of them severely, so now, when the lion stopped, arched his back and
crouched to pass a spattering of bloodstained urine, he groaned like
the roll of drums at an execution. Then, finally, the bullet had
struck the arch of the pelvic girdle and lodged there against the
bone.
After the first massive shock of impact, the lion had rolled to his
feet and flattened into a dead streaking run, jinking away below the
level of the coarse scrub. Although a dozen more bullets had thrown up
soft jumping spurts of dust around him, one so close as to throw grit
into his eyes, not another touched him.
There had been seven lions in the pride. Another older, heavier,
darker-maned male, two younger daintier breeding females, one with her
lithe-wasted body thickened with the heavy bearing of young in her
womb, and three immature animals still dappled with their cub spots and
boisterous as kittens.
The younger male was the only one to survive that long shattering roll
of rifle fire, and now as he moved on he felt the thick jelly-like
weight of congealing blood sloshing back and forth across his belly
cavity at each step. There was a heavy lethargy slowing his
movements,
but thirst drove him onwards. Thirst was a scalding agony that
consumed his whole body, and the lower pools of the Awash River were a
dozen miles ahead.
In the dawn Priscilla the Pig was heavily bogged down on her belly with
all four wheels helpless in the porridge of pale salt mire below the
crust of the pan.
Jake stripped to the waist and swung the long two handed axe
relentlessly, while the others gathered the piles of thorny scrub he
mowed down, and, cursing at the pricks and scratches, carried them out
across the snowy surface of the pan.
Jake worked with a self punishing fury, angry with his lack of
attention which had bogged the car and was going to cost them a day at
the least. It was no valid excuse that exhaustion and heat had clouded
his judgement that he had not recognized the treacherous smooth white
surface of the pan for Gregorius had warned him specifically of this
hazard. He worked with the axe from an hour before sunrise until the
heat had climbed with the sun and a small mountain of cut branches
stood beside the car.
Then Gareth helped him build a firm foundation of flat stones and
thicker branches under the engine compartment of the car. They had to
lie on their sides and grovel in the dust to get the big screw jack set
up on the base and they slowly lifted the front of the car, turning the
handle between them.
As the front wheels rose an inch at a time, Vicky and Gregorius packed
the wiry scrub branches under them. It was slow and laborious work
which had to be repeated at the rear of the car.
it was past noon before Priscilla the Pig stood forlornly balanced on
four piles of compacted branches but her belly was clear of the surface
'What do we do now?' Gareth asked. 'Drive her back?'
