either of them had lived or worked on the Stratten Reserve, and their task was made no easier by the night, even if a three-quarter moon shone from the cloudless sky and the stars burned in the heavens as bright pinpricks of billion-year-old light.
From time to time, Carver stopped the car and they listened for any sound of pursuit. Then, clutching his own rifle for security, Justus got out and tentatively walked on ahead, scouting out the way before returning to report his findings to Carver. As he stood outside the Land Rover, talking in a low, barely audible voice to Carver in the driver’s seat, his reports were always calm and measured, expert assessments of the challenges they faced.
They were so close to the border now, just another few minutes’ drive. The tension was still acute, the fear of capture ever-present. Now, though, for the first time, there was real hope, too. Carver had let himself imagine the beer that Parkes had waiting for him. Justus could almost feel the joy that would come when he held his children in his arms again.
But then, on his fifth sortie, when they were traversing a hillside along a narrow ledge, a rockface rising to the left of them, the slope falling steeply away to the right, Justus returned at a sprint, looking behind him as he ran. In his haste, he did not see the small hole in the trail ahead of him. His foot turned on the side of the hole, twisting his ankle and sending Justus crashing to the ground. In an instant he was up again, grimacing as he got to his feet and hobbling the last few steps to the car. He pulled open the passenger door, leapt up into his seat, the effort making him cry out in pain, and slammed it shut again before gasping a single, breathless word: ‘Lion!’
‘Where?’ Carver asked.
‘Just around the corner, in the middle of the path. He is asleep. I don’t think I woke him.’
‘Then we’d better do it.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t be daft. He’ll soon wake up and get the hell out of there when he sees a bloody great lump of metal lumbering towards him.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Zalika. ‘Lions aren’t like other animals. They don’t move just because they see us coming.’
‘We’ll just have to make him move, then, won’t we?’
The mutters of protest from the other two were drowned out as Carver started up the engine and moved the Land Rover forward. Its tyres crunched over dust and pebbles as it slowly drove round the corner. And there, exactly as Justus had promised, lay a very large, very sleepy lion.
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Lobengula had encountered his first truck when he was still a cub. Over the years he had become accustomed to these loud, smelly objects and had learned that they offered neither a threat to him nor a meal. He was, therefore, entirely indifferent to their presence. So now, when the noise of the Land Rover’s engine woke him, he reluctantly opened his eyes, glowered at the vehicle approaching him, then rested his head back down on his huge paws.
The metal machine came closer to him, so close that he could almost reach out his claws and strike it. This time when he raised his head, Lobengula’s stare was a lot angrier and he gave a low, grumbling growl of disapproval. Then, determined not to budge, he lowered his head again.
‘Why don’t you give it a blast of the horn?’ asked Zalika.
Carver almost thought he could hear a teasing tone in her voice, a return to her old, combative spirit. But then he recalled all the times during the drive when she had turned in her seat, looking anxiously out of the rear window to see if anyone was on her trail. Whatever front she might put on, Zalika was all too aware of the danger they were still in.
‘Can’t risk it,’ he said. ‘If there’s anyone out there, they’d hear it. Maybe we could shoot it.’
‘You should only shoot a lion if you can kill it there and then,’ said Justus. ‘And if you kill this lion right here, you will then have to move its body.’
‘That means getting a chain round it, using the winch – we haven’t got time for all that,’ Carver said. ‘The hell with this.’
He revved the engine then slowly inched the car forward. Surely the lion would move once it felt the press of steel on its body.
Lobengula moved. He scrabbled backwards, got to his feet, gave an irritable shake of his mane and then, standing four square in the Land Rover’s path, he growled again, a shorter, more clipped sound, almost a bark. It was his equivalent of a warning shot across the bows. The next time he’d really roar. And if that didn’t remove this nuisance from his life, he’d have to start fighting.
Carver rolled his eyes and looked up at the roof of the car. ‘Jesus wept.’
‘There was another path, a couple of hundred metres back, pointing down the hill. Maybe we could try that,’ Zalika suggested.
‘Anything’s better than pissing about here,’ said Carver, pulling at his seat-belt. ‘Strap in tight.’
The lion wasn’t the only male losing his temper. The tension and impatience Carver had suppressed so efficiently for the past forty minutes burst through his tightly stretched composure. He wrenched the gear-stick into reverse, turned in his seat to look through the rear window and kicked the accelerator hard.
The Land Rover shot backwards. Carver turned the steering wheel hard to get back round the corner. Too hard: the rear corner of the car collided with the sheer rock on the upward side of the hill. Carver overcompensated as he pulled the wheel the other way.
‘Watch out!’ Zalika yelled.
But it was too late. One of the rear tyres had lost its footing on the edge of the road. Carver slammed on the brakes, but the Land Rover was out of control, skidding sideways and backwards over the edge, crashing on to its side and sliding twenty feet down the hill until it collided roof-first with the base of a tree and came to a crashing halt.
Carver turned off the engine, and as a cloud of smoke and dust drifted away on the breeze, silence returned to the hillside. The tree had punched a great trough in the roof of the Land Rover. All the windows down the driver’s side of the car were smashed and the interior of the car was scattered with safety glass. The three people inside were hanging sideways in their chairs, suspended from their seat-belts.
The right side of Carver’s head had smashed against the side of the car as it fell. It ached, and there was blood dripping from his forehead into one eye. Aside from that he felt bruised and shaken but otherwise in one piece. There were no broken bones, so far as he could tell.
‘You guys all right?’ he asked.
There were grunts of assent from Justus, who was hanging immediately above him, and Zalika in the rear.
And then she said, ‘Now what?’
As the Land Rover reversed away from him, Lobengula’s first instinct had been to get back to sleep. He was just about to slump back down on the ground when a scent came to him, one that had previously been masked by the stench of the exhaust: the smell of human being.
Lobengula had never been a man-eater. For the great majority of his life he had never needed to be. There had been plenty of game on the reserve and plenty of willing females to hunt it on his behalf. Now, though, times had changed. Humans might be unfamiliar prey, but they smelled edible, just the same. And Lobengula was very, very hungry.
Filled with the curiosity natural to his kind, he padded along the trail and down the hillside towards the ruined car.
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