The Greystoke Legacy (15 page)

Mystified as to why there would be such a lackluster attack, Robbie recalled the mystery of the vanishing tree they had felled. In the confusion and drama of Jane's disappearance, he'd all but forgotten the incident.

Robbie scanned the silent trees, dead giants stripped of their foliage. He longed to go back out and search for Jane, but knew now that that was a reckless option. Robbie moved to the jeep, intending to fix it while he had nothing better to do. If he could get to the town at least he would feel as though he was doing something to save her.

As he extracted his toolbox he began to wonder if Mister David really was on to something with his talk of evil jungle spirits.

•••

Karnath did not leave Jane's side all night. The little gorilla curled up against her in the safety of the airplane where they both slept. When she woke it was daylight again and the air had grown humid. Karnath had whined when Jane had tried to exit their shelter and she had been forced to carry him in her arms. She was surprised to discover her leg no longer hurt and she could walk freely.

The gorillas had dispersed around the lake, increasing their foraging range. Tana's body had gone, so too had Sheeta. Tarzan sat on a great root that curled around the aircraft, and jumped down when Jane waved to him.

“Hi,” said Jane. She no longer felt anxious when she looked at Tarzan. He had risked his life to defend the apes, to defend her. There was no doubt in her mind that, no matter how barbaric his behavior was, Tarzan was a friend.

Tarzan didn't reply. He took Karnath, who jumped into his arms, liquid eyes looking fearfully around. Jane watched, enthralled, as Tarzan murmured gently to the ape and made a few hand gestures. She couldn't make out any words and didn't believe the gorillas could have any language skills. Nevertheless, Karnath responded with gentle grunts and a hand gesture. Jane was certain the little ape wasn't mimicking Tarzan. Not for the first time she wondered if these apes, the
Mangani
as Tarzan called them, were in fact a different, more intelligent sub-species.

“Karnath frightened,” said Tarzan. “Alone.”

Jane felt regret for the little ape's plight. She stroked Karnath's brow as the little ape reached for a stem of green leaves on a bush that he greedily crammed into his mouth.

“He's starving,” she said with concern. “Poor little guy,” she cooed as if talking to a human infant. For several minutes she fed the little ape roots and stems from the foliage around them. Jane found herself getting more concerned about his future and voiced her concerns to Tarzan.

“Karnath need new mother.” For a horrible second, Jane thought he was referring to her. Then he sprang down the narrow trail, jumping from rock to tree with Karnath clinging to his chest. She could see he was heading for a knot of gorillas on the far side of the lake and hoped that one of them would look after the orphaned ape.

While Tarzan was gone, Jane thought it would be a good time to continue her search of the aircraft in a hope to find clues about Tarzan's past.

She tugged at the cargo-hold door, lending her weight to pry it open enough to allow her to slip inside.

The hold wasn't big enough to stand in and Jane was forced to crouch. She used her foot to brush aside the rusted scientific equipment that had spilt from the broken crate. She turned her attention to the two intact crates and the cloth suitcase.

The crates had previously been opened and their lids carefully replaced. Jane doubted Tarzan would have been so meticulous and wondered if D'Arnot had started to investigate his strange pupil's background. She opened one crate and discovered a stack of rusty cans. Damp had long since faded or rotted the labels, leaving their contents a mystery.

The third crate was filled with camping supplies; moldy tents, holes picked into the canvas by generations of insects, rusty poles, torn mosquito nets, and a corroded shovel.

“An expedition,” Jane said to herself. “But whose?”

She examined the crates. The wood was damp and chewed in places. There were markings, but they had faded. Jane pushed the crate closer to the light, hoping to get a better look and she made out a single faint word: GREYSTOKE. The same word she'd seen in the cockpit—but what did it mean?

Maybe the suitcase would supply the answers? It was huge and Jane could just make out a faded black and gold pattern beneath the grime. The destination labels had rotted away, giving no clue to their ownership. Jane flipped the top open and immediately recoiled as dozens of black cockroaches scuttled out. She shrieked as they clambered up her arms and flooded across the floor, racing for the shadows. Jane shook them off and the insects vanished into the dark as if they had never existed.

She returned to the case and found clothes inside which were damp, musty, and chewed through; many had rotted into mulch. They looked mostly feminine, but she wasn't entirely sure. She could have sworn some of the cockroaches had burrowed deeper into the garments when she opened the case, and didn't fancy delving any further.

Then she caught a glint of silver poking out from under the sodden clothes. Taking a rusty tent pole she lifted the fabric and discovered a tarnished silver picture frame beneath. Driven by curiosity she slid a hand into the suitcase, taking hold of the frame as insects scuttled over her exposed skin.

It came loose with a soft sucking noise, black slime clinging to the bottom. Jane saw the photo of a handsome man, standing in front of a stately home. His arm was draped around a pretty young woman. Water had damaged the image, but from the hair and clothing styles Jane could tell it was taken roughly around the time she was born, maybe a few years earlier. The picture's lower half was covered with mold.

She studied the picture. As best she could tell, the man looked proud and the woman appeared content, her eyes smiling mischievously. Jane wondered if her parents had ever been so happy. As a child, she had been close to her mother—far closer than she had to Archie. When she was eleven she had taken to calling her dad “Archie” rather than “Dad” because it annoyed him and drew a smile from her mother. As Jane grew older she grew distant from Archie, but had started to notice how her mother had also become reticent toward her. Archie had later claimed that it was because her mother disliked seeing her daughter grow up, as it reminded her that she was getting old too. Jane had simply assumed her mother's erratic behavior was Archie's fault.

That was until her mother had left. Left without saying goodbye. Without warning. Without a note to explain her actions. Jane had been convinced a message would arrive and that every phone call would be her mother explaining the mystery of her disappearance. It never came. As Archie uncovered the truth, Jane increasingly refused to believe him. He'd lost count of how many times she'd called him a liar.

For weeks she had looked through the rain-soaked window of her home in Baltimore, expecting her mother's car to roll up the driveway. That was before they lost the house. Jane had never thought that fate would lead her to the musty cargo hold of a crashed jet, stranded in the middle of the Congo jungle.

She suddenly became aware of Tarzan standing on the other side of the hold. Jane wondered how long he had been there.

“Come,” said Tarzan in his usual conversational manner.

Jane debated showing him the picture, but doubted it would mean anything to him. She dropped it back in the case and followed Tarzan outside.

Squinting her eyes against the sun, she asked, “Where's Karnath?”

Tarzan led her along the wingtip that extended from the cliff, over the lake below. He pointed to the foot of the waterfall, across the caldera. Jane could see the tiny gorilla was playing with other youngsters under the watchful supervision of Kerchak.

“Now we find food,” said Tarzan. His tongue was still thick around the syllables when he spoke, but Jane could detect an improvement in his speech.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She no longer felt in such a rush to return to Karibu Mji. The photograph had stirred nostalgic memories of happier times back home. Times that were now lost forever.

As she watched Karnath play with the other young apes she began to feel a connection to the jungle. Standing on the wing overlooking the Eden-like valley, she felt her previous hostility toward the jungle had vanished. It was as harsh and cruel as the civilized world, but it could also be simple and beautiful. The air was clear, the soft thrum of the waterfall was soothing, the colors were more vibrant than anything she could remember, and her companion was not the bloodthirsty cannibal she had initially assumed.

There was no complicated relationship with Archie to stress her out nor was Tarzan trying to turn the jungle into a barren wilderness.

“Swim,” said Tarzan with a mischievous grin.

Jane frowned, then she followed his gaze down. She was standing
over
the lake, the blue-green water sparkling in the sunlight below—130 feet below. She instinctively stepped back, but felt Tarzan's vice-like grip on her arm. He was still smiling.

“I—I can't jump,” stammered Jane who had feared diving boards since her swimming lessons in school. The height of this dwarfed those memories. “I don't like—”

Tarzan clearly didn't want to know. Jane felt a sharp tug on her arm and experienced a sense of being thrust forward. Her legs turned to jelly, but she no longer needed them—Tarzan had pushed her off the edge.

Jane plummeted feet first. She had no time to scream. Tarzan soared alongside, falling headfirst, arms extended to break the water as the roar of wind filled her senses. She wanted to close her eyes but they were fixed on the lake rushing toward them.

Tarzan hit the water first—barely making a ripple. Jane hit it with a terrific splash. She felt the shock of cold water as she plunged beneath the surface. Her legs kicked out, but didn't stop her descent. Her ears hurt with the pressure and the world was filled with bubbles and whitewater and she lost sense of what direction she was facing. She was convinced her legs would shatter against the rocky lakebed.

Instead, she suddenly found herself swiftly rising back up as her natural buoyancy took over. Instinct powered her legs and arms, and she broke the surface gulping deep breaths of air.

Tarzan treaded the water next to her, a smug look on his face.

“You total idiot! You pushed me! How . . . How could you . . .? You . . . you didn't even know if I could swim! I could have drowned . . .” she trailed off. Tarzan was laughing, his face scrunched up as if she had told him the funniest joke he'd ever heard. The sound of Tarzan's laughter reverberated off the cliff wall and with it Jane's temper melted away. What was the point in getting angry? Tarzan had pushed her off the cliff, over a drop she would never have dared contemplate before. But she had survived.

Now she felt more alive than ever before. Tarzan's infectious guffaws got to her and she began howling with laughter. Tensions melted away, replaced by an urge to make the leap again. From the violence of the previous night to the exhilaration of the morning, being alive had never felt so good and she had never felt so free.

Tarzan and Jane swam from the lake and followed the river downstream. She couldn't keep up with his powerful strokes, but he patiently waited for her and never complained. When she felt tired, Jane would roll on to her back and drift with the current. With Tarzan close by, she wasn't worried about any predators lurking to take a bite out of her.

Jane didn't know how long they spent drifting down the river watching the green landscape as they passed by. On several occasions the current picked up and the water turned white as they were swept between boulders. Rather than swim for the bank, Tarzan crossed his arms over his chest and shot through the chasm feet first. Jane apprehensively followed his lead and they raced through whitewater sections of the river like torpedoes, never once careening into the giant boulders on either side.

Despite these occasional rapids it was a pleasant, relaxing experience. The river became wider and Tarzan drifted for the shore. Jane followed, worried he had spotted some danger ahead. Tarzan was crouched on the bank, half in the water, poised like an Olympic sprinter. He stared hard into the bamboo towering over them. The forest floor was lost in a mass of thick vegetation. She couldn't see anything to be alarmed about.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Food,” Tarzan answered in a low voice. On cue, Jane's stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the previous day. Tarzan gave her a reproachful look—then suddenly bolted into the thicket.

Jane saw the vegetation violently move as Tarzan's quarry fled. Tarzan moved with great speed and utter surefootedness. He gracefully leapt against the thick bamboo—bouncing from one to another to propel himself upward, over the bushes. Jane had only seen such acrobatics in martial-arts movies and had been convinced the actors were suspended on wires.

Tarzan utilized his momentum to perform the stunning feat without a moment's thought. He disappeared into the jungle, then suddenly­ emerged chasing an antelope that was only a few feet ahead of him. Jane suddenly realized that he was working his prey toward the river.

An antelope sped from the bushes straight for Jane. The animal saw her and panicked. It tried to turn—and that was the moment that Tarzan leapt, grappling its hind legs and bringing the creature splashing down into the shallows of the river. It thrashed around, but Tarzan kept a tight hold, avoiding the long horns as the animal shook its head.

“What are you doing?” screamed Jane as Tarzan drew his dagger. She looked away too late and saw the blade slit the bushbuck's throat. Tarzan he wore a steely grin of triumph.

Jane refused to cry—she was too tough for that—but she tried not to look at the bloody carcass as Tarzan carried it over and dropped it in front of her.

“Food!” he said with a smile.