“What?” she asked, turning to Clare. Her eyes were open and she lifted a finger. Faye looked toward where she pointed and saw the red crown of a bird rocking against an old tree that had collapsed and fallen against another. The compact bird, with its olive-coloured back marked with dots and paler bands and its white and black underparts, was pecking at the rotting bark. A bird. Not a plane. Faye sighed. She had to stay calm.

“No pigs today,” murmured Clare, “just a pecker.”

Faye laughed softly. Where there was wit, there was life.

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Awake well before dawn, Geoffrey sat on the boulder he’d sheltered alongside overnight and watched the light caress the mountains in the distance until, gradually drawing closer, it swathed everything before it in soothing lavender.

A movement on a ledge below caught his eye and he watched as a genet slipped between the rocks and sprung onto a branch, his furry, striped tail almost as long as his body. Silhouetted against the pastel sky, the animal crouched for a moment, cat-like with his head low and ears curved forward. His pounce was quick and light, and when he lifted his head, the genet revealed the full measure of his agility; he had a mouse in his mouth. Geoffrey wanted to applaud.

Once he could make out the veld behind him, he stood and slung his bag on his back. Waist-high swards of grass and fynbos lay between him and the track, and by the time his boots met the roadway, which was no more than two narrow tracks in the veld, it was afternoon. The clear route meant he could walk faster and was able to examine the sandy sections for tyre tracks. There were no tracks to indicate a vehicle had passed by recently. It would, thought Geoffrey, be a good sign if it meant the rangers were still on their way; he hadn’t missed them. But if it was because the rivers were still too high for the rangers to easily move around, it would be unfortunate. Which was it, he wondered?

The answer came quickly as he saw a Land Cruiser navigating the bumpy track towards him. Geoffrey whooped and began running. The car stopped and the passenger doors opened. Bruce stepped out, followed by Diane. The driver was slower to exit.

“Hey!” said Bruce, smiling. “You grew impatient and came looking for us?”

Diane was more perceptive. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is it Derek?”

The driver, a tall young man in the ranger uniform of olive green shirt and pants, shiny boots and cap with the national park’s logo embroidered on it, held back, raising his hand in a cautious wave when Geoffrey caught his eye.

“It’s Clare. She fell. Faye thinks she might have perforated a lung. She’s not doing well.”

“Oh, my God,” said Diane.

The young man came forward, his dark eyes concerned. “Where is she?”