The next morning, when Crys went to breakfast, there was no sign of Johannes. The eight new guests were already there, helping themselves from the buffet of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and a variety of fruit and cereals. One couple greeted her – she recognised them as Midwesterners by their accents. She took some fruit and muesli and a cup of coffee and joined them at their table. There was also a couple with two teenage boys, and another couple who her new friends informed her were English.
There was still no sign of Johannes, so Crys caught Boku as he went past to fill up the coffee urn and asked him if there was a problem.
He nodded. ‘Yes. But Mr Malan will come now-now.’
Crys frowned, wondering what that meant. She hoped there wasn’t some problem with the rhinos.
Finally, Johannes appeared, looking haggard. ‘Sorry about the delay, everyone. We had a few last-minute issues to sort out, but we can get underway now. So please finish your coffee and get ready. We’ll collect your luggage from the chalets, and we’ll leave from here in about fifteen minutes.’
As the group started to break up, he came over to Crys’s table, his face drawn and pale. There was a slight sheen on his cheeks.
‘You okay, Crys?’
She nodded. ‘I am. But what about you? What’s the issue? Has something happened?’
‘Nothing. I’ve just had a bad night, and I have a headache this morning. Maybe I’m getting a cold or something. But I’ll be fine. See you outside in a few minutes.’
Crys nodded, unconvinced, and went to fetch her things.
It was a three-hour trip to reach their destination. The group arrived just in time for lunch: two staff members had gone ahead to set up, and food was waiting for them. Nonga, who was in charge of the camp, showed them around.
The camp was set in a grove of large shade trees, and the comfortable two-person tents were spread out under them. In the centre was a communal dining area covered by a flysheet, adjoining an outdoor kitchen.
Wherever they walked, there was a continual hum of insects going about their business, and the big trees attracted birds as well as campers.
‘That’s called a purple turaco,’ Nonga said, pointing at a large colourful bird with crimson wings. It settled on a branch and made an ugly coughing call.
Crys would have been happy to stay for a month.
Because of the heat, they waited until later in the afternoon to go on their first game drive. The group split between two open vehicles, with Johannes driving one and Bongani the other. The first sighting was some elephants, and the vehicles moved slowly to get close. Crys was both excited and a little nervous in case they charged.
But Johannes assured them the elephants would ignore them because they were used to vehicles. It was a great photo opportunity, and the guests produced cameras of various sizes and snapped away until the huge creatures moved off silently and disappeared.
Later, they came across a pair of mating lions – he a glorious male with an enormous, dark mane and scars on his face; she beautiful, sleek and young, in the prime of her life. The two vehicles stopped and watched from a safe distance for over an hour. The lions mated six or seven times. Each lasted what seemed only a few seconds, then both animals took a power nap. Then they did it again. And again. And again. He seemed to enjoy his orgasms, judging by the sounds; but she just lay there. The guests shared the inevitable jokes about some humans being exactly the same.
Finally, as the sun was about to set, swelling and reddening as it sank towards the horizon, they spotted a mother jackal with pups, playing outside their den. The pups pounced on and chased each other, tumbling through the dried grass. Crys was charmed.
As they headed back to camp, Crys realised the tensions from the night patrol in Kruger had finally drained away. She couldn’t wait to head back out the next morning for more of the same.
Arriving back at the camp, they found a hardwood fire roaring, and there was the promise of barbecued meat ahead – a braai Johannes called it, rubbing his hands together. He was obviously pleased by how well the afternoon had turned out, but he still didn’t look well. When he wasn’t talking to the guests and leading the party, his shoulders slumped and his face fell. As they sat around the fire after dinner, he told them to be ready for a six a.m. start, then, to the disappointment of some guests, excused himself.
Crys moved over to where Bongani was sitting on a log and took a place next to him. ‘Do you think Johannes is all right?’ she murmured, not wanting to alarm the others.
Bongani shrugged. ‘He’s sick. Maybe he’ll be better tomorrow.’
She had plenty of questions she wanted to ask about the animals they’d seen, but Bongani seemed withdrawn – not sick like Johannes, but preoccupied. Everyone else was chatting and joking and generally having a good time. When she thought about the poachers she’d seen hunted and tortured just two nights before and less than a hundred kilometres away, it all seemed so distant and unreal.
What would the others say if she told them about it?
But she wasn’t tempted. She would keep those thoughts to herself.
She sat watching the flames change colours and shapes, imagining that she could see fire creatures climbing from the logs. It was an opportunity to think over the last five days, her introduction to Africa. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t learned much more than she already knew about rhino poaching, rhino farming, and rhino conservation. But she had learned something invaluable. Her view of how things happened and the workings of the African bush had changed dramatically. Now she understood that here someone could disappear, perhaps never to be found. For example, someone on the trail of ‘something big’.
It was now five weeks since Michael had disappeared. Five weeks with no sign of him, no trace of his vehicle, no message, nothing. She’d talked to Sara about time being important, that every day might affect his safety. One could think like that in the States; the reality of Africa was quite different.
She had to face it. Everything she’d heard pointed to one conclusion.
He’s no longer alive.
He died somewhere out here. Someone killed him.
She put her head in her hands.
Her first thought was to try to accept it, to move on. To write the very best article about rhinos that she could and dedicate it to him. But then she realised that wasn’t enough, not for her and not for Michael. She had to find out what had happened to him, and she had to get to the bottom of the ‘something big’. And above all to make sure the people responsible paid for their crimes.
‘Are you okay, Crys?’ Bongani asked.
She sat up and nodded. ‘I’m okay. Yes, I’m okay.’
There was no sign of Johannes the next morning at the brief predawn breakfast. And, as they approached the Land Rovers, Crys saw that Nonga was behind the wheel of Johannes’s vehicle.
She put her hand on Bongani’s arm as he was climbing into his. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Is Johannes really sick?’
He shook his head and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘He has a bit of a fever and doesn’t want to make the others sick,’ he mumbled, not looking at her.
Crys wasn’t convinced. She’d only known Johannes a couple of days, but she didn’t think he’d miss the drive unless he was really ill.
When they returned to camp before lunch, Crys decided to see for herself how he was feeling. Although it was already quite hot, he was sitting in a canvas chair inside his tent wearing a fleece. He was shivering.
She put her hands on her hips and stared at him. ‘Malaria?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I’ve … I’ve taken some Coartem. We always keep them with us, in case. I’ll be … I’ll be fine after a day or so.’ He seemed to be finding it difficult to concentrate.
‘I hope you are. Why did Bongani say you had flu, though?’
‘I didn’t want to worry the tourists. People … who’ve not lived in Africa … don’t understand. Look, I think … I think … I’d better lie down. It’ll break pretty soon I’m sure. I’ve had it before. I’ll be better by … by dinner, I reckon.’
He stood up so shakily, Crys stepped forwards to take his arm. He let her lead him to his stretcher, where she eased him down and pulled the blanket over him. He closed his eyes without another word, and immediately fell into a shivering, fitful sleep.
After watching him for a moment, she went to find Bongani.
‘We have to get Johannes back to Tshukudu,’ she said. ‘He’s very sick.’
Bongani just looked at her.
‘He’s got malaria, you know.’
Bongani nodded. ‘I know. Doesn’t he have the pills?’
Maybe that was how it worked in this part of the world: if you got sick you took the pills, and you got better. Or you didn’t…
But she couldn’t accept it.
‘Can we contact Anton?’ she asked.
Bongani shook his head. ‘We’re in the Letaba river valley. We’d have to go up into the hills. There we could get a signal from Giyani and make a call. But that’s quite far. And I shouldn’t leave the guests.’
‘Don’t you have a satellite phone or something, for emergencies?’
He shook his head again. His face showed concern, but he didn’t seem to want to do anything about the situation.
Crys knew it wasn’t really her problem, but she was worried. Johannes was desperately sick. They shouldn’t just leave him like this.
After lunch she went back to see how he was doing. There was an untouched plate of food next to his bed. He was shaking now, and she could see he was drenched in sweat.
‘How are you doing, Johannes?’ she put out her hand and touched his shoulder.
At first, she thought he hadn’t heard her, but then he opened his eyes and looked at her. The whites seemed slightly discoloured. But she couldn’t be certain in the dimness of the tent.
‘Who are you?’ he muttered. ‘C-c-call M-Marissa.’ He turned his head away. It seemed to be a huge effort. ‘G-go away. Just call M-M-Marissa.’
There was no one called Marissa at the camp, so she asked him who he meant, but he didn’t reply. The short speech seemed to have sapped all his strength.
As Crys left the tent, Bongani was walking towards her.
‘He’s delirious,’ she told him. ‘Do you know someone called Marissa?’
‘Marissa? He used to have a girlfriend called that. She was a nurse.’
‘We’ve got to get him to a hospital, Bongani. I’m scared he’ll develop cerebral malaria if we don’t act quickly.’
She thought he was going to argue – again giving her some excuse why they shouldn’t do anything. But after a moment, he nodded, standing up a little straighter.
‘Okay, Nonga will take him to Tshukudu in the bakkie. Then Mr Malan can decide what to do. But then we have only one driver for the game vehicles. Jacob could drive the other one, but…’
‘Look, I can drive the second vehicle,’ Crys said, brushing aside the obstacles. Johannes needed medical attention. ‘I’ve driven in worse conditions than this. Dealing with snow and ice at home every winter is much more challenging than a little sand.’
By the time Nonga had brought the pickup, Johannes seemed to have improved enough to walk to the vehicle – with Bongani and Nonga each supporting an arm. He made no objection other than another request for someone to fetch Marissa. They laid him on the bench seat in the back.
‘Nonga will call Tshukudu about an hour before he gets there,’ Bongani said. ‘They can send a helicopter from Phalaborwa if he’s really bad.’
‘He is really bad, Bongani.’
Bongani looked away.
Some of the guests were upset about Johannes leaving and Crys taking over one of the vehicles. She expected Bongani to explain, but he simply promised that Nonga would be back the next day. It was clear that mention of malaria was taboo.
The afternoon game drive went well. Crys handled the vehicle easily – as she knew she would. But she was a bit nervous when they got close to the elephants again, unsure whether she’d know if and when to speed away. What had been exciting when Johannes was driving was scary when she was the one responsible for four guests. But she followed Bongani’s lead, and all was well.
As they bumped back to camp across the dried grass, negotiating the patches of scrubby bushes, Crys thought that this would make a great story for the newspaper – game guide for a day.
After dinner, with the guests chatting about all they’d seen and not missing Johannes at all, Bongani called Crys aside. He led her outside the reddish ring of firelight.
‘Crys, I’m sorry,’ he said in a low voice, ‘but I have to go away from camp tonight. There’s a memorial for my cousin. I should’ve been there all day today, but, of course, I couldn’t leave earlier … I must at least be there for a while tonight. To pay my respects. Will you be okay with the guests?’
Crys didn’t feel at all comfortable with the idea. ‘I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m not happy about it. What if one of the guests gets into trouble?’
‘They’ll all be asleep soon.’
‘I don’t think you should go. I don’t want to be responsible if something goes wrong.’
‘Please, Crys. It’s very important for me. He and I were very close.’
‘Where is it? How long would you be gone?’
‘His village is about an hour and a half from here.’
‘An hour and a half!’ That meant three hours there and back, plus the time Bongani would spend paying his respects; he’d be away all night. She didn’t like it one bit – the group seemed to be losing its leaders rather too quickly. And she knew nothing of what could go wrong in the African bush.
She shook her head, but realised he was going whether she liked it or not.
‘I would really prefer you didn’t go. But…’
‘I’ll be back before six for the morning game drive. Nonga will be back before lunch too, so you can go back to being a tourist.’ He hesitated. ‘Crys, thank you for helping us out; helping me out.’ It might have been the shadows, but his face displayed a strange tension that made her wonder if something else was going on.
She nodded again, and then he was gone.