“Where are they?” I whisper.
“Don’t worry, they’ll soon find us,” says Gerrit.
Harrison pushes along the perimeter road. My foot drums uncontrollably on the broken floorboards. It is quickly muted by the beat of my heart pounding against my chest. Soon we are on the border of our tent camp, and it becomes very real just how close we are sleeping to these killer cats.
“How did the lions come to be at the reserve?” Melanie asks.
“They were being raised as trophy lions for sport hunting. Not fair really, when you think about it. Tourist pays thousands of dollars to ‘hunt’ a lion in an enclosed space; lion doesn’t stand a chance because he’s in an oversized trap. Tourist thinks he’s just conquered the most dangerous predatory cat in Africa, but he hasn’t hunted anything. He’s just killed an animal that was trapped in a box with nowhere to run anyway. Where’s the skill or sport in that?”
“Does that really still happen?”
“Yeah, lots of money in it for the greedy breeders. But these lions got lucky. We rescued them before they could be hunted. But they’ll never be normal lions because they’ve never hunted for themselves. They’ve always been fed by humans, humans wanting to fatten them up for the game.”
“So are they tame lions then?” Melanie’s tone is momentarily hopeful.
“On the contrary. These lions are more dangerous than lions in the wild because they don’t fear humans. In fact, they don’t fear anything. And what’s worse, is these lions associate humans with food because we feed them. Wild lions fear humans, and they’ll usually just run away if they smell us. But not these lions. These lions are killing machines. One time, we let them go on the reserve to see if their natural instincts would kick in and they would hunt for themselves. They hunted all right. They killed everything with a pulse—only not to eat, just for sport.”
Up ahead on the side of the hill I notice three massive objects that look like tombstones. “What are those?”
“Those are the lions,” Gerrit beams.
As soon as he says it the tombstones stand up, doubling in size. They are larger than I could have ever imagined a lion could be. I can see the massive cats’ bulging muscles even from this far away. Their presence is daunting.
“Have you ever seen a lion rip the spine out of a fleeing zebra?” Gerrit asks.
“Uh no, can’t say I have.” Thank God.
“Well that lioness right there did exactly that… with one claw, she swatted that zebra like a fly and pulled his spine clean out of him.” With a gleam in his eye, a satisfied smile smears across his face.
If she could do that to a zebra, what would she do to a human?
“Hold on!” Gerrit suddenly shouts.
Hold on to what? There is nothing to hold onto in this piece of crap except for Melanie, who is already holding on to me for dear life. Harrison takes off with a loud huuucckkkkkk as Gerrit jams it into third gear and plunges over the hill, sending Harrison into a downward dive bomb. Melanie and I hook our feet into the rusted out holes for fear of rolling out the handicap door.
At the bottom of the hill, Gerrit stops the truck abruptly and looks over his shoulder. I peer into the rear view mirror. Flying down the hill, at full speed, is a cloud of blonde fur, muscle, and fangs. Why the hell is he stopping? Oh my God, this is it. He really does hate women; he’s brought us here to feed us to the lions. We should have stayed in the damn tent camp. The cats are upon us, circling, panting, and glaring at the ignorant city women.
“My window won’t close,” Melanie breathes.
“Shhhhh, be quiet and don’t be afraid,” Gerrit whispers. “Predators can smell fear, it’s an aphrodisiac to them, makes them excited and want you even more.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, it’s true. All animals can smell weakness, even humans can, but wild animals have honed the skill because they rely on it for survival.”
There is a distinct tremor in Melanie’s voice. “How can I not be afraid when there is a lion looking at me, licking its lips?”
“Just stay calm, they think we have food. Once they see we don’t have anything in the back, they’ll back off.”
Aren’t we food?
There are three lions, one male and two lionesses. The male is almost as tall and long as Harrison, and his head nearly as wide as the cab.
“Don’t make eye contact either,” Gerrit whispers.
I quickly turn my eyes away to see Melanie who is now paler than Harrison’s white paint. She has one hand dug into my knee, the other on the door handle. Her knuckles are so white it looks like they are about to break through her skin.
The larger of the two lionesses, the reigning one, comes forward slowly, but with confidence. Her eyes narrow as she focuses on the back of the truck, coming closer and closer. When will she stop? I glance over at the half-open window, quickly calculating if she can fit one of her solid arms through— the answer is undeniable; hell yes, she can.
Melanie’s eyes are fixed straight ahead, she is too afraid to look. Mine are on the lioness. Her prowess is mesmerizing, I can’t pull away. She moves forward past the back of the truck and slithers up to Melanie’s window. She is only five feet away—one stride for a lion. Melanie’s hand tightens on my knee, and I try not to wince as her nails dig in. I look past the lioness, trying not to make eye contact, but her glare is magnetic. She examines the inside of the cab, sizing up each one of us, calculating the risk-benefit of smashing through the window.
“Please take me out of here. I beg of you, please,” Melanie whimpers.
I can feel her fear. She is petrified, more petrified than I have ever seen anyone. Gerrit is already turning over the engine, bypassing first gear he jams it straight into second, pounding the accelerator into the floor. Harrison hucccckkkks and chucks, but takes off without hesitation. The lioness follows, giving chase. She keeps up beside Melanie’s window for a good two minutes—or as Melanie would later describe, two hours.
We are both relieved when the first gate closes behind us on the way out of the lion camp. My knee, however, will take a little longer to recover from Melanie’s nails.
Harrison rolls up to the front door of the elephant stable and stops with a sigh. Inside, the ellies have returned for the night and will be eating.
“When we go in, don’t make eye contact with the ellies,” Gerrit orders. “And don’t try and touch them. Just observe,”
“Is it safe to go in there?” Melanie asks.
“Relatively safe. They’re behind concrete-reinforced wood pillars as thick as tree trunks, but that hasn’t stopped them before.” Gerrit lets out a sinister chuckle.
“I think I’ll wait outside,” says Melanie. The visit to the lion camp has left her shaken.
“It’s fine. They’re eating now so they won’t care if we’re there. Come in, Melanie.”
We cautiously enter the stable and stop just inside the door. Not ten feet in front of us are two massive prehistoric wrinkled giants. The light is dim, but I can see Kittibon looking at us through the pillars. The sound of snapping branches fills the air as they effortlessly break them with their powerful trunks. The stench is nearly unbearable; a mixture of urine, dung, and something unrecognizable—perhaps it’s just the stink of elephants.
“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuukkkkkkkkk hhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuukkkkkk”
Melanie grabs my arm as we both take a step backwards at the putrid noise. These elephants not only stink, they make repulsive sounds.
“Hhhhhhuuuuuuukkkkkkkk”
It is the disgusting long drawl of a hork; one that comes from deep within the throat, collecting strands of mucous along its way up.