Shooting Butterflies (28 page)

An hour later, the police arrived, their arrival sparking an excited hum of conversation. People shouted to one another as they came to stand near to hear what was being said, shattering the quietness of the African bush. The birds stopped singing. Even the crickets hushed for a moment as the sound of loud human activity invaded the normally tranquil ranch. An ambulance had arrived first, and the paramedics who had stabilised Ebony were still working on her. They had put in a drip and given her pain medication.

Jamison glanced over to where Ebony was, with the paramedics working constantly, but the police were keeping him busy and they wanted him to remain at the farm.

Too soon, and not soon enough, he stood watching the ambulance take the love of his life away from him.

She was hurt. She needed medical attention, and the sooner the better, even if it meant he couldn't be with her.

He had seen the way the bruising showed on the top of her stomach area. She was being brave for him, and for everyone else, but he was certain that the internal bleeding was bad. He hoped that the baby was still safe, and not affected.

He felt selfish because for the first time ever, he wanted to put his family before the people he managed. All he wanted was for Ebony to be alright.

‘Jamison.' The police constable redirected his attention onto their ongoing conversation. ‘We have looked at the first fire site, my colleagues said that they couldn't find baboon prints, but one of your trackers, he found boot prints, and they were going in a different direction to everyone else. Those same prints are nearby your house.'

‘Did you find the man in the boots?' Jamison asked.

‘No, it's like he disappeared. Your tracker is going over the site again and there is a reservist with him.'

‘If anyone can find him, Moeketsi will,' Jamison said. But he wondered if Moeketsi's skills were good enough to find Buffel, the master of concealment.

They continued their walk around the site of the burnt-out house. The policeman looked at the smouldering rubble.

‘You were lucky your wife got out, that she was strong enough to break the wood on those fancy windows you had.'

‘I know. And I'm blessed that she managed.'

‘So if you didn't put the kist blocking the doorway, who did?'

‘I have no idea. But if I ever find out, I'll kill him!' Jamison said.

‘No, Jamison, you won't, that is just the adrenaline talking, you need to leave him to the law to sort out. You will do that, won't you?' The policeman looked at Jamison, as if to say he mustn't say things like that in front of him.

‘Yes, of course,' Jamison said.

‘You sure you don't know who could have started these fires? Someone you fired? Someone not happy with the change from a reserve into a hunting ranch?'

‘No one has been fired in the last six years since I took over control. Everyone who has gone has either died of the thinning disease or they left on their own. This ranch is profitable. We all share in those profits, and I make sure I employ the right person for the job. My work force isn't transient, they stay. This is their home too, they don't leave.'

‘So there is no inside reason? No fighting internally going on?' the policeman asked.

‘No.'

‘So it has to be personal. Against you or against the owners.'

‘I don't know of anyone who would want me dead, or my family dead,' he said, and silently he crossed his fingers to cover up his lie.

It had to be Buffel, but he couldn't report him. If the code was broken, he would die. Of that he had no doubt.

‘—we will look into the new owners,' the policeman was saying.

But both men knew that the police force was stretched to its limit in the countryside, and no more investigation would take place.

This was Africa.

No one had died in the fire, so the priority on the case wouldn't be very high.

‘Thank you, Jamison.' They shook hands, and Jamison watched as the police climbed in their
bakkies
and vans and left the farm.

Felix had organised that the tourists were to still go on their morning game drive, and they were about to leave. He regretted that they had been subject to the interrogation and questioning by the police, but they all seemed happy enough to help, realizing how lucky they were that the fire had not spread into the main section of the camp.

He waved down Felix as he passed.

‘Felix, I have to go away, Ebony is in hospital. I'm putting you in charge of Amarose. Maidza will watch over Malabar and the tobacco. You will need to work together to run everything.'

‘Thank you, Jamison,' Felix said. ‘And I will look after everything until you return.'

Jamison shook his head as he reached out his hand. Felix took it.

‘I am sorry, Jamison. I have worked with you for many years, you are a good man. You take care, and good luck,' Felix said. ‘Look after Ebony.'

‘I will,' Jamison said as Felix let his clutch out and glided away.

Jamison knew that the game reserve would be in good hands. He had trained Felix well. Once just Widow Crosby's gardener, he had been able to expand his education and become a game guide. At the moment he was still studying for his professional hunter's licence, but he would get there, he was keen and he loved the bush and the animals, and had respect for it. Unlike the new owners who did not share that respect.

But there was one person left to say a personal goodbye to before he left Amarose for ever. He went in search of Moeketsi.

Once again, his home had been destroyed with fire by Buffel. Only this time he cared about what had been in the house. Ebony.

He longed to dig his heels in and make a stand against Buffel, but he knew he couldn't, not on the farm he was on. If Buffel had found him, and hadn't immediately killed him, then Buffel wanted information from him. Once again there was another he would need to protect. One he had saved before, one he knew was in
danger, because if he was dead, Buffel would track her to the end of the earth to use as a sacrifice.

Jamison knew there was another farm that was being reforested, planted with green trees and transformed, and it would soon be a game ranch, a huge bonus was that the owner was special ops, like him. He prayed that perhaps, united, the two men standing together, they could take on Buffel and win the next time he came at Jamison and his family. He prayed that if Wayne had found Tara Wright since their last meeting together, they could protect her too.

He knew that if Buffel had come after him, he would try again.

He had no choice but to move on. He had to leave Amarose. This time it was not only him, he had Ebony and their unborn child, but he knew how to keep moving, to double back, to cover their tracks. He knew how to hide from Buffel, he had done it before.

Already he knew where he could find a place for a fresh start, only getting there would take time. Ebony was in hospital, and his first priority was her and the baby's health. He needed to get them, then they would disappear.

He would take Ebony and their baby to the end of the world to ensure they was safe.

He looked around.

He would miss Amarose.

He had dirtied his hands as he had got into the mud and planted trees, he had spilt blood as he found and transported animals with Widow Crosby. He had seen it built from nothing into the game ranch that it was. He had shared in the profits of the tobacco harvest. He would miss the green tobacco fields of Malabar, but he could easily be replaced as the manager.

He could never replace Ebony.

There was no contest.

Jamison knew that covering his tracks when they involved hospitals and doctors was never going to be easy. Ebony was a striking woman, and the type of injuries she had sustained were easily
recognisable, especially in rural Africa. A few questions here and there, and money changing hands, and they would be found.

He couldn't afford to let Buffel find them, because next time they wouldn't escape. Buffel had made an uncharacteristic mistake with the fires, and Jamison was not going to let him try again. Moving so fast, reacting right away, would be his first advantage over Buffel, who would have expected them to remain in Karoi hospital. To not move Ebony. To be sitting ducks to be finished off at Buffel's leisure. But Jamison had other plans to ensure his family would survive.

He drove along the tar road towards Francistown, Botswana. Ebony lay flat in the back of his
bakkie
on a mattress. It was the only way to transport her, without access to an ambulance, and he needed to move her to the next hospital that night. After one day in hospital, the doctors had said she was stable, and he and Ebony had made the decision to run then.

Years before, they had discussed this very scenario together, hoping it would never play out. But it had, and now they had reacted.

They were on the move.

Somewhere that Buffel wouldn't expect.

Jamison had thought of going to Widow Crosby for help in Johannesburg, but then he would be putting her at risk, and besides, getting through the Beit Bridge border post always took an excessive amount of time. He couldn't take the chance that Ebony might collapse there, and be taken into another Zimbabwe hospital, not after he had practically had to kidnap his own wife from the hospital in Karoi.

His closest border post was into Zambia, but if Buffel decided to come after him, that would be the first place that he would begin looking. It was logical.

He slowed for a donkey in the road, before continuing.

They had passed through Plumtree border post as they opened, Ebony usually so strong, having to lean heavily on him for support as they cleared through the customs building with their passports. Putting her back to lie flat again, and leaving her there while he drove had been one of the hardest acts he had ever had to perform.

‘Drive, just get me to another hospital,' Ebony said. ‘I love you, Jamison, know that always.'

‘And I you, with my whole life,' he said and kissed her. ‘Just tap the window if you need me to stop,' he reminded her.

Luckily, their passports had been in a fireproof safe in the Amarose lodge office, and not at the house.

For a while he had to concentrate on the light traffic on the road, then he saw the turning from the A1 towards the University of Botswana, and the Nyangabwe Referral Hospital, and he turned towards people who could help his Ebony and their unborn child.

15

Reunion

Kujana Farm, Hluhluwe, South Africa

1992

Wayne cursed again as the Turf Master hole digger attached to his tractor hit rock, and he had to bring it back to the surface. He shut off his tractor and jumped nimbly down to the ground.

He'd already built three-quarters of the new fence line, having chosen a stronger sixteen strand electric fence with bonnox which incorporated solar panels to ensure that it was more energy efficient and reduce the running cost of the fence, rather than the older style used by Hluhluwe National Park. Now he was concentrating on reforestation of his property while he waited for the solar panels to arrive.

Everything took so long to do. Africa time. That's how he was building his dream, on Africa time …

The fence line had to be of a high enough standard to accommodate the animals that he planned on reintroducing to his land. The gentle impala, the shy
inyala
, and the more common animals
such zebras and wildebeest, and the bigger safari pleasers, the buffalo and the giraffe, but also the big cats that he wanted to bring in, especially lions. He wasn't taking the chance that a lion would get out and attack a human on a farm next door.

Tall Natal yellow wood trees sat nearby in thick black plastic bags, waiting to be planted. He had brought them in to the far section of his farm by tractor and trailer. Surprisingly they looked really good considering their journey up from Durban in the cattle truck, along with tamboti trees, with their leaves that turned red in autumn, stinkwoods, red-stem corkwoods, cape ash that attracted the butterflies, different types of acacia trees, fever trees that giraffe liked so much, and that weavers nested in, and the common cabbage trees. Arranged in between the taller trees were redbush willows that attracted parrots to feed on their seeds, common coral trees, and beautiful sugar bush shrubs. Every plant had been hand selected by him.

Lastly he had row upon row of grasses, and bags of grass seeds to disperse. Apparently native trees in urban gardens were the new rage, and he'd no trouble sourcing quite established samples to put in the ground. Buying them already established would save him a few years in waiting for his forest to re-establish itself, and give him an edge in an industry that in his opinion was about to boom even more.

His attention was momentarily taken by a flock of noisy hadadas that called overhead as they baulked at something unseen to the naked eye. Now aware of animal sounds around him, he listened as a dove cooed nearby, the sound almost went unheard as he was so used to its serenade.

The large group of workers behind him halted when he shut down his machine.

‘Lunch,' he called.

He walked to his
bakkie
parked near the edge of the planting quadrant. He snatched his water bottle out the Hepcooler in the back, watching as the tell-tale dust trail signalled another vehicle was approaching, bouncing along the road towards them. His
border collie, Storm, began to bark, signalling a visitor. He called her to heel.

He didn't recognise the
bakkie.

It stopped just outside of the planted quadrant, and a tall black man got out. He put a Stetson on his head, and walked to the passenger side and opened the door. A buxom figure got out. She held a Japanese-style fan and fanned the hot air as if hoping to cool herself. When she turned sideways, Wayne could see that she was like a ship in full sail, almost at the end of her pregnancy.