2

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” asked Amber, panting from the exertion of their trek.

The jungle had thickened, and progress had become painfully slow as they tramped through dense undergrowth and clambered over rotting tree trunks. Mosquitoes buzzed in their ears, a constant irritation despite having doused themselves with insect repellent. In the treetops, monkeys chattered unseen and leaped from branch to branch, sending leaves falling like rain onto the earth below.

Connor wiped the perspiration from his brow and checked his compass again. It was proving impossible to keep to a straight bearing, because trees, ferns and vines choked the jungle floor, forcing them to constantly alter course.

“We need to head to higher ground,” he said. “Work out where we are.”

Coming across an animal trail, he led them upslope. The light was fading fast, and the jungle was being swallowed by shadows. Soon they wouldn’t be able to see one another, let alone their pursuers. Henri, his eyes darting toward any strange sound or movement, was becoming more and more scared, and he didn’t protest when his sister took his hand. The terrain beneath their feet grew rockier as they ascended toward a small ridge, the trees thinning as they climbed. Suddenly, as if they were emerging from a deep dive, the canopy parted to reveal an indigo-blue sky, the first stars of night blinking in the heavens.

Standing atop the rocky ridge, Connor was able to look out across part of the Ruvubu Valley. Using his binoculars, he tried to spot any familiar landmarks. The sun, a ball of fiery orange, was burning low on the horizon, giving him true west. To the south, the Ruvubu River wound lazily through the valley basin. And off to the east, he could make out the craggy peak of Dead Man’s Hill. The dried-out riverbed where the ambush had taken place was hidden from view by the trees, but Connor was able to figure out the lodge’s rough direction from a single dark line that cut across the savannah. With so few roads, the main dirt track stood out like a scar on the landscape.

“We’re a little off course,” he admitted, directing their gaze to a midpoint in the distance. “That’s where the lodge is. Somewhere on the other side of that ridge.”

Amber squinted into the twilight. “How far, do you think?”

“At this pace, half a day’s walk, I guess, maybe more.”

Amber glanced at her brother, who was wheezing again from the climb. “We need to rest,” she said.

Connor looked at both Henri and Amber. They were all tired, hungry, hot and thirsty. They’d been running on adrenaline and shock for the past hour. Now that that was beginning to fade, their bodies were crashing. He nodded in agreement. Finding a patch of clear ground, they sat down and Connor retrieved the water bottle from his go-bag. Barely a couple of gulps remained. He offered the bottle to Amber, who let her brother drink first. Then, after taking a sip herself, she handed it back.

Despite his own thirst, Connor waved the bottle away. “You have it.”

“No,” insisted Amber, forcing it into his hand. “No heroics. You need it as much as we do.”

Connor drank the last dregs, the warm water wetting his mouth but doing little more. Only now did it hit him that they were in a survival situation.

Running from the gunmen was just the start of their problems. The main threat to their lives came from being in the wilds of Africa without food, water or weapons.

Colonel Black’s parting words rang in his ears: It’s always best to be prepared for the worst, especially in Africa. In light of their current situation, Connor thought that the colonel had never said truer words, and he wished now he’d spent more time studying the SAS survival handbook he’d been given.

Recalling that the right equipment could make the difference between life and death, Connor emptied his go-bag and took stock of their resources. He’d lost the most crucial item—his smartphone—back at the crash site, but he did have a small first-aid kit, empty water bottle, binoculars, malaria tablets, sunblock, insect repellent, a flashlight, a single energy bar, sunglasses with night-vision capability and, still attached to his belt, his father’s knife.

“What’s that?” asked Henri, pointing to a blue tube in the bottom of the bag.

Connor fished it out and smiled, glad of Bugsy’s foresight. “A LifeStraw,” he explained. “We just need to find water and we can all drink safely.”

With one key survival factor half solved, Connor asked, “What do you have in your pockets?”

Amber produced cherry-flavored lip balm, a packet of tissues and a hair band. Henri had a couple of pieces of candy and his inhaler. Hiding his disappointment at such meager offerings, Connor opened the energy bar and divided it between the three of them. “Not much of a dinner, I’m afraid, but it’s better than nothing.”

The granola bar was gone in one bite, only serving to remind them of how hungry they actually were.

“Is this edible?” Connor asked, half joking, as he picked up the lip balm.

“Tastes nice and keeps your lips soft,” replied Amber, “but not an ideal dessert.”

Henri offered his two sweets to Connor and his sister.

“Save them,” said Connor, smiling at his generosity. “We’ll be needing them for breakfast.”

Dusk was falling fast. Even with his night-vision sunglasses and a small flashlight, Connor knew that it would be foolish to navigate the jungle at night.

“We need to find a safe place to sleep,” he said, repacking everything into his go-bag.

“We’re not going back to the lodge?” Henri asked with an anxious glance at the gloomy jungle surrounding them.

Connor shook his head. “Too dangerous. It’s best we hole up somewhere until daw—”

A rustle in the bushes alerted Connor to something approaching. He put a finger to his lips, urging Amber and Henri to remain silent.

The rustling drew closer. To Connor’s ears, it sounded like more than one person, all converging on the ridge. The gunmen had caught up with them fast! But no doubt they had trackers with them.

Looking for a place to hide, he hustled Amber and Henri into a crevice in the rocks. They lay flat, waiting for the gunmen’s approach. Reaching for his belt, Connor unsheathed his father’s knife. Although it was no match for an assault rifle, he gained strength and courage from having it in his grasp.

The noise grew louder. Connor could hear Amber’s panicked breathing in his ear and feel Henri’s body trembling at his side. His grip on the knife tightened as a bush only a few feet away began to shake. Then a snout with two large curved tusks appeared, followed by a large flattened head and a gray bristled body. Snorting, a warthog trotted over the ridge, followed by a litter of young piglets.

Connor relaxed his grip on the knife and slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. The warthog suddenly turned her head in their direction. Sniffing the air, she grunted furiously, flattened her mane of bristles and bolted away, her piglets squealing in terror as they too ran for cover.

Amber laughed, more in relief than anything. “I’m glad there’s something in this jungle more scared than we are!” she said.

But as they crawled out of the crevice, they discovered what the warthog and her piglets had really been running from.