James Chase: Vulture Is a Patient Bird

“If anyone’s going to wear it, it’ll be me,” Fennel said, putting down his drink.

“She’s wearing it,” Garry said quietly. “I trust her, but I can’t say I trust you.”

Fennel glared at him, but Garry’s steady stare made him hesitate. Finally, he sat down with bad grace and picking up his glass, he drained it. Okay, you sonofabith, he thought. I’ll fix you,

when I fix her.

Gaye took the ring out of the box.

“The diamonds are lovely, but the ring isn’t very beautiful, is it?” She tried the ring on the third finger of her right hand, but found it much too loose. “Of course, I was forgetting… it’s a man’s ring.” She slid it on her thumb. “This is all right. It’s a little awkward, but it won’t come off.”

Garry looked at his watch. The time was 02.00 hrs.

“Go and lie down, Gaye. I’m going to my room. We want all the rest we can get. We don’t know when we’ll get our next sleep.”

He watched her go to her room, then he went to his, ignoring Fennel.

Fennel stretched out on the settee. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. All his desire and frustration came back to him as he thought of Gaye.

If he had to follow her back to England, he told himself, he would get even with her. He had hoped to have found a chance of fixing her on the way back to Mainville, but they would have to keep moving if they were to shake off the Zulus. Fennel shifted uneasily. The thought of being hunted by a pack of Zulus dried his mouth.

A little before 04.00 hrs., Gaye was awakened by the sound of the beating of a drum. She sat up, swung her feet to the floor and listened.

Not far away, she could hear the rhythmic sound of the drum like a pulse beat. She looked hastily at her watch and saw it was two minutes to the hour. She snatched up her rucksack and went into the lounge.

Garry and Fennel were standing by the terrace doors.

A giant Zulu came across the terrace and beckoned to them. He was a magnificent specimen of a man in his leopard skin and ostrich plumes.

“Here we go,” Garry said and opened the terrace doors.

The drum beat now was very loud. A row of some thirty Zulus made a wall of glistening black bodies, covered with leopard skins. The ostrich plume head-dresses bobbed as they shuffled and stamped to the drum beat. They carried long narrow shields of buffalo hide and held in their left hands six throwing spears as they bent, straightened, shuffled and stamped. They made a frightening, awe-inspiring sight.

The lone Zulu made a savage gesture, jerking his assigai first at the three and then towards the distant jungle.

The two men slung their rucksacks on their shoulders and with Gaye between them, moved out on to the terrace.

At the sight of them the dancing men uttered a loud, savage growl that set Gaye’s heart racing. The drum beat increased.

They walked quickly across the lawn, looking ahead and not at the Zulus. Gaye had to control herself not to run. They kept on, and in a few minutes, they were in the jungle.

“Nice looking lot,” Garry said. “They are the boys who are coming after us. Where’s Ken?”

Fennel pointed.

“See that balancing rock up there? That’s where he is.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and bawled, “Ken! Come on down, pronto!” Then taking out his flashlight, he turned it on and began waving it. A light signalled back from the rock and they heard Ken shout, “I’m coming. Keep your light on.”

Five minutes later, he joined them.

“Did you get it? I thought you were going to the airfield.”

“We got it!” Fennel said. “We’ve got to get to Themba fast. The chopper’s out. Come on, I’ll tell you as we go.”

Ken peered at him.

“Trouble?”

“I’ll say… get going!”

Ken started off with Fennel, talking, by his side. Garry and Gaye kept together.

When Ken understood the situation, he increased his pace.

“You really think they’re coming after us?”

“Damn sure of it. I won’t worry so much once I’ve got the rifle,” Fennel said. “If they look like overtaking us, we can ambush them, but without the rifle we’re in dead trouble.”

As they hurried along the jungle track, Garry was thinking of the best way to evade the Zulus. If they took the exit from the west which Kahlenberg had said was relatively easy, it would develop into a race between them and the Zulus who could move with the speed of a galloping horse. The east exit was out. None of them had any experience of mountain climbing whereas, according to Kahlenberg, the Zulus had. The north exit was too dangerous. Garry felt sure Kahlenberg had been speaking the truth when he had said he had men already posted there. That left the south exit… swamps and crocodiles and possibly the last exit the Zulus would imagine they would try.

In around forty minutes, they reached the open space where they had left Themba. Twenty minutes less than it had taken Ken and Fennel to reach the balancing rock. They were all a little breathless and all jumpy.

“It’s that tree over there,” Ken said pointing.

“You sure? He’s not there.” Fennel stared across the open space in the dim light of the approaching dawn.

“Themba!” Ken shouted. “Themba!”

The silence that greeted them sent a chill through them. Ken broke into a run. The others followed him.

Reaching the tree, Ken stopped. He knew it was the tree under which they had left Themba. Not only did he recognize the stunted thorn bush he had noticed when he had left with Fennel, but there was a heap of firewood piled by the tree. Under this tree had been their jerry can of water, the bag of food and the Springfield rifle. There was no sign of any of these things. “The bastard’s skipped with our stuff!” Fennel snarled. “He wouldn’t do that. Something’s happened to him.”

It was Garry who spotted the grave away to his right.

“What’s that?”

They looked at the mound of freshly turned earth and moving together, they approached it.

So there should be no mistake as to what lay under the soil, placed on top of it was Themba’s Australian bush hat.

Ken was the first to realize what had happened.

“They killed him, and they’ve taken the food, the water and the rifle,” he said huskily.

For a long moment they all stood staring down at the grave.

Pulling himself together, Garry said, “Well, we now know what to expect. We’ve got to get moving. Look, Ken, Fennel’s told you about the four exits. I’m opting to go south. They’ll expect us to go by the west exit. With luck, by going south and through the swamps, they may not be able to track us. What do you think?”

“It depends how bad the swamps are. They can be sheer hell, and that’s crocodile country.”

“All the same, I think it’s our best bet. Have you a compass?”

Ken produced a small compass from his pocket.

“I’m a qualified navigator,” Garry went on. “Do you want me to lead the way or will you do it?”

“You do it. I’ve always relied on Themba.”

“Then we go south.” Garry steadied the compass and got a bearing. “Let’s go.”

He started along a track with Gaye at his heels. Fennel and Ken followed behind.

None of them said anything. Themba’s death had shocked them all. The danger that was threatening them had been sharply brought home to them.

They moved at a fast pace. The time was now 04.50 hrs. In a little more than two hours the Zulus would be after them.

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.