The Greystoke Legacy (21 page)

In the flashes of gunfire, Bapoto saw Jane look up—then she suddenly vanished between one strobing flash and another.

Robbie saw her disappear too, his doubts about Tarzan now replaced by hope. He hadn't managed to escape, but Jane had.

“Go!” he yelled. But he was shouting to empty space. Tarzan and Jane had disappeared into the night.

T
he gunfire and violence would once have had Jane sobbing and shaking, but she felt safe with Tarzan as he spirited her away in the night, leaping and swinging from the trees at breakneck speed. No matter how adept he was in the jungle he wasn't impervious to bullets and cold steel.

Tarzan kept close to the mountain as the storm intensified and they progressed ever upward. After some time, they stopped to rest on a rocky outcrop on the steep slopes. Jane sensed a shift in the darkness and lightning revealed they were sitting amongst the low storm clouds, in the heart of the storm. They pressed themselves against the rocks while Tarzan rested.

“Jane hurt?” he finally asked.

“No. I'm not hurt.”

Tarzan roughly twisted her head, arms, and legs to check for any injuries. Satisfied there were none, he turned to his own. Jane was shocked to see a streak of blood across his hip from where a bullet had grazed him.

“You're bleeding!” she reached out to help him, but Tarzan turned away and began examining the bushes around him. He took great care to select a broad leaf, which he then crunched in his hands. Jane could smell a pungent aroma as Tarzan dabbed the leaf on the wound. When he was finally done, he stood and motioned it was time to go.

“Come,” he commanded with his usual brevity.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.” In the dim light, Jane caught a rare look of concern on Tarzan's face.

“My father's in trouble. My friends. We must go back for them.”

Tarzan shook his head. “Many men with guns. Tarzan cannot fight.”

Jane wanted to argue, but he had a point. Before she could think of anything to say, Tarzan continued.

“Soldiers have your friends. Soldiers came through Tarzan's land while Tarzan watch you.”

Jane understood. She hadn't seen him, but Tarzan had been watching her every move at the camp, no doubt concerned since he didn't trust the loggers. It was fortunate he had done so or else Jane would never have escaped. She hoped Robbie hadn't been punished for his escape attempt. Esmée had told her many stories of the ruthless executions Tafari had performed on those who angered him.

“Thank you.” The words sounded weak and failed to convey the true flood of gratitude Jane felt. Then she guessed why Tarzan looked so concerned.

“You think the soldiers may have found your home?”

Tarzan nodded, his face grave. Jane suddenly felt sick. Tafari was a barbarian toward his own race; what would he do to a band of defenseless gorillas that crossed his path? Reluctant at leaving her father and the others in Tafari's hands, she nodded and stood. Tarzan was no match for heavily armed soldiers; her only hope lay in Tarzan taking her back to civilization so she could raise the alarm.

Tarzan helped her on to his back, then leapt into the trees, bounding from trunks and branches with purpose. Jane closed her eyes and held tight—they were moving faster than ever before.

In the dead of night, as the storm raged around them, they crowned the mountain, heading toward Tarzan's home.

•••

Robbie drifted back to consciousness with a ferocious headache. Even with his eyes open he saw little but inky blackness. Pain shot up his foot and he gasped for air.

“Try not to move,” said a voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Robbie struggled to remember the name.

“Where are we?” It was little more than a croak. His mouth was dry, but his face was damp from rain.

“We stopped to rest. You're bleedin' lucky to be alive,” whispered a voice that Robbie recognized as Clark's.

“Hold still,” said the first voice, which he now identified as Archie's. His vision slowly swam into focus, and he realized he was lying on his back, with Clark sitting a couple of feet away with a stony expression. He was deliberately not making eye contact with Robbie, but he could see the concern on his face. Robbie tried to sit up, but he was pushed back down.

“I said don't move,” hissed Archie's voice from near his feet. Robbie twisted his head and saw that Archie was tying Robbie's foot in an improvised splint made from two branches and secured with vines.

A quick look around revealed the other prisoners were all sitting forlornly in the muddy road, spread out to make communication between them difficult. The moon was now shining through the passing storm clouds and Robbie could see the rebels sitting under the trees lining the road, eating and laughing amongst themselves.

“Where's Jane?” Robbie croaked.

“I thought you could tell me,” said Archie. “We heard gunfire.”

“We ran . . .” He remembered their flight through the bush; his foot sinking into the burrow and his ankle snapping. “I tripped over. Told her to run . . . but she came back.”

Archie had stopped binding his wound and was looking at him, devastated.

“It was a brave thing you tried,” mumbled Clark.

Archie's head bobbed in agreement. “They said they shot her.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper as emotion choked it.

Then Robbie's memories came flooding back and he sat bolt upright so fast the pain in his leg forced him back to the ground.

“Argh!”

“It's broken,'”said Archie plainly. “You're running a fever and we have nothing to combat it.”

“Jane's OK,” hissed Robbie as he recalled the phantom standing in the trees above them. “She's not dead.”

Archie could scarcely believe it. “She got away?”

“He came. He came and saved her.”

Archie frowned, wondering if Robbie was delirious.

“Who came?” he whispered, frightened of drawing their guards' attention.

“Tarzan,” gasped Robbie as new pangs shot up his leg. “Tarzan. He's real. He's real . . .”

Archie and Clark exchanged grim looks. It looked like delirium was taking hold.

•••

A pale mist cloaked the mountain as the sun rose. Visibility was just a matter of feet and it had forced Tarzan to the forest floor. Here at least Jane could keep pace with him.

They had walked for hours. Dull light struggled to pierce a thick mist that swallowed every noise. Jane was so focused on the ground in front of her that she almost walked into Tarzan. He had stopped in his tracks as the trees ended and the plateau clearing began.

Jane could see the dark aircraft hulk and immediately sensed something was wrong. A cry of grief from Tarzan drew her attention to two bodies on the floor. They sprinted across to a blackback and silverback that lay dead, their bodies riddled with bullets.

Tarzan wailed and Jane choked back tears. The aircraft was peppered with bullet holes and empty cans and plastic wrappers littered the plateau, signs that Tafari's men had stopped here on their way to the loggers.

Tarzan crouched beside the bodies, examining the wounds and making low grief-stricken grunts. The plateau felt abandoned and the stench of death lingered even in Jane's nostrils. Then she saw the burnt remains in the bonfire by the entrance to the aircraft. She gave a sharp intake of breath when she noticed a pair of severed gorilla hands and legs poking from the fire. Charred bones had been cast aside as the rebels had gorged on the bushmeat. Jane had heard that poachers considered it a delicacy, but she was staggered to believe people could bring themselves to eat gorillas' flesh. It was tantamount to cannibalism!

Violence flickered behind Tarzan's eyes as he gazed at the remains. Then he lifted his head to the sky and uttered a blood-curdling ululation while beating his chest. Jane stepped away when Tarzan began tearing at the ground, bounding on all fours, kicking the bonfire over, and pounding the hull of the aircraft. It reminded her of how Kerchak had behaved when she first arrived, but she had never seen Tarzan act with such rage.

Suddenly she became aware of movement in the mist. The gorillas were returning and Jane went tense with fear as Kerchak appeared at her side. He bore fresh scars, but looked as strong as ever. He glanced at Jane with distaste, but stood by her side and gave a low cough.

A dozen other gorillas timidly appeared, circling them. Jane heard the gallop of tiny feet and Karnath jumped into her arms, holding her tight. Jane was relieved that the young ape had avoided the rebels' senseless slaughter, and pressed the damp bundle of fur close to her cheek.

Tarzan stopped his display of grief and approached the group. They crowded around him, thankful to have one of their own safely back. Tarzan walked amongst them, touching their heads, checking who was missing.

He reached Kerchak and touched a gash on the gorilla's head. The great ape grunted in pain, but allowed Tarzan to examine him.

“Men did this,” Tarzan stated with venom.

Jane gently took Tarzan's hand. “The people who did this are the same ones who have my family captive.”

She doubted she could convince Tarzan how important it was to her that her family and friends were saved; after all, he still thought of them as his enemies.

Tarzan's eyes narrowed and Jane admonished herself for under­estimating him—it was clear he knew the difference.

“Tarzan will get revenge,” he snarled.

Jane smiled encouragingly. “Yes! You need to take me to a city so we can get help. They can get the army involved and we can—”

“Revenge at Tarzan's hands!” he barked.

Jane hesitated. She needed to keep him on her side and didn't relish arguing with him.

“Tarzan, you can't. If you run into Tafari's camp he will kill you. You can't fight bullets!” Tarzan turned away, his mind was set. Jane sighed and lowered Karnath to the floor. She took Tarzan's arm and tried to twist him around—she would have better luck moving the aircraft. Instead she blocked his path. “Tarzan, no! It's suicide! You will be killed. Do you understand? One man can't fight those rebels!”

Tarzan stared at her. That one glance conveyed his intelligence and cunning. The corner of his mouth twitched in a bitter smile.

“Tarzan not one man. And Tarzan fears nothing!”

Then he stood on the edge of the cliff and bellowed his challenge to the world.

•••

Clark couldn't identify the smell, but it was vaguely familiar. Archie recognized it immediately. It was the stench of death and decay. During his medical career he had been around enough corpses to recognize it in the room they had been locked in.

It was midday by the time they reached the rebels' camp and everybody's feet hurt from the exhausting forced march. Both Archie and Clark's backs were aching from carrying an unconscious Robbie between them.

Bapoto had been almost gleeful when he led his captives into the windowless hut at the edge of the rebel base. The tarnished iron door had swung noisily open; they were herded inside and shackled to the supporting wooden posts with thick, black chains. Bapoto had obviously done this many times before and each captive wondered about the fate of the previous prisoners. Unfortunately the signs were all around them in the dark stains on the walls.

Robbie only came around an hour after Bapoto had imprisoned them. The air was thick and humid and sweat clung to his brow.

“Where are we?”

Archie looked up from his position near a small crack in the wall, one of many ill-fitting panels that allowed shafts of light to seep in.

“In Tafari's hellhole.”

Clark was slumped in the corner, unconscious. Robbie nodded to him.

“Is Clark OK?”

“They hit him because he wasn't walking fast enough.” Archie re­directed his brooding gaze to the crack, then added as an afterthought, “How are you feeling?”

“Can't feel my foot.”

“I braced it best I could. Count yourself lucky that your fever's gone.”

Robbie tried to stand, but staggered as his foot gave way. He supported his weight on a post the second time and managed to stand. He hobbled over to Clark but was pulled short by the chain around his good leg.

“We've got to get out of here,” said Robbie firmly.

Esmée looked up. He hadn't noticed her curled against a post, nursing her head in her hands. “It won't happen, Robert. This is Tafari's death camp. People don't walk away.”

Robbie felt sick and looked around. Most of the loggers were slumped on the floor, a few asleep. Serge avoided eye contact. Mister David had taken a severe beating and looked vacantly into space.

“What do they want from us?” demanded Robbie.

“Tafari sees us as a threat,” Archie replied, savoring a sweet-scented waft of air that drifted in from the jungle. “He thinks we've been sabotaging his camp in a plot to overthrow him.”

“That's ridiculous! We haven't done anything! It was Tarzan.”

Archie glanced at Robbie and shook his head. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

“I'm not imagining it. It's true. Jane told me how he'd been trying to scare everybody from the jungle.”

“Tarzan?
Negoogunogumbar
?”

Even though he had saved Jane, Robbie felt anger toward the mysterious Tarzan. He was responsible for all this mess.

“He's real. I saw him.”

“You don't know what you saw,” said Archie dejectedly. “It was dark. Confusing.”

“I saw him! He saved Jane.”

“Jane's dead,” spat Archie, his hope extinguished. “They told me. I heard the shots. Jane's dead and soon, so are we.”

Archie peered out of the crack again. Robbie was furious. He looked around the room and noticed everybody wore the same expression: defeat.