The eyes, light brown and close-set, that met hers were not Clare’s. A large baboon sat in the middle of the table, knees splayed and genitals exhibited. He’d ripped a corner off the muesli box and was pouring the contents down his throat. Behind him, a marginally smaller baboon had the plastic top of the milk carton in his mouth and was peering into the box. Several other members of the troop were sniffing and tugging at the containers on the floor. The smallest among them sat alongside Michelle’s fancy cooler box. Turning her head to the side, the monkey ran her tongue across the lid.

Faye froze. She might’ve been unsure about the intentions of the wild pigs the previous day, but the baboons’ ambitions were clear; they wanted food. She also knew how vicious these animals could become if they felt cornered. She felt a spatter of frustration. What had she been thinking by leaving the food out? The information in the trail guide was unambiguous:

“Do not feed animals or leave food accessible to them. Animals that are fed can become reliant on humans, lose their natural instinct to find food and even become aggressive. Food left for collection at cabins and any waste should be secured so that animals cannot get to it by any means.”

The bins at the cabin had animal-proof lids and the containers the hikers had brought were secure, but Faye had left the cardboard cartons containing the muesli and milk on the table. She’d lured the animals into the lapa.

As if sensing her reproach, the large male stopped guzzling the cereal and, box clutched to his chest, stared at her, his furry brow low across his eyes. Faye swallowed. What was he thinking? What was his plan? Should she turn and run? Drop her eyes and slowly walk backwards down the stairs?

Before she settled on a decision, the baboon opened his cavernous mouth to display two pairs, bottom and top, of terrifyingly long, yellow fangs and emitted a deafening bark-roar, which seemed to come from the pit of his belly and, with the lapa as echo chamber behind, reverberated across the valley.

Faye thought her knees would buckle as the baboon, with Derek’s box of muesli still firmly in his hand, leapt neatly off the table. Followed closely by the others, he loped to the far corner of the shelter, hopped down the stairs and cantered across the lawn. As the troop, the little cooler box-licker trailing at the back, vanished into the trees, Faye sat down, breathing heavily.