The Greystoke Legacy (9 page)

Tiredness washed over her, and her eyelids felt leaden. She tried to combat the fatigue when Tana poked her head into the shelter, little Karnath clinging to her. Both were wet from the downpour and looked agitated as thunder rumbled again. They edged into the artificial cave and settled down at the foot of Jane's nest. Despite their presence, Jane could no longer stay awake and drifted back to sleep.

•••

It was dawn, and Robbie had barely slept. The storm had curtailed, but the rain continued. And he was wet through to his skin. He climbed from the tree, falling the last seven feet because his leg was still numb. He hadn't brought a change of clothes and wondered if it was possible to get hypothermia in the tropical climate. His neck itched from the numerous insect bites and it was a battle of will not to scratch them. He decided to leave breakfast until he had dried out, so grabbed his pack and continued following the river.

Hours passed as he hacked his way through the verdure and he began mumbling half-forgotten lyrics to spur him on. Just as he was starting to doubt that Jane could have possibly drifted this far downriver, the bushes cleared and he found himself on the banks of three converging tributaries that merged into one huge river that carved through the jungle.

“DAMMIT!” he screamed to whoever would listen. Several parrots cawed in reply.

Robbie slumped on the riverbank, feeling disheartened. He felt stupid. The wilderness was too vast to track Jane down singlehandedly. She was still out there, alone, possibly injured. Or worse. And so was he.

The unwelcome image of his sister barged into his mind's eye.
Lying in her bed; eyes closed, skin pale, her body horribly thin. She was dead. That's how he had found her. Dead . . .

Robbie's fingers clenched as he shook with rage and grief at the unwelcome memory. If only he'd reacted quicker. If only he'd spoken out. If only . . .

He wiped the tears away from his eyes, and suddenly noticed something on the opposite bank: a swatch of blue. It was such a strong color against the browns, yellows, and greens that it stood out as artificial.

It was enough to suddenly give him hope that Jane had indeed come this way. Any clues to which direction she had taken lay across the river. All Robbie had to do was get over there.

The muddy river waters flowed swiftly, some branches zipped by while others were caught in powerful eddies as the three rivers clashed together. Robbie was a strong swimmer and judged his options. If he swam from farther upstream he calculated he should be able to cross without the currents making him overshoot his intended landing area, but it was a gamble.

That's when he noticed the shapes in the water. What he had previously assumed were rocks suddenly submerged, only to reappear a minute later with the twitch of an ear.

“Hippos . . . great,” he said aloud. There were six of them, four adults and two babies, and they showed no intention of leaving the area they wallowed in.

He looked around for an alternative route. The arcing trees formed a leafy tunnel over the narrowest point of the river and the branches looked sturdy enough to support his weight.

Robbie secured his backpack and approached the foot of a tree. The gnarled bark provided plenty of handholds and his ascent was made easier by dozens of low-hanging branches. Ten feet up his hand cut through a column of ants. He quickly pulled his fingers away before the large-headed soldier ants could bite him. He traced the line of ants up to a large mass in the crook of the tree that appeared to move as if alive. Climbing a little higher, Robbie could see that it
was
alive. It was a bivouac three feet in diameter constructed from the bodies of a hundred thousand ants all clinging together. Army ants poured out of their living shelter with renewed vigor when they detected Robbie's scent and veered toward him.

Robbie quickened his pace toward the thick bough that bent over the river, but the ants were quicker and massed in their thousands. Robbie had expected them to make a terrifying scuttling noise, but their silence was more ominous. He could already see the massive heads and powerful pincers of the soldier ants as they got uncomfortably near. These ants had been known to kill humans, and Robbie couldn't think of a more painful death.

He scrambled farther up the tree as the first of the ants crawled onto his sleeve. He couldn't risk letting go of the branch to swat them. Instead, he gritted his teeth as the powerful jaws pinched through his jacket, and hauled himself into the crook of the branch. He brushed ants off his sleeve and pants, receiving nasty nips to his fingers. The swarm continued advancing, forcing Robbie to run across the branch, his arms windmilling to keep his balance. The ants relentlessly pursued as he ran over the river, the branch sagging from his weight with every step.

Robbie fought to catch his balance and resisted the terrible itching he felt all over his body. The ants followed along the limb, which was now sagging so much it threatened to drop him in the water where the hippos bathed.

From the ground, the branches of the tree on the opposite bank had appeared to mesh together to form a natural bridge. But now that he was closer he could see that it had been an illusion and the sturdy branches he needed to get to were a tantalizing seven feet away. He would have to jump. The bough behind him was seething with ants, so there was no going back.

Robbie took a deep breath and jumped.

He sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing until the thick branches whipped at his face. He blindly reached out for purchase, his arms ripping leaves and twigs. He felt his stomach lurch as he dropped—then suddenly stopped as his hand snagged a tough branch that supported his weight. His arm felt as though it would be ripped from its socket but he refused to let go. His legs dangled over the hippopotamuses that circled in the water as they watched the intruder above.

With a grunt of effort, Robbie heaved himself up onto the stout branch and wrapped his arms and legs around it for safety. He lay there and caught his breath. He'd done it! He examined the stinging welts on his fingers caused by the ants. They already looked swollen and he cursed himself for forgetting to bring any medical supplies with him.

Without any further drama, Robbie lowered himself to the ground and ran across to the blue fragment. It was a torn swatch of denim. A splattering of blood and the ragged tear suggested an animal had torn it off. A few feet away, Jane's phone lay in the mud. There was no doubt that she had passed this way and was injured. He took his pack off to put the phone somewhere dry, then turned and froze.

A baby hippopotamus had stepped onto the bank and was watching him curiously. Even the baby was the size of a large desk.

“Easy,” soothed Robbie in his calmest voice.

The noise startled the hippo, which mewed loudly, drawing the attention of its mother. The hippo surged from the water like a torpedo. Robbie was stunned by the size and speed of the beast. He sprinted as fast as he could in the opposite direction as the hippo plowed through vegetation in pursuit, its huge mouth hinged open revealing dagger-like teeth.

Robbie's lungs were bursting as he ran for his life, hurdling trailing tree roots and ducking sturdy branches—all of which splintered apart as the animal charged. He vaulted over a boulder, limbs pumping hard as he fled, before he became aware that the angry parent had given up the chase. Robbie dropped to his knees, exhausted. He cursed the jungle as loudly as he could, wondering what other dangers it could possibly throw at him.

He wouldn't have long to wait.

•••

Two hours before dawn the storm had abated enough for Mister David to declare the search party should move out.

Archie and Clark had slept in fits and starts but had not spoken a further word. They didn't need to, as they had been friends since university and had taken the rough with the smooth. Archie had helped Clark through many dubious legal situations he always found himself in when circumnavigating the globe, and Clark had been there when Archie's wife had left him, taking every penny he owned and destroying his life and career. Clark was driven by money and it was no surprise to Archie that he couldn't shake off the financial implications of closing the camp. Archie knew Clark wasn't putting Jane and Robbie in second place; it was just his abrasive manner made it seem that way.

Clark didn't trust any of the loggers enough to send them to the town for help in case they said the wrong thing—he had hoped to send Robbie or go himself. He had ordered nine men to guard the camp while six volunteers joined Mister David, Archie, and Clark in the search party, armed with hunting rifles. Archie slung his shoulder holster on, loading up his revolver, and Clark, discovering his handgun was missing, strapped a combat knife to his calf. They both knew you could never be too prepared in the wilderness. A raft, used when they floated the logs downstream, had been deflated and rolled into a pack, and Esmée had prepared enough provisions to last several days.

Their powerful flashlights easily found the trail that Robbie had hacked through the jungle and they followed it as swiftly as they could. Boots squelched through mud and branches cracked underfoot. They weren't worried about making noise, as it would hopefully scare off any predators waiting for them in the darkness.

•••

Jane tried to move her pillow, but it didn't budge. Her cheeks felt warm against the softness . . .

Her eyes flicked open and she took a moment to decide whether she should panic or not. She prodded the greasy fur she'd slept against and Tana moved aside. The gorilla didn't seem to mind and concentrated on chewing a piece of bark. Karnath was delicately grooming Jane's hair, occasionally finding something that it ate. Jane dreaded to think what insects may have crawled into her hair and thought it best not to worry about it.

She sat up and was surprised to see more fruits had been delivered. She was glad her host had got the message and not brought insects or raw flesh.

Jane stood, and found her leg looked much better, although the wound hurt more than the previous day. Perhaps Tarzan's healing had included some anesthetic that had worn off? She fought a dizzy spell and closed her eyes.

“I'm OK,” she assured herself. “I can do this.”

She took several steps unaided before she was forced to lean against the remains of a passenger seat. While she rested she noticed something poking from under the seat. Curious, she reached down and retrieved a faded blue helmet with large white letters: UN. She'd seen them before on the news, worn by United Nations peacekeeping soldiers. She replaced it and examined the rest of the aircraft.

From the dirt and rust, it was obvious that the plane had been in the jungle for many years. Her initial search found nothing of interest in the main cabin and the cockpit also lacked any clues. A moldy leather case stowed next to the pilot's seat bore the legend: GREYSTOKE. Was that a person? A company? The paper contents of the case had long since rotted. The windshield had shattered on impact and the glass lenses on the instruments were either missing­ or cracked. She was thankful the bodies of the pilots had been removed and she mused that it was possible that they had survived the crash and walked out.

Jane ventured outside, enjoying the fine rain on her face. The gorillas had already dispersed across the mountainside so she cautiously examined the outside of the plane. The tail number had all but faded and was illegible under moss and rust. The rear cargo hatch was partially open and the rusted hinges grated as Jane opened it further. She jumped as a large yellow tarantula scuttled out, but her curiosity overrode any fear she felt.

Inside the dark hold were three crates. One had split, its contents spread over the hold, but the others appeared to be still sealed. Jane could just see a suitcase beyond them. The spilt crate appeared to be old and contained rusted scientific equipment wrapped in moldy foam packing chips, all of which was spilled across the floor.

She felt somebody was watching her and spun around. Tarzan stood on a rock, eyeing her suspiciously, his eyes darting from her to the open cargo door, then back again.

“I was curious,” said Jane. “Um, interested to know more about you.”

Tarzan watched her intently, but offered no words.

“Did you see this plane crash? Where are you from?” The most obvious answer suddenly hit her, but it was too unbelievable to vocalize—
had he been on the plane when it crashed?
She'd previously assumed he had stumbled across the aircraft and it looked like this had crashed well over a decade ago. “Where did you learn English?”

“D'Arnot,” came the reply. Jane frowned. She hadn't heard of such a place, but it had got the mysterious man talking.

“D'Arnot. Never heard of it. Is it far?”

Tarzan shook his head. There was a look of sadness in his eyes, but it was so fleeting Jane didn't know if it was a trick of the light. She wondered if there was a radio at D'Arnot. She was grasping at straws but she had to get word to her father.

“Can you take me to D'Arnot?”

Tarzan looked at her long and hard, then finally nodded. Jane felt a tremor of excitement at the thought she might finally be reunited with her dad.

“Now?” she added when Tarzan made no move.

Tarzan crossed to a tree and motioned her over. Before she could reach him he scampered up the trunk in several bounds. He was quick and Jane couldn't see the route he had climbed.

“Hey? Where you going?”

Tarzan appeared through the upper branches.

“Come!”

“Up there? I thought we were going to D'Arnot?”

Tarzan jumped down—bouncing off two branches as he zigzagged to the lowest bough. He moved with swift assurance that astonished Jane. He reached for her hand.

“I'm not climbing any tree!” She folded her arms to emphasize her point.

Tarzan suddenly grabbed Jane's wrist and plucked her upward with immense strength. Jane shrieked as he pulled her onto the branch he stood on, then grabbed her around the waist like a ragdoll. Jane would have beaten his chest, but Tarzan had pinned both her arms by her sides.