"Can't be helped. We've got to go south and that's the way to the south."
"I don't want to scare you," Ken said quietly, "but this is snake country. Keep your eyes skinned."
Gaye clutched hold of Garry's arm.
"Don't worry," he said, forcing a grin. "I'll look after you. Let's go."
They began to toil through the thick matted grass, zig zagging around the trees, aware of the chattering monkeys overhead.
Garry kept checking the compass. While Kahlenberg had been talking, Garry had been studying the wall map. He had realized that the river could be their salvation for he remembered as he flew over the estate, seeing the river in the distance and also seeing a small town to the south of it. The river was now vitally important to them as they had no water with them.
But he was also aware that since entering the jungle, their pace had slackened and he felt pretty sure the Zulus would have much less difficulty in covering this kind of ground than they were having.
After some three kilometres, they came out on to another jungle track which headed due south.
"How are you making out?" Garry asked, as he quickened his pace, catching hold of Gaye's hand and pulling her along with him.
"I'm all right, but I wish we knew how far we have to go."
"I don't think it's too far . . . around twenty kilometres before we get off the estate. I studied that wall map. This is the nearest exit to Kahlenberg's boundary."
Plodding along behind, Fennel was being handicapped by the weight of his tool bag.
"I'll carry it for a bit," Ken said, seeing Fennel was tiring. Fennel stopped and regarded the bag angrily.
"No, you won't! I've had enough of this bloody thing. We'll never get anywhere if we go on carrying it. So okay, it cost me money, but if we get out of here I can buy a new kit. If we don't get out, then I won't need one. To hell with it." He heaved the tool bag far into the jungle.
"I would have carried it," Ken said.
Fennel grinned crookedly at him.
"I know and thanks. I'm glad to be rid of it."
They stepped out and soon caught up with the other two. Then suddenly the track petered out into a large puddle of oozing mud.
"This is where the swamp starts," Ken said. "With the rain we've had, it could be bad."
They left the track and moved into the jungle. The ground felt soft under their feet, but they pushed on. Later, the ground began to squelch under their weight and the going became harder.
By now the sun was up and they could feel the steamy heat. Garry kept checking the compass. When the ground got too sodden, they had to find a way around it and then get back on the compass bearing. The smell of rotting humus, the steamy heat that steadily increased as the sun climbed above the trees, the slippery boggy ground made progress slow and unpleasant.
They kept moving, their eyes searching the ground for snakes.
Ken said suddenly, "They're on their way."
Garry looked at his watch. The time was exactly 07.00 hrs. They all increased their pace with a feeling of slight panic, but the increase didn't last long: the going was too hard.
Ken said suddenly, "I can smell water. The river's not far off."
Ten minutes later, they came out of the shade of the trees to a broad, slippery bank leading down to a brownish stream, not more than twenty metres wide.
"That's our direction if we can get across," Garry said. "Think it's deep?"
"Could be." Ken joined him and surveyed the water. "It's no distance . . . just the curse of getting wet in that foul water. I'll see." He took off his shoes and shirt, padded across the oozing mud and grabbing hold of a branch of a tree, he lowered himself into the stagnant water while he groped to find bottom with his foot.
"It's deep. We'll have to swim." He let himself go, then started across the stream to the other side of the bank with a strong, overarm stroke.
It happened so quickly none of the other three watching him believed what they were seeing. There was a sudden rush from the thick jungle grass on the opposite bank. Something that looked like a green and brown tree trunk flashed into the water near Ken. An evil looking scaly snout revealed itself for a brief moment. Ken screamed and threw up his arms.
Then he and the crocodile vanished under the water which became agitated and rapidly turned into a foaming vortex of stinking brown water, horribly tinged with red.
Chapter Nine
At midday it rained. For the past two hours, swollen, black clouds had slowly built up, darkening the sky and blotting out the burning sun. The heat, by the placidly flowing stream, had become more and more oppressive. Then abruptly the rain came as if the sky had opened, releasing a deluge of warm water that soaked the three to the skin in seconds. So heavy was the rain, they were blinded by the water smashing down on them and were enveloped in steaming mist.
Catching hold of Gaye's hand, Garry ran into the jungle and paused under the cover of a vast baobab tree, its thick foliage offering a leaky shelter.
Cursing and muttering, Fennel joined them. They squatted down, their backs against the tree and stared at the now raging river in silence.
None of them had spoken for four hours. The shock of Ken's horrible end had reduced them to a numbed silence. Although they hadn't known him for long, they had all liked him for there had been nothing to dislike about him. What shocked them more than anything was the swiftness and the way of his going.
Gaye was sure that the terrible scene was now indelibly printed on her mind. Ken's terrified expression, his wild scream as the crocodile's teeth had crunched down on his leg and the brief sight of the evil, scaly snout were the ingredients of future nightmares.
Garry too had been violently shocked, but he was mentally much more resilient than either Gaye or Fennel. When he had seen Ken disappear and had seen the blood on the foaming water, he knew there was nothing he could do to help him. His duty to the others and himself was to keep moving, for he knew they dare not waste a moment, ever aware of Kahlenberg's threat that if caught, they would be impaled, and he had enough imagination to know such a death would be far more horrible than Ken's death. So catching hold of Gaye's hand, ignoring her hysterical sobbing, he dragged her away from the scene and back into the jungle. He kept moving until finally she steadied herself, stopped sobbing and continued with him, walking like a zombie.
Perhaps of the three of them, Fennel was the most affected. He had come to admire Ken. The episode with the Land Rover on the narrow track had enormously impressed him. He knew he hadn't the guts to have done such a thing. Ken's coolness when he was dangling at the end of the cable had completely wiped out Fennel's hostility. Ken's death now left him viciously angry, and in a brooding, homicidal state of mind. Why hadn't this sonofabitch Edwards gone into the stream first? He and his whore weren't worth a tenth of what Ken had been worth. He looked at them out of the corners of his small glittering eyes. Garry had his arm around Gaye and Fennel felt a hot, furious rush of blood to his head. Well, I'll fix them, he thought. No one shoves me around as that bitch did without paying for it.
Garry was speaking quietly to Gaye.
"This rain's lucky. It'll wash out our tracks. This was the one thing I was praying for. They can't track us after this storm."
Gaye clutched his hand. She was still too shocked to speak.
After some ten minutes, the rain began to slacken.
"We must get on," Garry said, getting to his feet. We've got to cross the river." He turned to Fennel. "Think we could build a raft?"
"I've thrown my goddamn tool kit away," Fennel told him, "How the hell can we build a raft without tools?"
Garry walked to the edge of the river. The opposite bank was thick with high grass and shrubs. Were more crocodiles lurking on the bank, hidden from sight, waiting for them? After what had happened to Ken, he decided the risk was too great to attempt a crossing. He decided to push on down the river in the hope that they would come to a clearing where crocodiles couldn't conceal themselves.
"Before we go further, let's eat," he said, and opening Ken's rucksack, he produced a can of stewed beef. "We'll split this between the three of us."
"I'm not hungry . . . I don't want any," Gaye said listlessly.
"You've got to eat!" Garry said sharply. Now, come on."
"No . . . leave me alone."
Garry looked closely at her. Her white drawn face, her eyes that had become sunken, began to worry him.
"Are you all right?"
"I have a headache. The thought of food makes me feel ill . . . just leave me alone."
Was it shock? he asked himself. Or was she ill? He flinched at the thought. To fall sick now would be a disaster.
The meal finished, the two men got to their feet. Garry went over to Gaye and touched her lightly on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, and again he felt a pang of alarm at the heavy, dull look in her eyes. She dragged herself to her feet.
"You're not ill, Gaye?" he asked.
"No."
"Come on!" Fennel barked. "I want to get going if you don't!"
Garry walked by Gaye's side. She moved listlessly and had lost the spring in her step. He took her arm.
"Don't fuss!" She tried to pull away. "I'm all right. It's just this awful headache."
He kept hold of her and walked on, but they weren't making the speed they had made earlier on.
"Keep moving for God's sake!" Fennel barked suddenly. "What the hell are you two loitering for?"
Gaye made an effort and quickened her pace. They kept on, but after a couple of kilometres, she again began to lag and Garry found he had to force her on. He was seriously worried now. She seemed to be walking in her sleep, dragging one foot after the other.
"You're feeling rotten, aren't you?" he said at last. "What is it?"
"My head feels as if it is going to burst . . . I suppose it's the sun."
"Let's rest for a moment."
"No . . . I'll manage. Just don't fuss."
Another three kilometres brought them to a place Garry was hoping to find. The jungle fell away, either side of the river mud flats with no cover spread out before them.
"This is where we cross," Garry said. He eyed the swift moving river. "Do you think you can manage, Gaye?"
"Yes, if you keep near me."
Fennel came to the edge of the bank and surveyed the water suspiciously.
"Are you going first?" he asked Garry.
"Don't get excited . . . it's safe enough and it's not far across," Garry said curtly. He led Gaye to some shade. "Sit down. I want to find a branch of a tree to get our stuff over dry."
She sank down as Garry went off into the jungle.
Fennel eyed her, thinking all the glamour had gone out of her now.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded, standing over her.
She put her head in her hands.
"Leave me alone."
"Are you sick?"
"I have a headache . . . leave me alone."
The sunlight reflected on the diamonds of the Borgia ring, making them sparkle. Fennel eyed the ring.
"You better give me the ring to carry. I don't want it lost. Come on, give it to me!"
"No!"
Garry came out of the jungle dragging a long branch covered with foliage behind him.
Muttering under his breath, Fennel moved away from Gaye.
It took Garry very few minutes to tie the rucksacks and their shoes to the branch.
"Let's go," he said to Gaye. "Hang on to the branch. I'll push it over."
Uneasily, Fennel watched them enter the water. He looked up and down the opposite bank, expecting to see a crocodile appear, but saw nothing. They were across in a few minutes, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Gaye had collapsed on the mud bank and lay face down. He entered the water and swam fast and in panic to the other side.
Garry had turned Gaye and was kneeling over her, looking anxiously down at her white face. She seemed unconscious. Water streaming from him, Fennel came up.
"What's the matter?" he demanded roughly.
"She's ill." Garry picked up the unconscious girl and carried her across the mud flat into the shade of a tree. He laid her down on a carpet of rotting leaves. "Get the rucksacks and the shoes," he went on.
Fennel did as he was told, put on his shoes and came back to where Garry was anxiously watching Gaye.
"I guess she's picked up some bug," Fennel said indifferently. "Well come on, Edwards, let's go. Those black bastards may be right behind us."
"Look around and see if you can find two straight branches. We could make a stretcher with our shirts."
Fennel stared at him.
"You out of your head? Do you imagine I'm going to help carry that bitch through this goddamn jungle and in this heat when those blacks are racing after us? You carry her if you want to, but I'm not."
Garry looked up at him, his face hardening.
"Are you saying we should leave her here?"
"Why not? What's she to us? You're wasting time. Leave her and get going."
Garry stood up.
"You go. I'm staying with her. Go on . . . get out!"
Fennel licked his lips as he stared at Garry.
"I want the compass and the ring," he said softly.
"You get neither! Get out!"
For a man of his bulk, Fennel could move very quickly. His fist flashed out as he jumped forward, but Garry was expecting just this move. He ducked under the fist and hooked Fennel to the jaw: a crushing punch that flattened Fennel.
"I said get out!" Garry snapped.
Fennel had landed on his back, his arms flung wide. His groping fingers closed on a rock, half-hidden in the grass. He gripped it and with a violent movement, hurled it at Garry. The rock smashed against the side of Garry's head and he went down as if he had been pole-axed.
His jaw throbbing, Fennel struggled to his feet. He approached Garry cautiously and bent over him. Satisfied that Garry was unconscious, Fennel slipped his fingers into Garry's shirt pocket and found the compass. He crossed over to where Gaye was lying. Catching hold of her right wrist, he pulled the Borgia ring off her thumb. As he did so, she opened her eyes and seeing his face close to hers, she struck at him with her left hand.
