Savage Lands (10 page)

Greystoke took the rope offered by the copilot and, with the porters' help, they dragged the aircraft closer to the bank and secured it on a log that had washed ashore.

Clark watched as the discussion between the pilots and Lord Greystoke grew heated.

“They don't wanna fly tonight,” he guessed, sharing his thoughts with Werper. But the Belgian wasn't listening. He was looking around for Idra, who had vanished into the jungle with a box of equipment. Greystoke stalked back to the others, gesturing helplessly.

“They say we can't fly until dawn!”

Clark didn't blame them. “If you don't know if there's any suitable landing place, then it would be suicide.” He could see Greystoke accepted the logic, but could tell he just didn't like it. “I, for one, feel safer with my feet on the ground at night.”

“If they get ahead …”

Clark held up his hand to try to calm Greystoke. “If they get ahead, so what? We can hop farther across the jungle in this, and it won't have to be much farther to stay ahead. Besides, I can't see them crossing this river at night, can you?”

Greystoke sighed then ordered the porters to set the tents up. They would be spending the night on the riverbank after all.

• • •

J
ane
didn't find the darkness of the jungle frightening. The constant hum of the insects and frogs that populated the night felt like a comforting blanket. They had stopped to make camp as the sun dipped behind the trees, casting deep shadows across the jungle.

Six pygmy scouts joined Orando at the fire, and Jane wondered how many remained unseen. They had hunted a small buck that they roasted over the fire, and soon everybody had eaten their fill and relaxed, warmed by the flames. During the hike, Jane had thought of yet more questions regarding the pygmies and Tarzan.

“How long have you known Tarzan?” she asked. The question had distracted her for most of the journey.

Orando smiled enigmatically. “
Munango-Keewati
fell from the sky and was raised by the Mangani. Our paths crossed when he was young. He has always been a friend of my people.”

Jane pictured the airplane crashing into the jungle and tried to imagine what it must have been like for the pygmies, who had never encountered civilization.

Robbie poked the fire with a stick, watching a flurry of embers dance into the night sky. He attempted the word, “
Munango-cutie
…”

“
Keewati
,” Orando corrected with a smile.

“
Keewati
,” repeated Robbie carefully. “The Jungle God. You mean like a spirit?”

“There are spirits and gods all around us,” said Orando simply. “Some we see, some we fear, and some guide us.”

“But that name,” persisted Robbie. “Is that a pygmy name?”

The question confused Orando. “It has always been handed from shaman to shaman, father to son. A name discovered by our ancestors.”

Robbie looked calculating. “Would they be from Opar?” Jane didn't like Robbie's line of questioning. She wondered just how much the stories of lost treasure were playing on his mind, but knew the subject had to come up at some point. “From the Savage Lands?”

Orando looked grim. “The Savage Lands are a place no man is meant to walk.”

“But that's where we're headed,” said Jane.

“Yes!” Orando nodded, then he smiled and looked at Jane. “But you are no man.”

Robbie laughed, absently batting away a mosquito. “That's right, you're a goddess.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Jane whispered back playfully.

Orando caught the light glimmering from the cuffs on Robbie's wrists. He leaned forward and examined them.

“You like them?” Robbie asked. “You can have them if you can get them off.”

“You are no god,” said Orando. “Just a man.” Robbie shrugged amiably; it was a statement rather than an insult. “But you walk with gods.”

“That's how I like to roll,” said Robbie with a smile.

Suddenly, a scout sprinted into clearing and spoke urgently. Orando intently listened to the scout. Then he turned to Jane. “They have found Greystoke's camp an hour from here.” He pointed into the darkness. “If we leave now, we can overtake them.”

C
lark found it almost impossible to sleep in the tent. The humidity had risen to unbearable levels and, when he flicked his camp lantern on, he saw the silhouette of hundreds of bugs clinging to his mosquito net.

He lay on his back and stared at the curved roof, wishing he could get some rest before the arduous trek tomorrow. After what seemed like an hour, his eyes began to flutter as he felt the welcoming wave of slumber smother him. He was just on the edge of consciousness when a piercing scream suddenly rang across the jungle. It was so high and constant he jolted upright, immediately awake. Through the fabric of the tent he could see a bright light burning. Then he heard raised voices—Greystoke and Werper shouting. He scrambled for the tent zip and, with some difficulty, clambered out.

Powerful floodlights illuminated the trees and what Clark had thought was a scream was an electronic alarm. Its warble abruptly cut off. Greystoke and Werper stared into the trees, while the Mbuti porters kept a safe distance away, unsure what was happening. The pilots hung close to the floatplane in which they were sleeping; the copilot had a pistol drawn.

“What's goin' on?” said Clark in a hushed voice as he drew level to Greystoke.

Greystoke kept his gaze on the trees as he spoke. “Something tripped Idra's security.”

That answered Clark's question about what was in the case she had hauled into the jungle. Remembering Greystoke's reaction to the pygmies, Clark assumed he was probably frightened for his own life more than the lives of his expedition members.

Clark saw movement. He had to shield his eyes against the floodlights, which had now attracted a tornado of insects. Figures emerged from the light, but he couldn't make out any detail until they had cleared the trees—and he was shocked to see Jane and Robbie with their hands on their heads. Idra walked behind, prompting them forward with the barrel of her hunting rifle.

“Look what I caught snooping around,” she said.

Clark was alarmed, but refrained from making any comment. He was thankful Archie had been sent back to the logging camp. Too much was riding on his deal with Greystoke and he was relying on the Englishman for more than he cared to admit. At least Robbie and Jane didn't appear to be hurt.

Greystoke marched over, openly angry. “Do you know what damage you have caused?” He slapped Jane hard across the face, leaving a nasty red mark. Robbie moved to intercept, but was restrained as Idra jammed the barrel of her rifle into his ribs.

Clark clenched his fingers, ready to strike the man, but he held back. He could get his revenge on Greystoke after the Englishman paid up.

“You could have killed people with the stunt you pulled to free this … this criminal!” spittle flew from Greystoke's lips. Jane stared at him coolly. He raised his hand to strike her again.

Clark couldn't stand by and do nothing. “William … easy.”

He saw Greystoke's hand tremble, but he lowered it as Clark's warning sank in. He turned to Robbie, treating him to a cold sneer.

“I shouldn't expect anything else from a reprobate like you.” He looked between Jane and Robbie. “I'll have you both shipped back to where you belong.” Then he looked quizzical. “You made it all the way here on your own?” He clearly didn't believe that. He turned to Idra and walked a few paces back, talking quietly. Idra's gun never moved from her captives. Clark wasn't sure she would shoot Robbie or Jane, but could tell from the look on Robbie's face that
he
believed she would.

Clark limped closer to them and delicately ran a finger down the red welt on Jane's cheek. She flinched but didn't make a sound.

“You really know how to get into trouble, don't ya? You definitely get that from your mum.” That forced a small smile from Jane. Clark lowered his voice; he had known Jane all her life and, without Archie around, felt he had some vague parenting to do. “You OK?” she nodded. Clark motioned into the jungle. “What happened out there?”

“Oh the usual,” said Jane with a sigh. “Destroyed a mining camp, escaped with a native tribe, explored the jungle …”

Robbie spoke up. “We had a few friends help us out. We activated the tripwires and the next thing I know they've melted into the jungle and she's pointing a gun at us,” he said, nodding his head toward Idra.

Clark made sure he wasn't overheard as he spoke to Jane. “I don't expect you to understand.” He turned to Robbie. “But
you
, I do. We got a lot ridin' on this, don't ya see? I don't like his lordship any more than you do, but I can put up with him until all this is over.”

“You're all heart,” said Jane sarcastically.

Clark's eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I'm not gonna see Robbie carted back to the States for some kangaroo court to judge him.”

Robbie was surprised. “So you believe I'm innocent?”

Clark nodded. “I bet your stepdad had it comin' to 'im.” He flicked a glance at Greystoke. “And I don't think he's got it in 'im to do anythin' about Tarzan. He just wants to see the title stays with 'im. All I ask is you both keep your heads down.”

“That's enough, Clark,” said Greystoke returning to them. “We'll tie them up for the night, then the pilots can take them back to camp in the morning.”

“You're gonna tie us up … Out here?” asked Robbie incredulously. “Do you know what's in these woods?”

“Would you prefer to sleep in the airplane?” said Greystoke caustically. “Just be thankful Idra showed enough restraint not to blow your silly little heads off.” Robbie glanced across to see Idra who winked mischievously at him then crouched down to a small device housed in a flight case tucked in a knot of plants; it was the tripwire control system.

Robbie lowered his hands. But a warning from the copilot now standing directly behind him, jabbing the barrel of a pistol into his ribs, made him change his mind.

“I don't have Idra's restraint,” the copilot growled. He grabbed both of Robbie's wrists and pulled them behind Robbie's back.

“Over there,” Lord Greystoke prompted, pointing toward a curved tree close to the water's edge.

“You won't get what you want from Opar,” taunted Jane.

Greystoke's patience was wearing thin. “Perhaps I should gag you too? I think that may be an improvement for us all.”

Jane goaded him. “You're real tough. Following in rich daddy's footsteps? He hired Rokoff to kill D'Arnot so he couldn't spread the word about Tarzan and let the world find out your family is a bunch of frauds.” Greystoke tensed. “Afraid of losing your privileges? Because when I get out of here, I'm gonna make sure the world knows what kind of creep you really are.”

With a fierce backhand, Greystoke struck her hard across the cheek again—just as Idra reset the perimeter defenses and the lights extinguished, leaving an orange afterglow in everybody's eyes.

Then, a mighty roar bellowed across the river. It was no wild beast, but it was barely human. It was a terrifying sound, so filled with rage and anguish that it chilled the blood of the entire group.

Clark rubbed his eyes, attempting to get his night vision back. But he could see nothing other than Robbie, Jane, and Greystoke directly in front of him.

For a moment, nothing stirred. Then came a whispering swish. Clark heard a gasp from the copilot who was restraining Robbie. The captor fell to the ground.

Greystoke fumbled for the flashlight attached to his belt. With shaking fingers he switched it on, the beam illuminating the copilot who was now writhing on the ground, an arrow through his shoulder and blood pooling into the dry mud. Greystoke whimpered with fright.

“The lights! Get the lights on!”

Idra was already lunging for the light controls. She activated them. The powerful floodlights shone directly in their faces, temporarily blinding them all. Some unseen hand had spun all the lights around. Blinded, Idra dropped the controls, which rolled into the grass around her feet.

Werper staggered, unseeing, and dropped to his knees. Clark covered his eyes with his arm to avoid being blinded. Greystoke grunted and reached out for Robbie and Jane as they both attempted to run. Robbie was out of his reach, but Greystoke's hand snagged Jane's shoulder and pulled her back. He slid his arm around her neck, tightly holding her like a human shield.

The Mbuti porters were shrieking in panic as something huge leaped into their midst. Clark saw one pygmy hurled aside like a ragdoll, quickly followed by a heavy packing case. Was a gorilla attacking them? The remaining five porters fled in different directions.

Idra swung her rifle from over her shoulder and shot toward their attacker. It was useless, so she turned the gun on the lights. Four perfect shots and the lights exploded in a shower of sparks.

Clark was still dazzled, but his vision slowly returned as darkness fell once again. He could just discern a menacing shadow stalking toward the group.

Still with one arm around Jane, Greystoke's free trembling hand found where the copilot's pistol had dropped. He raised it, pressing the barrel against Jane's neck.

“Don't come any closer!” His quivering voice betrayed his fear.

The figure paused—and was illuminated in a high-beam flashlight shone by the pilot.

It was Tarzan, standing just feet away. The ape-man's eyes burned with utter malice and a lion-like growl thundered from his barrel chest.

Seeing Tarzan and Greystoke together, Clark was shocked by the resemblance between the cousins. It was purely cosmetic—the same jaw, nose, piercing eyes. But where Tarzan's physique was the pinnacle of perfection, Lord Greystoke was a reed of a man—somebody who had lived in lavish comfort all his life.

“J—John?” Greystoke stammered. “My God, it really is you …” Tarzan took a step forward, causing Greystoke to shove the pistol so hard against Jane's neck that she whimpered. “St—stop. It doesn't have to be this way,” he stammered.

Idra opened fire. A rifle shot blasted out, the bullet nicking Tarzan's arm. She had aimed wide, but wouldn't miss a second time.

There would be no second time.

Like a cat, Tarzan sprang away, out of the flashlight beam. The pilot had no hope of catching him with the light as he zigzagged toward Idra.

Greystoke didn't wait to see what would happen next. He dragged Jane toward the floatplane.

“Start the engines!” he yelled. “Start the damn engines!”

Clark hesitated to follow Greystoke as he watched Idra's fate. His night vision had returned just enough to see her fire another shot. Then Tarzan pounced, and the two figures rolled back into the night. He heard Tarzan bellow and Idra scream. But the sound was drowned out as the aircraft's twin propellers kicked into action.

Greystoke was bundling a struggling Jane aboard the aircraft before climbing in himself. Somebody had untied the anchor rope from the tree so the plane drifted out into the river as the engines revved. With the choice of escaping on the plane or being left to face the wrath of Tarzan, Clark quickly hobbled toward the craft, but his injured leg hampered his every step.

“Jane! No!” yelled Robbie as he sprinted toward the plane. He was much faster than Clark could have hoped to be. He splashed through the water, leaping onto the plane's pontoon as Greystoke tried to close the door.

“Get off!” Greystoke yelled, trying to boot Robbie into the water. Robbie sidestepped and pushed his body weight forward, butting Greystoke in the chest. They fell into the aircraft as the pilot angled away from the bank and spun the plane around, ready for take-off. The landing lights did little to illuminate the darkness ahead.

Clark splashed through the water, only venturing up to his knees. “WAIT!” he yelled, waving his arms. “COME BACK!”

Werper stood on the bank behind, waving a flashlight for attention. “WHERE'RE YOU GOING?” he demanded.

If the pilot or Greystoke could hear the protests, they made no response. The engines rose to full power and the aircraft began to move across the water. Clark suddenly became aware of movement behind him and spun around to see Tarzan illuminated in Werper's flashlight. The archeologist gave a strangled whimper as he stared death in the face. Clark limped to intervene.

“No, Tarzan! Mate, it's me, Clark!”

With a flicker of recognition, Tarzan hesitated. Then, without a word, he sprinted along the riverbank, on course for the aircraft.