21

Yellow-breasted weaverbirds chirped merrily above the two prone bodies as they flitted in and out of their intricately woven nests, which adorned the tree’s branches like dried fruit. A herd of tawny-colored impala, the males proudly displaying their long lyre-shaped horns, leisurely strolled past, heading toward the grassy plain to graze. And hippos wallowed in the cool, calm waters of the river, occasionally snorting or calling out in a series of deep lazy laughs. With the bright sunshine gilding the savannah, the scene couldn’t have appeared more idyllic. Yet for the two broken individuals at the base of the tree, the paradise surrounding them was as dangerous and lethal as it was beautiful.

Connor had no idea how much time had passed since Amber had dragged him from the river’s edge, but he had neither the strength nor the will to move again. He felt as if he’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer and been knocked out at every ring of the bell. His clothes were caked in mud and torn in several places. He was covered in abrasions, and there wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t either ache or cry out in pain.

“I thought . . . I’d lost you for good,” said Amber weakly.

Connor managed a weary shake of the head. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Amber pushed herself up from the ground and winced, clenching her teeth against the pain.

“Are you okay?” Connor croaked.

“I think I lost most of my skin escaping that waterfall,” she replied, lifting her T-shirt to examine the extent of her injuries. “More to the point, how are you?”

“I’m alive. Does that count?”

Amber managed the thinnest of laughs. “You’re crazy, do you know that? Fighting crocodiles and leaping off waterfalls. Next time we climb down!”

“Fine by me,” he replied, closing his eyes as a soft, warm breeze blew over them from the open savannah. At least they’d managed to cross the river. He listened to the gentle swishing of the long grasses, content not to move ever again.

Amber finished inspecting her wounds—the whole of her left side had been scraped red raw on the rocks, but nothing appeared to be broken—and then gasped as she caught sight of blood seeping into the earth.

“Connor, you’re bleeding,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

Connor opened his eyes, the pain suddenly intensifying as he became conscious of his own injuries. Helping him sit up, Amber removed the tattered go-bag from his back and gingerly raised his shirt. Her sea-green eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

“How bad is it?” asked Connor, terrified of what damage the crocodile had inflicted.

“There’s barely a scratch on your back!” she remarked in astonishment. “A few nasty bruises. The bandage around your waist has come loose and the bullet wound’s opened up again. But that’s about it.”

Connor breathed a painful sigh of relief. It was a miracle his spine hadn’t been ripped out.

“I can’t believe that crocodile didn’t do more damage,” Amber continued, tenderly touching his bare skin with her fingers. “I saw it bite into your back!”

A grin spread across Connor’s face when he realized what had saved him from the animal’s fearsome jaws. “The go-bag has a bulletproof body-armor panel built in,” he explained. Then, with a laugh, he added, “I can’t wait to see the look on Amir’s face when I tell him the bag’s croc-proof too!”

“Amir?” asked Amber.

“Yeah, one of my best friends at Guardian.” Connor looked thoughtfully off toward the horizon. “I just hope he’s faring better on his mission than I am.”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” said Amber.

Connor’s gaze dropped to the ground as a sharp stab of guilt and grief pierced his heart. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I promised to protect you and your brother, and I’ve failed.”

Amber stared at him. “What are you talking about? You’ve done everything in your power to protect us. Who could have foreseen any of this happening? I only meant your friend couldn’t be suffering as badly as you. It’s not your fault that gunman killed my little brother . . . and my parents . . . It’s his!”

Trembling with fury and deep loss, Amber lapsed into mournful silence. Connor reached over and took her hand, trying to offer her some comfort, conscious that words would have little effect. He knew from bitter experience the emotional devastation of losing a parent. But to have one’s whole family torn from you in a matter of hours was something beyond grief. No words could ever describe the desolation experienced after such a loss.

Amber held his hand tight, almost squeezing the life from it. Then, eventually, her grip eased and she glanced down at his weeping wound.

“We need to take care of that,” she said in a voice drained of all emotion.

Amber picked up the ravaged go-bag, but they didn’t need to open it to see that most of the contents were missing. A huge hole had been ripped in the side. The binoculars were gone. So too was the water bottle, LifeStraw, sunblock and Maglite. Yet by some small grace of good fortune, the first-aid kit was still in its pouch. The case had been mauled to pieces, but Amber managed to cobble together enough to re-dress the wound and clean up his multitude of cuts. Then Connor tended to her injuries, Amber wincing as he gently pressed the last of the antiseptic wipes against her grazed skin. The cut on her lip was already healing, but the one on her cheek needed a fresh Band-Aid. As he applied it, their eyes met and he saw that hers were brimming over with tears.

“I loved my brother . . . you know,” she confessed, choking back a sob. “He could be annoying at times . . . but what brother isn’t? I just never told him . . . and now . . . I’ll never get the chance.”