Cry Wolf Page 15

  and gathered stiffly in a small group on the lip of the ravine, "There

  is Ethiopia, two hundred yards away. It's two years since last I stood

  upon the soil of my own country," said Gregorius, his big dark eyes

  catching the last of the light.

  He stopped himself and explained. "The river rises in the high country

  near Addis Ababa and comes down one of the gorges into the lowland. A

  short distance downstream from here it ends in a shallow swamp. There

  its waters sink away into the desert sand and disappear.

  Here we are standing on French territory still, ahead of us is

  Ethiopia, there far to the north is Italian Eritrea."

  "How far is it to the Wells of Chaldi?"Gareth interrupted.

  That for him was the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold.

  Gregorius shrugged. "Another forty miles, perhaps."

  "How do we get across this lot?" Jake muttered, staring down into the

  dim depths of the ravine where the shallow pools still glowed dull

  silver.

  "Upstream there is an old camel route to J ibuti," Gregorius told him.

  "We might have to dig out the banks a little, but I think we'll be able

  to cross."

  "I hope you are right," Gareth told him. "It's a long way home, if we

  have to go back." The view of water that she had glimpsed in the

  depths of the ravine haunted Vicky Camberwell during the night. She

  dreamed of foaming mountain streams and spilling waterfalls, of

  moss-covered boulders, swaying green ferns about a deep cold pool, and

  she awoke, restless and tired, with sweat plastering her hair to her

  neck and forehead. There was just the first promise of dawn in the

  sky.

  She thought that she was the only one awake and she crept into the

  vehicle and fetched her towel and toilet bag, but as she jumped down to

  the ground she heard the clink of spanner on steel and she saw Jake

  stooped over the engine compartment of his car.

  She tried to sneak away before he saw her, but he straightened

  suddenly.

  "Where are you going?" he demanded. "As if I didn't know. Listen,

  Vicky, I don't like you wandering around out of camp on your own."

  "Jake Barton, I feel so filthy I can smell myself. Nothing and nobody

  is going to stop me getting down to the river." Jake hesitated. "I'd

  better come down with you."

  "This isn't the Folies Berg&e, my dear," she laughed, and he had

  learned enough not to argue with this lady. He watched her hurry to

  the lip of the ravine and disappear down the steep slope with vague

  misgivings, for which he could find no real substance.

  The earth and loose stone rolled easily underfoot, and Vicky restrained

  her impatience and picked her way carefully towards the water, until

  she reached a narrow game trail that tipped down at a more comfortable

  angle, and she followed it with relief. Her footsteps, falling

  silently on to the soft earth, followed faithfully the string of round

  five- toed pad marks, larger than a saucer, which had been plugged

  deeply by the heavy weight of the animal that had made them. Vicky did

  not look down, however, and if she had, it was doubtful if she would

  have recognized what she was seeing. The faintly reflected light of

  the pools drew her like a beacon.

  When she reached the bottom of the ravine, she found that the river was

  so shrunken that it was no longer flowing.

  The pools were shallow, stagnant and still warm from the previous day's

  sun. The storm waters of the awash had cut down through the softer

  upper layers of earth until they exposed the sheet of hard black

  ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.

  Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and stepped down into one of

  the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasurable feel of water on her

  skin. She sat waist-deep and scooped handfuls of water over her face

  and breasts, washing away the dust and salt-sticky sweat of the

  desert.

  Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottle of shampoo

  from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftly worked up a thick

  coating of white suds that covered her head and ran down her neck on to

  her bare shoulders.

  She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wet head like a

  turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool and soaping her entire

  body, delighting at the slipperiness of the suds and their fragrance.

  By the time she was finished, the light had strengthened and she knew

  that the others would be up and chafing to resume the march.

  She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded the pool and

  stood for a moment to feel the first gentle movement of the morning

  breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly she had a strong sensation

  that she was being watched. She, turned swiftly, half crouching, her

  hands flying instinctively to cover her bosom and her groin.

  The eyes that watched her were of a savage golden colour, and the

  pupils were glistening black slits. The stare was steady and

  unblinking.

  The huge reddish-gold beast crouched on a level ledge of rock,

  halfway up the far bank of the ravine. It lay with its forepaws drawn

  up under its chin, and there was a sense of deadly stillness about it

  that was chilling, although Vicky did not readily recognize what she

  was seeing.

  Then very slowly the dark ruff of the mane came erect, swelling out

  around the head and exaggerating its already impressive bulk. Then the

  tail twitched and began to slash back and forth with the steady beat of

  a metronome.

  Suddenly Vicky knew what it was. She heard again in her imagination

  the echoes of that terrible sound in the night and she screamed.

  Jake had just completed the adjustments he was making to the ignition

  of his car and closed the engine cowling. He picked up the fluted

  bottle of Scrubbs Cloudy Ammonia to dissolve the grease from his hands.

  At that instant he heard the scream and he began to run without a

  conscious thought.

  The scream was so high and shrill, an expression of mortal terror,

  that Jake's heart raced in sympathy and when the scream came again, if

  anything shriller still, he leaped the bank and went sliding and

  running down the steep slope of the ravine.

  It was only seconds from when he heard the first scream until he came

  skidding and sliding down on to the rocky floor of the ravine beside

  the pool.

  He saw the naked girl crouching at the edge of the pool, both hands

  pressed to her mouth. Her body was pale and slim, with the small tight

  round buttocks of a lad and long graceful legs.

  "Vicky," he shouted. "What is it?" And she turned quickly to him,

  her breasts swinging heavily at the movement, round and white with

  large pink nipples standing out tightly with cold and shock. Even in

  the extremity of the moment, he could not help but glance down at the

  smooth velvety plain of her belly and the fluffy dusky triangle at its

  base. Then she was running towards him on those long coltish legs, and

  her face was deadly white, and the speckled green eyes huge and

  swimming with rampant
terror.

  "Jake," she cried. "Oh God, Jake," and then he saw movement beyond

  her, halfway up the bank of the water course.

  The wound had stiffened during the night, almost paralysing the lion's

  hindquarters, and the torn entrails were leaking poison and infection

  into the belly cavity. It had slowed the animal so drastically that

  the natural reflexive anger which the sight of a human form had roused

  was not strong enough to precipitate the charge.

  However, the sound of the human voice immediately invoked memories of

  the hunters who had inflicted this terrible aching agony "and the anger

  flared higher.

  Then suddenly there was another of the hated two-legged figures,

  more noise and movement, all of this enough to counter the stiffness

  and paralysing lethargy. The lion rose slightly out of his crouch and

  he growled.

  Jake ran four paces to meet Vicky and she tried to throw her arms about

  his neck for protection, but he avoided the embrace and grasped her

  upper arm with his left hand, his fingers digging so deeply into her

  flesh that the pain steadied her. Using the impetus of her run, he

  swung her on towards the path that climbed the slope.

  "Run," he shouted. "Keep running." And he turned back to face the

  crippled animal as it launched itself from the ledge into the bed of

  the river.

  It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a full bottle

  of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came bounding swiftly through

  the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despite the wounds, it followed

  with lithe and sinuous menace. it was so close that he could see each

  stiff white whisker in the curled upper lip and hear the rattle of air

  in its throat. He let it come on, for to turn and run was suicide.

  At the last moment he reared back like a baseball pitcher and hurled

  the bottle. It was an instinctive action, using the only weapon

  however puny that was at hand.

  The bottle flew straight at the lion's head, catching it in the direct

  centre of its broad forehead as it lunged smoothly upwards towards the

  ledge where Jake stood.

  The bottle exploded in a burst of sparkling glass splinters and a

  creamy gush of the pungent liquid. It filled both the lion's eyes,

  blinding it instantly, and the stench of concenits open mouth and

  flaring nostrils killed trated ammonia in its sense of smell and

  shocked its whole system so violently that it missed its footing and

  fell, roaring with the agony of scalded eyeballs and burning throat,

  into the shallow water where it rolled helplessly on its back.

  Jake ran forward, seizing the few seconds of advantage he had gained.

  He stooped to pick up a water-worn ironstone boulder the shape and size

  of a football, and swung it up above his head with both hands.

  As he poised himself on the ledge above the pool, the lion recovered

  its balance and came up at him blindly. Jake swung the boulder down

  from on high and, like a cannon ball, it smashed into the back of the

  animal's neck, where the sodden mane covered the juncture of skull and

  vertebrae, crushing both so that the dreadfully mutilated beast

  collapsed and rolled on to its side, half in the water and half on the

  black rock ledge.

  For long seconds Jake stood over it, panting with exertion and

  reaction, then he leaned forward and touched with his fingertip the

  long pale lashes that fringed the lion's open staring golden eye.

  Already the sheen of the eyeball was clouded by the corrosive liquid.

  At Jake's touch there was no blinking reflex, and he knew that the

  animal was dead.

  He turned to find that Vicky had not obeyed his instruction to run. She

  stood frozen where he had left her, naked and vulnerable, so that he

  felt his heart shift within him and he went to her quickly.

  With a sob she flew into his arms and clung to him with startling

  strength. Jake knew that the embrace was the consequence of terror not

  affection, but as his own heart-beat slowed and the tingle of the

  adrenalin in his blood receded, he thought that he had achieved a solid

  advantage. If you save a girl's life, she just has to take you

  seriously, he reasoned, and grinned to himself still a little

  unsteadily. All his senses were enhanced by the high point of recent

  danger. He could smell the perfumed soap and the stink of ammonia. He

  could feel with excruciating clarity the slim hard length of the girl's

  body pressed to his and the smooth warmth of her skin under his

  hands.

  "Oh Jake!" she whispered brokenly, and with sudden aching certainty he

  knew that in this moment she was his to take, to possess right here on

  the black rock bank of the Awash, beside the warm carcass of the

  lion.

  The knowledge was certain and his hands moved on her body,

  receiving instant confirmation her body was quick and responsive, and

  her face turned up to his. Her lips trembled and he could feel her

  breath upon his mouth.

  "What the hell is going on down there?" Gareth's voice rang across the

  murky depths of the gorge. He stood at the top of the bank high above

  them. He had one of the Lee Enfield bolt-action rifles under his arm

  and seemed on the point of coming down to them.

  Jake turned Vicky, shielding her with his own big body and slipping off

  his moleskin jacket to cover her nakedness.

  The jacket reached halfway down her thighs and folded voluminously

  around under her armpits. She was still shivering like a kitten in a

  snowstorm, and her breathing was broken and thick.

  "Don't worry about it," Jake called up at Gareth. "You weren't in time

  to help, and you aren't needed now." He groped in his hip pocket and

  Produced a large, slightly grubby handkerchief, which Vicky accepted

  with a tearful, quivering smile.

  "Blow your nose," said Jake. "and get your pants on, before the whole

  gang arrives to give you a hand." regorius was so impressed that he

  was speechless for several minutes. In Ethiopia there is no act of

  ivalour so highly esteemed as the single-handed hunting and killing of

  a full-grown adult lion, The warrior who accomplishes this feat wears

  the mane thereafter as a badge of his courage and earns the respect of

  all. The man who shoots his lion is respected, and the man who kil

  with a spear is venerated. - Gregorius had never heard of one killed

  with a single rock and a bottle of ammonia.

  Gregorius skinned out the carcass with his own hands.

  Before he had finished, the black pinioned vultures were sailing in

  wide circles overhead. He left the naked pink carcass lying in the

  river bed, and carried the wet skin up to the bivouac where Jake was

  fretting to continue the trek towards the Wells. He was irreverent in

  his disdain of the trophy, and Greg tried to explain it to him.

  "You will gain great prestige amongst my people, Jake.

  Wherever you go, people will point you out to each other."

  "Fine

  Greg. That's just fine. Now will you kindly haul arse.

  "I will have a war bonnet made for you out of the mane, Greg insisted,

&nb
sp; as he strapped the bundle of wet skin to the sponson of Jake's car.

  "With the hair combed out, it will look very grand."

  "It could only be an improvement on his present hair style," Gareth

  observed drily. "I agree it's been a beautiful honeymoon, and Jake is

  a splendid lad but like he said, let's move on, before I am violently

  ill." As they moved towards their respective cars, Gregorius fell in

  beside Jake and quietly showed him the mushroomed copper-jacketed

  bullet he had removed from its niche in the pelvic bone of the

  carcass.

  Jake paused to examine it closely, turning it in the palm of his

  hand.

  "Nine millimeter, or nine point three," he said. "It's a sporting

  calibre not military."

  "I doubt if there is a single rifle in

  Ethiopia that would fire this bullet," said Greg seriously. "It's a

  foreigner's rifle."

  "No need to blow the bugle yet," said Jake, and flicked the bullet back

  to him. "But we'll bear it in mind." Gregorius almost turned away,

  then said shyly, "Jake, even if the lion was already wounded it's still

  the bravest thing I ever heard of. I have often hunted for them, but

  never killed one yet." Jake was touched by the boy's admiration. He

  laughed roughly and slapped his shoulder.

  "I'll leave the next one for you," he promised.

  They followed the windings of the River Awash through the savannah

  grassland, moving in towards the mountains so that with each hour

  travelled the peaks stood higher and clearer into the sky. The ridges

  of rock and the deep-forested gorges came into hazy focus, like a wall

  across the sky.

  Suddenly they intersected the old caravan road, hitting it at a point

  where the steep banks of the Awash flattened a little. The ford of the

  river had been deeply worn over the ages by the passage of laden beasts

  of burden and the men who drove them, so that the many footpaths down

  each bank were deep trenches in the red earth, that jinked to avoid any

  large boulder or ridge of rock.

  The three men worked in the brilliant sunlight and swung shovel and

  mattock in a fine mist of red dust that powdered their hair and bodies.

  They filled in the uneven ground and deeply worn trenches,

  levering the boulders free and letting them roll and bounce down into

  the river bed, and slept that night the deathlike sleep of utter

  exhaustion that ignored the ache of abused muscle and burst blisters.