23.

Marcel immediately went to Xander’s aid. I heard them speaking in French – Xander through gritted teeth – about him being OK apart from his leg, as I knelt next to Innocent and pulled myself together to help him. In the aftermath of Mark’s death Mum had made us all do a first-aid course. It wouldn’t have saved him, of course, but I think in her paranoia – what if I got hurt too? – she wanted to take every possible step to equip us all to help each other any time the situation demanded it. In the shock of the moment I struggled to remember the detail of what to do, but I knew deep down that I knew, if that makes sense, and a sort of autopilot quickly kicked in.

‘OK, Innocent,’ I said, my voice as matter-of-fact as I could manage, ‘let’s have a look at this cut then.’

He was still on his haunches, fingers pressed against his neck, the blood flowing through them a shockingly bright red. He’d begun to shiver.

Patience was whimpering next to her father. I put a hand on her shoulder, but couldn’t ease her away.

‘Here.’ Amelia was at my side, rooting through her pack. She pulled out a spare shirt she’d brought and handed it to me.

‘It wasn’t Spenser’s fault,’ Innocent mumbled. ‘Just defending his family. He got me though. Bad scratch.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, since the quantity of blood seeping between his fingers was truly alarming. ‘We just need to get some proper pressure on this cut, to stop it bleeding, eh. Let’s use this.’ I’d folded Amelia’s shirt into a pad and showed it to Innocent before easing his fingers away. The wound, a vicious, crimson cut at the base of his throat, ten centimetres long at least, was only briefly visible before it flooded with blood. I covered it instantly with the pad, grabbed Innocent’s hand and pressed on the cut with him, very hard indeed.

‘My God!’ Amelia said.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ I muttered, fighting the panic flooding my own stomach.

Innocent’s shivering had become shuddering. He was going into shock. I didn’t know whether to keep him upright, with the wound above his heart, or roll him onto his side into the recovery position. My first-aid course felt laughable now. I looked up for help and saw Marcel scrabbling frantically at the medical kit he’d brought. I was startled to see that his eyes were awash with tears. He found a roll of crepe bandage and held it out to me, Behind him Caleb was walking in small circles, head down, as if looking for something. ‘I can’t believe that thing actually charged us,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘They’re supposed to stop. It’s a display. They’re meant to be damned peaceful.’

Amelia’s shirt, rolled and pressed against Innocent’s terrible wound, was already sodden with blood. I couldn’t press hard enough to staunch the flow. He flopped sideways against me. He was trembling and whispering, ‘No, I’m sorry, no, no …’ Marcel’s response, in French, was high-pitched, borderline hysterical, and Patience was crying now too, echoing her father’s ‘Non, non, non.’ Between us we did our best to lever Innocent back onto all fours, but as he weakened he grew heavier, and though in that moment he seemed so young and frail in my arms, he was also becoming a dead weight.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ I whispered again, but as I spoke Innocent lost consciousness and crumpled completely. I struggled to keep pressure on the wound but couldn’t. He was too heavy for me. Everywhere was wet and sticky with blood. He slumped lower between me and Marcel, and for a moment my hand came away and another gout of blood pulsed hideously down the poor guide’s neck.

Patience’s whimpering turned into a moan of terror.

Amelia pulled the girl close, but couldn’t help saying, ‘It’s bright red, meaning it’s oxygenated, not venous. Cutting a vein is bad enough, but I think he’s severed his carotid artery, meaning –’

‘Shhh,’ I said.

‘Mon dieu non,’ murmured Marcel.

The same bewildering numbness that I’d felt at the roadside with Mark overtook me now. Innocent was half in my lap, half stretched out on the trampled ferns and leaves. I didn’t know what to do. I just hugged him, keeping pressure on the wound, looking helplessly from his poor daughter Patience to Marcel to Amelia to Innocent again. None of us could speak.

Caleb was now crouched next to Xander.

‘Mate, I hope you’re not hurt. Just a sprain, right?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ Xander hissed through gritted teeth.

‘The speed of that thing, eh. The size of it. If they’re as unpredictable as that, I’m surprised these visits are even allowed.’

‘Sure, whatever.’ Xander tried to adjust his position on the ground, winced and clutched his leg again. ‘I think it’s broken,’ he said to me.

‘No way,’ said Caleb. ‘Can’t be. The pain will fade. Either way, I’m sorry, but this wasn’t my fault. They should have …’

He dried up.

His fault? Did it matter? I couldn’t focus, stared wildly around me. Some of the gorillas had already disappeared into the greenery. The wounded baby was nowhere to be seen, nor was the silverback, Spenser. Others were moving off, disappearing into the jungle in an unhurried, methodical procession. With clumsy fingers Marcel was trying to wind the crepe bandage over the top of the blood-soaked pad of Amelia’s shirt, but that quickly darkened with blood as well. So much blood. It didn’t seem possible that a person could lose it, and it wasn’t. Poor Innocent’s breathing, which had been laboured and broken, became shallower and shallower until he wasn’t breathing at all.

‘Non, non, non,’ Marcel whispered. The tears were running down his cheeks now. ‘Non!’

Patience broke free of Amelia and pressed her face into her father’s blood-soaked chest. ‘Non, non, non!’ she wailed.

No.

No.

No.

The word made me suddenly furious.

Denying a fact doesn’t change it.

Wounded by the charging silverback, our guide Innocent, now a still shape beside me on the blood-soaked jungle floor, was dead.