They had been walking for some twenty minutes when Garry stopped and checked the compass.
“This track’s beginning to curve to the west,” he said as the other two came up. “We’ll have to leave it and cut through the jungle.”
They looked at the high tangled grass and the thorny shrubs and the trees.
“That’s going to slow us up like hell,” Fennel complained.
“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.