another grunting laugh, his face not cooperating.

'The horns are worth a lot of money,' I said.

'Chinese witchcraft,' he said and got up. 'Not my business.'

'What is your business?'

He ignored me, getting up slowly. Head bowed, deep in
thought, touching his nose carefully, looking across to one of his henchmen:
'You sure there's nothing?'

'Yes, Inkunzi.'

'Shit.' He took a cloth out of his pocket, wiped my Glock
with it, then tossed the weapon down with our stuff. 'We marked the place where
they stopped. Three rocks on either side of the road ...'

That's why they had disappeared for a while.

'... Take the men, go look. It must be there.'

'Do we kill them now?'

He looked at me. 'This one. I would like to kill him. But
first...'

He went to Flea, pulled her up by her hair. Stood against
her. She twisted, but he held her ponytail in an iron grip, pulled her tight
against him. He put his damaged mouth to her ear, his left hand stroked her
breasts, whispered inaudibly.

She shivered.

He thrust her away, turned around quickly and came back to
me. He took the Smith & Wesson out of his belt, came and stood over me with
his legs apart, expressionless. Lifted the revolver.

To minimise the
chances of being killed by a dangerous animal you need to overcome an
irrational fear of the unknown, while avoiding irrational fearlessness of what
you think you 'know'.

The Basics of Tracking:
Dangerous animals

There is a place I go. I found it as a child, a
no-man's-land, a refuge. It has protective walls, but it is not a room. Not an
open space, but I can see and hear the comforting sea. I am aware of where my
body is, the pain faraway and faint, but I am not there. I know my eyes are
hard, they say I don't fear my father's beatings, I endure them, because I have
slipped away, one step removed. I am quiet, I don't plead, I don't weep, I
don't cry out. My faint smile says hit me some more, come on, lay it on me. One
day I'll be back. To offload. To dish it out.

I found my place, looked him in the eye as he cocked his gun.
Grinned.

He stood like that for a long time, finger on the trigger.

Then he shook his head. 'You are a mad man.' He lowered his
gun. 'I know where to find you.' He walked away. 'Let's go,' he shouted.

I didn't move. Just lay there in no-man's-land.

I heard them drag Snake's corpse off somewhere, then their
footsteps moved away from us. Car doors slammed. Engines revved, tyres
crunched, gravel clipping against the truck, clouds of dust bloomed. I heard
them drive off, saw the lights disappear one after the other, until the
darkness descended on us like sweet mercy. Flea van Jaarsveld sobbed quietly.
One despairing breath tore through Lourens.

I looked up at the stars, watched how they brightened
gradually.

The drone of vehicles died away at last.

Then I came back. In my own time. I sat up in the road. Did
not see Flea.

I stood up. Sore, shaky on my feet. I walked over to where
Lourens had knelt. I found them both there in the dark. She had her arms around
him, her hand stroked the back of his head, comforting. He just sat.

I gathered our things. Everything was inside out, strewn
across the road. My Glock tossed aside. I found a torch among the scattered
belongings, went looking for the MAG. It was gone.

I walked around the Mercedes. Tyres were fine. They had left
the cap off the diesel tank. I found it behind the wheel and tried to twist it
on. Something was in the way - a long wire, bent double, with a hook on the
end. I pulled it out and threw it into the veld.

Inspected the cab. Every compartment with a cover was open.
More mess. I tidied up, closed everything. Fetched everything that was outside
and packed it all away. Lourens and Flea must have nothing to remind them of
what had happened.

The rhinos were unhappy, they jostled and stamped and
fidgeted. I looked at my watch. Twenty to two.
Between half past one and two I have to inject them again.

I loaded everything that had been outside back into the cab.
Went over to Lourens and Flea. They were still sitting like that.

'I'll drive,' I said, quietly. 'We have to go. The rhinos
must be injected.'

Flea got up. She pulled Lourens by the shoulder. He got up.
They walked to the passenger door. His head was bowed, in a daze.

I got behind the wheel, slammed the door and waited for them.
Then I started the engine, struggled with the gears, switched on the lights and
pulled slowly away. Concentrated, trying to get the feel of the vehicle, the
full extent of its weight. Tried not to blame myself, but unsuccessfully. I
should have protected them. I should never have jumped out. I should have
jumped out sooner. We should have stopped, called the police. I should have
confronted our pursuers, a few hours before, when there were only two or three.