Savage Lands (4 page)

“Nice try,” Robbie whispered.

Jane looked at him with wide blue eyes. “It wasn't me.”

“Yeah, right,” sniggered Robbie. “At least tell me where you stashed the energy bars. I'm starving.”

Jane grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. Her brow was furrowed with concern. “I didn't do this.” She followed his gaze to the trees and added, in an ominous hushed tone, “And I don't think it was Tarzan either.”

• • •

T
he
rest of the day progressed in relative silence. The mist increased the higher they climbed, swallowing every sound and covering everything with fine moisture that dampened and chilled to the bone. Even the jungle appeared to fall silent. Robbie couldn't recall hearing a bird chirp all day.

Jane's comments had made him jumpy. If Tarzan wasn't out there, who was? Who else had the skills to move like a ghost through the camp without waking any of them? He started seeing shadows in his peripheral vision, but every time he snapped his head around, they faded away. He'd wound himself up so much that at one point, when Jane leaned against his shoulder to steady herself on a particularly sharp incline, he yelped in surprise.

Clark's limp grew worse and he started involuntarily huffing from the pain with each step. He doggedly followed the GPS coordinates, guiding them through trails wherever he could. When they stopped to rest, all their stomachs warbled in chorus. Jane managed to find some edible fruits and nuts, but not enough to feed the five of them. It was clear that there would be no small game to hunt in the mist.

The slope became tougher, their progress slower—but then the GPS started to make a series of regular bleeping tones.

“We're close,” breathed Clark, barely containing his excitement. “This way.”

He guided them up a sharp incline that turned into a hairpin bend as it rose. The swirling mist rolled to one side, hinting at a great drop close by. Jane began to see familiar rock formations, but couldn't be sure until the GPS's tone became almost constant. Clark drew his pistol from his belt holster.

“You won't need that,” hissed Jane.

“I just wanna make sure no hairy ape thinks he can charge me,” said Clark in a low voice. Under Tarzan's guidance, the apes had helped free Clark and the other loggers from the clutches of a rebel leader, Tafari. They had been peaceful and benign to the loggers back them, but Clark hadn't been planning to take their leader away.

The ground flattened out, but all they could see was a bare plateau. Greystoke looked disappointed and took the GPS from Clark to check for himself. But Jane knew they were in the right place. Even before Greystoke could open his mouth to complain, the mist thinned ever so slightly—revealing the dark silhouette of a plane wreckage on the edge of the plateau. The damp mist gave a haunted feel to the place, and for the first time Jane wondered what had happened to the bodies of Tarzan's parents after the crash. Had they survived? Were they buried somewhere around the wreckage?

Clark and Archie high-fived each other as Greystoke took several faltering steps forward.

“My word …” said Greystoke with awed tones. “It's my uncle's plane… .”

The words had an odd effect on Jane. She had felt nothing but loathing toward the pompous man, but now she realized the dead occupants of the plane were his family, just as much as Tarzan really was. She began to doubt that interfering with Greystoke's goals was the right thing to do. A quick glance at Robbie told her he was thinking the same thing. For him, family had a far more emotional sting. After all, he was in the jungle to escape from the legacy of the nightmarish death of his sister, Sophie.

William Greystoke slowly advanced on the aircraft, keeping a wary eye out for any gorillas that might suddenly charge, but there were none. He ran a hand along the cracked and rusting fuselage. One wing had been torn off against the mountainside, hidden behind them, while the other projected over a cliff, although the end of it was veiled from view in the mist.

“He's gotta be around here someplace,” said Clark, his pain forgotten as his enthusiasm surged. “And he's probably got our food round 'ere too.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “TARZAN!” The gray cloud swallowed the cry. He tried again: “TARZAN! IT'S CLARK. JANE'S 'ERE TOO!”

Nothing.

Jane shrugged and sat on a boulder, relieved to take her backpack off. “I told you he wouldn't want to speak to you. What're you going to do now, just sit here and wait?”

Greystoke ignored her. Instead, he paced around the aircraft with purpose. He stopped at the side, where a tear in the fuselage formed an artificial cave. The entrance was now covered in vines and foliage but there was just enough light for him to see some seats had been torn up and cast aside. The floor was covered in dry grass and tree branches, carefully laid down for the apes to sleep on. There was an overpowering smell that reminded him of a farmyard, and he scrunched his nose.

Reaching the aircraft's tail he saw the cargo door was torn open, allowing him access into the belly of the craft. Jane watched him intently as he disappeared inside. There she had found nothing but boxes with some scientific gear, rank clothing, and a few photographs of John Clayton, the Earl of Greystoke—Tarzan's father and William's uncle.

“HA!” exclaimed William Greystoke. Jane's suspicions ratcheted up as she heard a case being dragged through the hold. What had he found? He'd certainly made no attempt to call out to his long-lost cousin or shown any signs of searching for him.

Greystoke emerged from the hold, pulling a small plastic flight case. It was covered in filth from almost two decades of neglect. He laid it flat on the floor and fumbled the catches open.

Clark and Archie moved closer, puzzled by William's odd behavior.

“What've you got there?” said Archie as innocently as possible.

“What I've been searching for,” intoned Greystoke as he applied more pressure on the catches. They finally snapped open.

“I thought you were looking for your cousin?” said Clark as delicately as he could.

Greystoke never looked up. “Mmm? Oh yes … yes. But this …” He lay his hand reverently on the surface of the case. “This is what
they
came for. My uncle and aunt …”

Robbie and Jane stood behind Lord William Greystoke as he slowly opened the case. Inside were two neat folders and, wedged between them, a wooden box. Being encased in plastic, nothing had aged at all. Greystoke gently brushed his fingers over the folders, then went for the wooden casket first. It was an oblong box, six inches long and as wide as his thumb. He slid the lid off, and a flurry of small gemstones cascaded to the floor. Even in the poor light they sparkled like a rainbow.

Clark whistled and dropped to his knees to inspect the haul. He held a yellow stone up for a closer look. “I ain't no gem expert, but I reckon they're worth a good few bucks.”

“No doubt,” said Greystoke dismissively. “But
this
is worth more.”

He gently pulled a folder from the case and opened it up. Inside was a collection of handwritten notes. He rapidly flicked through with increasing excitement. Jane caught glimpses of diagrams, hand-drawn maps, and sketches of buildings.

“What is that?”

Greystoke quickly closed the book, suddenly aware that she'd seen the contents. He held it close to his chest.

“Details of the Savage Lands.”

“Savage Lands?” repeated Robbie, confused.

Greystoke's voice dropped so low he was almost talking to himself. “They found it … they actually found it.” The he remembered he had an audience. “My aunt and uncle were philanthropists, but they also loved stories, legends… . While they were out here they heard the legend of an ancient civilization and a lost city of unfathomable riches. Early explorers came looking for proof, but they died in the jungle, which is why this little patch of hell came to be called the Savage Lands. Few who step foot here return, as my uncle discovered. He and my aunt claimed to have found evidence of the civilization, but they were tight-lipped about the details. But this”—he held the folder tighter—“this is their research. In these pages lies the location of the heart of the lost empire: the city of Opar!”

U
nder Lord William Greystoke's guidance, Archie and Clark combed the plateau for any signs of Tarzan or the apes. Every indication they found—dry dung, gorilla nests, and a pile of half-chewed bones—indicated that the area hadn't been lived in for a week or so. Jane was relieved that Tarzan had moved his family on almost immediately after they last parted.

Greystoke didn't appear overly concerned that his cousin was not around. When pressed by Jane, he avoided answering. She noticed his evasiveness worried Clark, so took delight in mentioning it as often as she could. Eventually, with the thought of the reward money disappearing, Clark spoke up.

“So this was all about those survey documents? Not your cousin?”

“We should be going,” said Greystoke, trying to step around Clark. Clark simply stepped to the side, blocking the man. Greystoke's eyes narrowed. Clark was an intimidating figure, but Greystoke was not used to being bullied.

“Not before we get some answers,” said Clark in a low, gently threatening voice.

Greystoke wasn't intimidated. If anything, his expression turned to stone—but after a few moments a smile tugged his lips as he identified Clark's worry.

“Ah, your reward?”

“It had been playin' on my mind.”

“For these documents alone you will get half of it, and Tarzan is still a concern—”

Archie smoothly cut in. “Well, for a city of unfathomable riches, that's a whole new deal. The finder's fee alone … surely worth more than a couple of million?”

Greystoke's smile faltered, his eyes flicking between Archie and Clark. “Of course, you will be compensated. As for Tarzan, personally, I don't care if my cousin is sitting out there thinking he's a monkey. However, business is business and if he does really exist—and after everything I have seen, I have no reason to doubt it—then certain contingents with my family think it prudent to find him. But we are hardly equipped to search any farther for him now, are we? He's made sure of that.” Greystoke studied the trees, which gradually vanished into the mist. He was convinced Tarzan was out there, watching them. He could feel the eyes upon them.

“So let's head back to camp,” said Robbie, absently massaging his shoulder.

“No,” said Greystoke. Everybody looked at him in surprise. His tone was imperious as he pointed to Jane. “You led us on a merry romp in a circle, remember? And somebody tinkered with my GPS.” He switched his cold gaze to Robbie. “And I am sure Tarzan is no electrical engineer. I have a facility beyond this range. A little farther than your camp, but the going is easier. Plus, as we draw nearer, I have arranged transport solutions.” He selected another option on the GPS and a fresh set of coordinates appeared on the screen. As he passed Jane, he smirked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don't take me for a fool, my dear.” To the others he waved his arm as he marched away. “Onward!”

Clark and Archie swapped a glance. Greystoke was obviously playing them, and Clark hated being manipulated. But now the stakes had been raised, and with more money on the table, it was prudent to play along. Nobody spoke as they retrieved their packs and followed Greystoke back into the jungle.

• • •

T
he
scent was unmistakable, even masked by the noxious fumes of Thunder Mountain. People. Tarzan had spent the morning patrolling the perimeter of the mountain flank the Mangani claimed as home, even venturing to the narrow gorge on the far side of the mountain where a dozen waterfalls cascaded from the walls, creating a myriad of rainbows. Today the mountain had calmed and the sense of danger from it had lessened, but now a new threat appeared.

Tarzan entered the trees midway down the mountain at a run. He kicked from one trunk to another, zigzagging higher until his hands could grasp the lower boughs. He was traveling so swiftly that his body looped around the first branch before he let go and somersaulted across the void to the next tree, landing on a branch in a crouch. Leaves rustled from the impact, and in a couple of seconds Tarzan was already ten yards above the ground and running through the branches.

The scent of people grew stronger, and with it, his caution increased. Never before had people come this far, except Jane, and he had needed to guide her there safely. He stopped in the boughs. Drooping leaves provided cover from prying eyes. The sound of approaching people grew, as loud as Tantor the jungle elephant, the clink of metal betraying their “civilized” origins, and they smelled worse than any wild animal. He could hear terse voices, but couldn't identify the language. It didn't take long for them to come into view. Like all hunters, Tarzan had deliberately chosen this location to stop because the clearing below offered a natural foraging area, or at least a place for people to rest.

There were four figures, one a female with light brown skin, cropped black hair, and a taller build than Jane. Their backpacks were almost as big as they were.

Tarzan felt for the rope looped around his waist, and then his hand slid to the dagger he kept sheathed there. It was his one advantage when facing the talons of jungle predators, and he had no qualms using it on humans. The people looked tired and irritated, and were arguing with one another. Three of them carried machetes to hack through the undergrowth, but one had a far worse weapon slung over his shoulder. It was short and boxy, the kind of thing from which Tarzan had seen Tafari's rebels shoot death. The man placed the weapon by his feet and wearily sat on a root, mopping perspiration from his brow.

So close to Tarzan's family, they were not welcome visitors. If he couldn't scare them away, then he would have no hesitation to using more deadly methods. He unsheathed his blade and calculated his best form of attack.

The group put their backpacks down, their argument increasing as they sat down to rest. The female sat at the base of Tarzan's tree and was arguing the loudest, before she shook her head and leaned back to rest. From her vantage point she could see straight up into the canopy of trees.

Tarzan froze—she was looking straight at him.

For a moment she didn't appear to see him through the hanging foliage, but then her brow furrowed as if she was trying to work out what it was she was looking at. Before she could open her mouth to speak, there was a sharp crack from deeper in the forest and everybody suddenly looked up, alert and tense. The man with the weapon snatched it from the floor and swung it onto his shoulder, aiming it toward the noise. They couldn't see what was out there, but Tarzan could: the Targarni. He had been so wrapped up in studying the humans that his enemies had managed to sneak in close.

Silence reigned. Then there was a burst of white fur and Goyad stormed from the undergrowth, bowling over the nearest man. The man flipped through the air and, with a snap of bones, landed hard on his back. Goyad's black jaws snapped shut across the man's throat, blood smattering the albino's snow-white fur and silencing the man's terrified screams.

Five more chimps bolted from the sides. Two grabbed another man by his arms and legs and dragged him into the foliage, striking him unconscious.

Tarzan didn't flinch, didn't take his eyes off the attack. He had no emotional attachment to the people below. They were nothing more than two species of animal caught in the eternal jungle conflict, but he watched the unfolding battle with the eyes of a general. This was no mindless attack: Goyad was herding his warriors using his unusual intelligence.

Tarzan had expected the man with the weapon to open fire, but instead he stood frozen in terror—only having the presence of mind to swing the weapon across the head of the chimp attacking him. To Tarzan's surprise, the feeble weapon cracked into several pieces and the man was hurled to the ground.

Goyad gave several sharp hoots as the man finally backed toward the woman, both now pressed against a tree in terror. The albino ape stood taller than the other pale chimps. One eye was permanently swollen shut, the other a deep blood red.

The Targarni circled the two humans, fangs bared. Then they bolted forward and struck the humans across their heads.

Tarzan felt a twinge—of what? Regret? Sympathy?—as the female briefly looked up at him with pleading eyes before she was hit. However, the Targarni did not kill them; they had something more sinister in mind. For reasons Tarzan couldn't fathom, the apes dragged the three unconscious humans with them—taking them back to their lair as prisoners.

• • •

T
he
atmosphere became more oppressive. The mist refused to clear, but lingered, becoming uncomfortably humid as Greystoke's party followed a trail around the mountain. After half a day's walk, the trail began to slowly descend. Robbie became vaguely aware that the rebel leader, Tafari, had had a camp just northwest of their position—but that was before Tarzan had summoned an army of animals and flattened it to the ground. He hoped the lands were safer now.

Although there was much to discuss, Clark and Archie were uncharacteristically quiet, doggedly following Greystoke. The lord himself occasionally checked the GPS to note their position, but said nothing.

Hours passed and the sky grew darker, and still the mist didn't lift. Hunger gnawed at them every time they sat to rest and if it wasn't for Jane's ability to gather edible fruits they would have starved. The only conversation came toward the end of the day when Archie finally told Greystoke they had to stop for the night. Robbie and Clark set up camp while Jane foraged for more food.

She didn't venture beyond the warm light of the campfire—the mist-veiled jungle was more ominous than she could ever recall. Tarzan had taught her to understand the jungle just by the sounds—the distinct audio landscape usually warned of danger. But right now it was sullenly quiet. Even the nighttime chorus of frogs and insects had failed to start. It was as if Tarzan's departure had sucked the life from the land. The forest felt abandoned, haunted even. Just as everybody settled at the campfire, Jane returned with an armful of fruit.

“I'd kill for somethin' hot,” murmured Clark as he squeezed the fruit dejectedly.

“At my facility, I employ the finest chef, no expense spared. Not even out here,” said Greystoke. He was the only one of the team who failed to pick up on the ominous calm around them.

“Is that right?” said Clark. “And what exactly do you do at this facility?”

“Make money,” was the enigmatic reply.

Clark and Archie exchanged a glance, a humorless smile crossing Clark's face. “Good, because we have a deal, remember.”

Under the flickering light, Greystoke examined the fruit Jane had handed him. “I may be many things, but I am not a businessman who goes back on his deals. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. We should be there by the afternoon.”

Jane's eyes fell on the case Greystoke had retrieved from the aircraft. He'd kept it by his side the entire journey.

“So what were John and Alice Clayton doing out here?” Jane asked, referring to Tarzan's parents. “I thought they were conservationists, not treasure hunters.”

Greystoke snorted, a fleeting look of disdain crossing his face. “They fancied themselves as adventurers. Throwing the family fortune at hopeless causes. They spent hundreds of thousands trying to educate the Mbuti natives here. They're a bunch of simple imbeciles who could never be educated, so why bother?”

“You're a real saint,” said Robbie sarcastically.

Greystoke's eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should take lessons from you?” he said with venom. “It was Alice's fault. She married into the family and the next moment the fortune was being squandered. Such a bad influence. My father was distraught but there was nothing he could do… . Uncle John was close to flittering everything away. The family knew they had to take steps.” He lapsed into silence, thoughtfully staring into the campfire.

Jane suddenly had an unsettling thought. “Take steps? You mean arrange for their plane to crash, maybe?”

Greystoke didn't look up. “That's a serious accusation.”

“One that you're not denying,” countered Jane harshly.

“Jane, that's enough,” Clark chipped in, keen not to upset their meal ticket.

“While working with the natives they heard tales of a lost civilization in the heart of the jungle,” Greystoke said slowly, as if marshaling his thoughts. “Stories told of a place of magnificent mineral wealth. As part of their good work”—he spat the word “good” out—“they tried working with the government, what was left of it at the time, thinking that they could convince the greedy junta not to exploit the wealth, but to preserve the environment. Of course, nobody was interested in that, and the city of Opar remained a mystery. Although,” his voice dropped thoughtfully, “they were both convinced they knew where Opar was.” He was silent for a long moment. “The Mbuti called the city a haunted place.”

The words fell flat in the mist. All day the group hadn't managed to shake the feeling that somebody was watching their every step. A couple of times Robbie had doubled back along their path to try and catch their tail, but to no avail. On two occasions, Clark had pushed into the bush where they thought they'd detected movement, but found no signs of anybody passing through. It was as if a ghost was tracking them, and now, in the chill night, Greystoke's words had added menace.

Archie's disbelieving snigger cut through the night. “I think we've had our share of ghosts out here. We thought our camp was haunted, until Tarzan showed up.”

Greystoke shook his head. “In my experience, there are still many things on this earth that remain unexplained. Opar is one of them. If it really does exist, we don't know which civilization built it, or what happened to them. There are legends … terrible tales about the people of Opar.”

Robbie was enthralled despite himself. He asked in a low hush, “What kind of tales?”