Tracks of the Tiger (12 page)

Peter groaned. ‘Urk. That's the most disgusting thing I've seen
ever
.'

‘What, including the scorpions?' Beck asked mischievously. In the Sahara, they had eaten scorpions that looked pretty similar inside.

‘I reckon so,' Peter grunted.

Beck used his fingers and the blade to push the innards back in again so that each boy got about half. He wasn't particularly looking forward to this either. When you ate a grub or a termite, it was whole; you couldn't see the insides and could pretend they weren't there. But in this case the spider's innards were on display for all to see and they didn't look good.

He handed Peter his portion. ‘On the count of three,' he said. ‘One, two . . .'

They popped their spider halves into their mouths. It was pretty much as Beck had expected. Salty slime – as if he had just coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and it was crawling around inside his mouth. The spider's body was chewy and tasteless, and bits got between his teeth.

Peter had to gulp several times to get his half down, but he managed it in the end. They followed it with more grubs, and then finished off the water from the bamboo sections. It was a meal, but it wasn't a satisfying one.

‘Yum,' Peter croaked. ‘Full English brekka.'

Beck made himself smile, though at the words
full English brekka
he felt his stomach clench, as if tying itself in knots. That would be one treat he would definitely reward himself with if they got out of here.

Beck grabbed a couple of bananas and threw one at Peter. ‘This will get rid of the taste of tarantula!'

They ate their bananas reverently, enjoying their last moment of peace before the struggle began again.

Peter peered out into the trees. ‘I think the neighbours have all moved on,' he said.

‘Yup.' Beck followed his gaze. For a moment the memory hung in the air – that magic time when they were part of the orang-utan community. Then it was gone, replaced by the here and now. ‘And we should move on too.'

‘And, um, what about kitty?'

‘Ah. Yes.' Beck craned his neck to look down. This time he could see the ground clearly and there was no sign of a tiger. He suspected that a tiger wouldn't bother lying in wait. If there was one down there, with the scent of humans in its nostrils, it would be right at the bottom of the tree, waiting for them.

‘He's moved on too. Come on.'

Even the short distance to the ground made a difference to the temperature – as if someone had turned up the thermostat. The air was instantly warmer and more humid, like a wet blanket draped over them. Beck was pleased to see that Peter looked more awake, more alert and with it this morning. It was their third day in the jungle and he seemed to be getting used to the climate.

Back on the ground they could stretch and twist and pace about. The leaf bucket had done its job and they could refill their water bottles. A sudden rumbling noise made Beck glance at Peter. But it wasn't the weather, it was his friend's stomach. Peter wasn't the kind to moan, but Beck knew they needed more food. They could both do with a decent meal.

‘Let's go.'

Like the day before, they walked close to the river but not too close. The lesson of the crocodile was still fresh in their minds.

After a couple of hours the undergrowth became so dense that they were pushed away from the river. Beck kept going in the direction he judged the river had been flowing, heading downhill.

And then suddenly, without warning, the trees cleared and they stumbled straight into an opening in the jungle.

‘Cool!' Beck exclaimed in delight.

‘
Wow!
' Peter breathed.

The clearing was filled with a deep, wide pool of cool bright water. It was astonishingly blue, as if a child had drawn it and enthusiastically used up all the blue crayon. The sight was almost as refreshing as a plunge into the water itself.

‘It's an old volcanic crater,' Beck realized. ‘Don't worry – it's so old it's not going to blow.' He and Peter hurried down towards it. ‘It's the volcanic minerals that make the water that colour. They're fresh, they're full of fish and they're croc-free.' Beck started to undo his shirt excitedly. ‘This is going to be heaven!'

Peter held back. ‘How do you know it's croc-free?' he asked. ‘The one we saw was pretty well hidden.'

Beck gestured at the crystal-clear water. ‘You'd see one if it was hiding. The water's too clean. They prefer rivers, where the water's murkier. This isn't part of the river, it just fills up with rainwater. And look . . .' He pointed towards the other side of the pool. A couple of small gibbons were crouching by the edge, drinking the water from cupped hands. They had grey fur, their faces ringed with dark bands. The pair had noticed the two boys and were watching them suspiciously. But as long as there was a pool between them, they seemed happy.

‘I think they'd have noticed if there was a croc lurking. Or the croc would have noticed them.' Beck kicked off his shoes. ‘C'mon!' He ran forward in his shorts and dived in gracefully, hardly disturbing the water.

It was like plunging into cool, liquid silk. Water rushed and gurgled in his ears. It gently washed away the sweat and grime of the jungle and left his skin tingling. He felt the scab on his arm crack and dissolve beneath the bandage. Beck opened his eyes. The world was blue and hazy. The depths grew darker and he could see the outlines of submerged branches, crooked and twisted at the bottom. Sunlight was a rippling shimmer above. And then a much smaller streamlined shape flashed past his eyes and his thoughts latched onto a new thought. Fish!
Food!

There was a muffled explosion in his ears and a shape plunged past him in a cloud of bubbles. Beck came up to the surface and watched Peter streak across the pool like a small torpedo. His friend had overcome his worries about crocodiles: he was doing the crawl, the stroke that had helped him win swimming prizes back home. Arms and feet churned the water into white foam. The gibbons took one look and fled.

Beck swam around for five minutes before returning to the bank, where their clothes were lying in discarded piles. So, he thought, how to catch some fish? You needed bait, and you needed something to catch them with.

He mulled it over for a few seconds, and then his attention was caught by a brown bulge on a nearby tree. It was another termite nest. Well, that was the bait problem solved.

While Peter continued to cruise around the pool, Beck cut a couple of lengths of rattan vine, each one about a metre long. Then he picked up his trousers and threaded the vine through the belt loops. The vine was flexible but it didn't bend too much, and that kept it firm. The result was a loop that held the waist of his trousers open, as if they were being worn by an invisible man.

While Beck waited for Peter to rejoin him, he did the same for his friend's trousers. Then he tied the legs into knots.

‘Proper heaven!' Peter emerged from the pool dripping and grinning. ‘Whatcha doin'?'

‘We're gonna catch fish.' There were a couple of long, drooping branches that stuck out over the water. Beck pointed at the nearest one. ‘Think you can hang off that without falling in?'

He explained what they were going to do as he cut up some liana vine. This was more flexible than rattan and better for using as rope. He cut one length for himself and another for Peter. Then they each tied the ends of their pieces to the belt loops on either side of their trousers. Now they had effectively turned their trousers into cloth buckets, each with a handle.

Beck went back to the termite nest and plunged the knife in deep. Clumps of termites dropped straight out and swarmed over his fingers. He passed a handful to Peter and took another for himself.

The hardest part was crawling out on the branches over the pool. In one hand each boy held a handful of termites; in the other he held his trousers. It didn't free up much for holding on. Beck managed it by leaning forward, clutching the branch with his knees and elbows, and inching forward. Peter copied him, a bit more clumsily but managing to hold on.

They chose branches almost on opposite sides of the pool. If one of them scared the fish off, hopefully they would go straight to the other side.

When they were far enough out, they dropped their trousers into the water by the vine handles. At first the improvised buckets just floated on the surface, but eventually the waterlogged material grudgingly sank beneath the surface.

‘Now pull it up until it's just under the surface,' Beck called. ‘A few centimetres, no more. And give it some bait . . .'

He sprinkled a few termites onto the water above his sunken trousers. The little insects speckled the surface like confetti and wriggled about indignantly.

Wriggle away
, Beck thought.
Lots of nice movement. Let the fish know you're small and edible and not dangerous . . .

And now it was just a waiting game.

Neither boy spoke as they concentrated on the clear blue depths beneath them. Perched out on their long-limbed branches, there was no shelter from the sun. Beck felt himself slowly bake, and the sparkling water below him made him incredibly thirsty as well as hungry. But he had to be patient.

It wasn't hard to see the fish from up here. They looked streamlined and graceful as they emerged from the dark depths. The boys' splashing about would have driven them down, away from predators, but now they sensed that life in their pool was back to normal. And here were some nice tasty insects that had foolishly crash-landed on their water. But the fish were in no hurry. They weren't starving. They were as happy as their little fishy brains could be.

Beck shifted uncomfortably. The rough wood of the branch dug into places he didn't like anything digging into. The sun beat down on the pool and gently roasted the back of his neck. His arm ached and he wanted to re-bandage it. But there was food down there and they had to get it . . .

‘Ooh yeah!'

Peter sat up suddenly and hauled in on his trousers. Water drained noisily back into the pool. Even from a distance Beck could see the cloth shake as something inside thrashed about.

‘Go, Pete!' he called. ‘Well done!'

‘Uh . . . what do I do with them now?'

‘You need to . . .' Beck registered the exact words Peter had used. ‘
Them?
How many?'

‘Two. That's two for me, none for you!'

‘OK! Well, keep them there and get back to the bank.'

It took another ten minutes for a fish to take Beck's bait. His patience was wearing thin. Meanwhile Peter had left his two fish on the bank and gone back for a another go. Beck caught his one, and Peter caught his third, almost at the same time.

‘Two each!' Peter said when they met back on the bank, both grinning wide with triumph. ‘Almost as good as eating palm grubs!'

‘Yeah, when you don't have any insects to eat, sometimes you just have to make do with roast fish.'

Beck had eaten fish raw before, and it was a tempting thought this time too, as he wanted to get out of the jungle as quickly as possible. But apart from a few insects the night before, they hadn't had proper cooked food in over a day. They could do with the energy.

Peter got a fire going while Beck cleaned and gutted the fish. He held them securely, with finger and thumb in the gills – the only way to get a grip on their slithery bodies. Then he cut off their heads. Very gently he sliced all the way down their fronts, taking care not to puncture the guts. After that he could just stick a finger in and hook it round the insides. They seemed to squirm round his finger like worms, and came out like a load of slimy string all twisted together.

The boys roasted the fish over the fire. The rumblings in their stomachs were almost as loud as the snapping of the burning wood. While the fish cooked, they used the time to check Beck's arm and change the bandage again. The gash was still sore but it had clotted over. It didn't seem to be doing much healing beneath the clot, though. It only took the slightest knock to start the bleeding again. Beck knew the only way it was going to heal for good was if he let the arm rest for a few days. That wasn't going to happen until they were back in civilization.

Then they ate the fish. The flavours of the hot juices were the most delicious thing they could remember tasting. Ever. Beck knew it was a good sign when Peter burped.

They had dried off from their swim in the warm air. Now they dipped their hands and heads into the pool's blue waters again, and filled up their bottles. Beck swung his pack onto his back.

‘So, which way?' asked Peter.

‘Same as before. We follow the river towards the coast – but we don't get too close to the bank.'

Peter stood up and gazed around the clearing. ‘Uh, Beck . . . which way did we come from?'

Beck followed his gaze. The edge of the clearing was just jungle, all the way round. There wasn't an obvious path. There were no obvious landmarks. However, he'd made sure to take note of where they'd entered the clearing.

‘It's that way,' he told Peter, pointing.

They bade the pool a final reluctant farewell and pushed back into the jungle.

Within five minutes they heard the sound of running water again and were soon back on the river bank. The river had cut itself a little canyon in the floor of the jungle. The sides were three or four metres high, and the river tumbled over rocks and ledges. There wouldn't be any crocs down there, and even if there were, they wouldn't be able to leap up and get the boys. They exchanged pleased looks, and without saying anything they turned to follow the course of the river.