Savage Lands Page 11

  Clark limped closer to them and delicately ran a finger down the red welt on Jane’s cheek. She flinched but didn’t make a sound.

  “You really know how to get into trouble, don’t ya? You definitely get that from your mum.” That forced a small smile from Jane. Clark lowered his voice; he had known Jane all her life and, without Archie around, felt he had some vague parenting to do. “You OK?” she nodded. Clark motioned into the jungle. “What happened out there?”

  “Oh the usual,” said Jane with a sigh. “Destroyed a mining camp, escaped with a native tribe, explored the jungle …”

  Robbie spoke up. “We had a few friends help us out. We activated the tripwires and the next thing I know they’ve melted into the jungle and she’s pointing a gun at us,” he said, nodding his head toward Idra.

  Clark made sure he wasn’t overheard as he spoke to Jane. “I don’t expect you to understand.” He turned to Robbie. “But you, I do. We got a lot ridin’ on this, don’t ya see? I don’t like his lordship any more than you do, but I can put up with him until all this is over.”

  “You’re all heart,” said Jane sarcastically.

  Clark’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I’m not gonna see Robbie carted back to the States for some kangaroo court to judge him.”

  Robbie was surprised. “So you believe I’m innocent?”

  Clark nodded. “I bet your stepdad had it comin’ to ’im.” He flicked a glance at Greystoke. “And I don’t think he’s got it in ’im to do anythin’ about Tarzan. He just wants to see the title stays with ’im. All I ask is you both keep your heads down.”

  “That’s enough, Clark,” said Greystoke returning to them. “We’ll tie them up for the night, then the pilots can take them back to camp in the morning.”

  “You’re gonna tie us up … Out here?” asked Robbie incredulously. “Do you know what’s in these woods?”

  “Would you prefer to sleep in the airplane?” said Greystoke caustically. “Just be thankful Idra showed enough restraint not to blow your silly little heads off.” Robbie glanced across to see Idra who winked mischievously at him then crouched down to a small device housed in a flight case tucked in a knot of plants; it was the tripwire control system.

  Robbie lowered his hands. But a warning from the copilot now standing directly behind him, jabbing the barrel of a pistol into his ribs, made him change his mind.

  “I don’t have Idra’s restraint,” the copilot growled. He grabbed both of Robbie’s wrists and pulled them behind Robbie’s back.

  “Over there,” Lord Greystoke prompted, pointing toward a curved tree close to the water’s edge.

  “You won’t get what you want from Opar,” taunted Jane.

  Greystoke’s patience was wearing thin. “Perhaps I should gag you too? I think that may be an improvement for us all.”

  Jane goaded him. “You’re real tough. Following in rich daddy’s footsteps? He hired Rokoff to kill D’Arnot so he couldn’t spread the word about Tarzan and let the world find out your family is a bunch of frauds.” Greystoke tensed. “Afraid of losing your privileges? Because when I get out of here, I’m gonna make sure the world knows what kind of creep you really are.”

  With a fierce backhand, Greystoke struck her hard across the cheek again—just as Idra reset the perimeter defenses and the lights extinguished, leaving an orange afterglow in everybody’s eyes.

  Then, a mighty roar bellowed across the river. It was no wild beast, but it was barely human. It was a terrifying sound, so filled with rage and anguish that it chilled the blood of the entire group.

  Clark rubbed his eyes, attempting to get his night vision back. But he could see nothing other than Robbie, Jane, and Greystoke directly in front of him.

  For a moment, nothing stirred. Then came a whispering swish. Clark heard a gasp from the copilot who was restraining Robbie. The captor fell to the ground.

  Greystoke fumbled for the flashlight attached to his belt. With shaking fingers he switched it on, the beam illuminating the copilot who was now writhing on the ground, an arrow through his shoulder and blood pooling into the dry mud. Greystoke whimpered with fright.

  “The lights! Get the lights on!”

  Idra was already lunging for the light controls. She activated them. The powerful floodlights shone directly in their faces, temporarily blinding them all. Some unseen hand had spun all the lights around. Blinded, Idra dropped the controls, which rolled into the grass around her feet.

  Werper staggered, unseeing, and dropped to his knees. Clark covered his eyes with his arm to avoid being blinded. Greystoke grunted and reached out for Robbie and Jane as they both attempted to run. Robbie was out of his reach, but Greystoke’s hand snagged Jane’s shoulder and pulled her back. He slid his arm around her neck, tightly holding her like a human shield.

  The Mbuti porters were shrieking in panic as something huge leaped into their midst. Clark saw one pygmy hurled aside like a ragdoll, quickly followed by a heavy packing case. Was a gorilla attacking them? The remaining five porters fled in different directions.

  Idra swung her rifle from over her shoulder and shot toward their attacker. It was useless, so she turned the gun on the lights. Four perfect shots and the lights exploded in a shower of sparks.

  Clark was still dazzled, but his vision slowly returned as darkness fell once again. He could just discern a menacing shadow stalking toward the group.

  Still with one arm around Jane, Greystoke’s free trembling hand found where the copilot’s pistol had dropped. He raised it, pressing the barrel against Jane’s neck.

  “Don’t come any closer!” His quivering voice betrayed his fear.

  The figure paused—and was illuminated in a high-beam flashlight shone by the pilot.

  It was Tarzan, standing just feet away. The ape-man’s eyes burned with utter malice and a lion-like growl thundered from his barrel chest.

  Seeing Tarzan and Greystoke together, Clark was shocked by the resemblance between the cousins. It was purely cosmetic—the same jaw, nose, piercing eyes. But where Tarzan’s physique was the pinnacle of perfection, Lord Greystoke was a reed of a man—somebody who had lived in lavish comfort all his life.

  “J—John?” Greystoke stammered. “My God, it really is you …” Tarzan took a step forward, causing Greystoke to shove the pistol so hard against Jane’s neck that she whimpered. “St—stop. It doesn’t have to be this way,” he stammered.

  Idra opened fire. A rifle shot blasted out, the bullet nicking Tarzan’s arm. She had aimed wide, but wouldn’t miss a second time.

  There would be no second time.

  Like a cat, Tarzan sprang away, out of the flashlight beam. The pilot had no hope of catching him with the light as he zigzagged toward Idra.

  Greystoke didn’t wait to see what would happen next. He dragged Jane toward the floatplane.

  “Start the engines!” he yelled. “Start the damn engines!”

  Clark hesitated to follow Greystoke as he watched Idra’s fate. His night vision had returned just enough to see her fire another shot. Then Tarzan pounced, and the two figures rolled back into the night. He heard Tarzan bellow and Idra scream. But the sound was drowned out as the aircraft’s twin propellers kicked into action.

  Greystoke was bundling a struggling Jane aboard the aircraft before climbing in himself. Somebody had untied the anchor rope from the tree so the plane drifted out into the river as the engines revved. With the choice of escaping on the plane or being left to face the wrath of Tarzan, Clark quickly hobbled toward the craft, but his injured leg hampered his every step.

  “Jane! No!” yelled Robbie as he sprinted toward the plane. He was much faster than Clark could have hoped to be. He splashed through the water, leaping onto the plane’s pontoon as Greystoke tried to close the door.

  “Get off!” Greystoke yelled, trying to boot Robbie into the water. Robbie sid
estepped and pushed his body weight forward, butting Greystoke in the chest. They fell into the aircraft as the pilot angled away from the bank and spun the plane around, ready for take-off. The landing lights did little to illuminate the darkness ahead.

  Clark splashed through the water, only venturing up to his knees. “WAIT!” he yelled, waving his arms. “COME BACK!”

  Werper stood on the bank behind, waving a flashlight for attention. “WHERE’RE YOU GOING?” he demanded.

  If the pilot or Greystoke could hear the protests, they made no response. The engines rose to full power and the aircraft began to move across the water. Clark suddenly became aware of movement behind him and spun around to see Tarzan illuminated in Werper’s flashlight. The archeologist gave a strangled whimper as he stared death in the face. Clark limped to intervene.

  “No, Tarzan! Mate, it’s me, Clark!”

  With a flicker of recognition, Tarzan hesitated. Then, without a word, he sprinted along the riverbank, on course for the aircraft.

  12

  From where Greystoke had thrown her on the floor, Jane jostled against the bare steel seat supports as the floatplane bounced across the water. The noise from the engines was almost deafening, but she could just make out the scuffle between Greystoke and Robbie.

  She tried to sit up as the plane jounced over the water, but a severe jolt threw her back. She finally used a seat to pull herself up and saw Robbie and Greystoke wrestling in the confined space. Robbie repeatedly forced Greystoke’s hand against the bulkhead until he released the pistol, which dropped and slid past Jane, disappearing toward the tail.

  As she hauled herself farther up, intending to help Robbie, she caught a glimpse of trees through the side window. Darkness swallowed almost every detail, except the silhouettes of the trees against the moonlit clouds. They whipped past as the plane’s speed increased. Jane also caught a fleeting glimpse of Tarzan running through the canopy and vaulting from bough to bough, but there was no way he could catch up—she had to slow the plane down somehow.

  A thump from the cabin drew her attention back to Greystoke and Robbie locked together, arms crossed over each other’s throats. Robbie punched a lion-claw wound, and Greystoke howled in pain, but didn’t let go.

  Jane capitalized on the movement of the plane keeping them both off balance. Gripping the seats on either side of the aisle, she catapulted herself into the struggling pair. All three fell into the cockpit. It was such a confined space that they shoved the pilot forward against the console, crushing him against the controls, forcing him to release the throttle control that hung down from the cabin ceiling.

  The engines changed pitch and the aircraft pivoted to the left so quickly that one pontoon skipped off the river as the opposite wingtip ducked so low it sliced through the water. Now they were headed straight for the trees. The sudden shift in direction was enough to throw Robbie, Greystoke, and Jane off the pilot. He slowed the plane, steering it back out into the relative safety of the open river.

  Greystoke now had Robbie pinned down, but wasn’t strong enough to hold him in place and couldn’t beat him in a fair fight. So he had to play dirty. The Englishman’s free hand plucked a small fire extinguisher from the wall and struck Robbie across the head, knocking him unconscious. Greystoke glared at Jane. “Try anything like that again and I will throw you out when we’re over the jungle.” Turning to the pilot he snapped an order. “Get us in the air. Now!”

  “I can’t see where we’re going. This is suicide!”

  “Staying here would be sui—” A loud thump from the roof stopped him mid-sentence. The plane rocked as something landed on it.

  The pilot eased back on the throttle. “I’ll have to check that out.”

  Driven by fear, Greystoke lunged for the pilot’s hand, shoving the roof-mounted throttle forward so fast the plane surged ahead.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know what that was. Get us in the air now!”

  All that could be seen through the windshield was the patch of river immediately ahead, illuminated by the aircraft’s headlights. If there was anything farther in front, then there would be nothing they could do to avoid it.

  Jane pressed herself against a side window to see if she could spot Tarzan. The aircraft’s overhead wing meant she could see nothing except the spray of water from the pontoon caught in the landing light. Then, the rough ride suddenly stopped as they lifted from the water—just in time. A gnarled tree trunk sprouted from the river, but the pilot hadn’t seen it. They all heard the squeal of metal as the starboard pontoon sheered off against the trunk.

  Now they had no way to safely land. The pilot yanked back on the stick, pulling the aircraft up in a steep ascent the moment he realized they had reached a bend in the river. A solid wall of trees loomed ahead. The clatter of branches slashing the underside of the plane reverberated through the cabin—but suddenly stopped as they reached a safer altitude.

  Greystoke had been forced back into a seat during the steep climb, his knuckles white as he held on to the seat in front. He let out the breath he had been holding as the aircraft banked around. Jane glimpsed moonlight on the river below, and then all was black as they leveled out.

  The pilot shouted into the cabin. “The trees must have damaged the avionics. Nothing’s working: wind speed, altitude …”

  A colossal bang from the roof of the aircraft diverted everybody’s attention.

  “W—what in hell’s name … ?” stammered the pilot. Suddenly, he jumped in his seat as Tarzan’s face appeared over the edge of the cockpit, his eyes narrow slits against the wind, his hair rippled back from the acceleration of the plane.

  “Shake him off!” ordered Greystoke.

  The very idea went against the pilot’s ethics. “No! He’ll fall to his death!”

  “It’s him or us!” shouted Greystoke as he reached for the stick. The pilot snagged Greystoke’s hand, but it was too late. The Englishman yanked the stick side to side, violently jerking the aircraft. Tarzan slipped from view.

  “You’ll kill us all!” the pilot protested. Before he could speak again, a fist slammed against the cockpit with jackhammer strength. Although the window was designed to withstand a crash, it was no match for Tarzan’s might as he pile-drove it through. The pilot was strapped in with no chance of avoiding Tarzan’s grasping hand. The ape-man grabbed the pilot’s hair, driving his face into the controls so hard that several dials shattered. The unconscious pilot slumped against the console, forcing the plane into a sudden dive.

  Jane screamed as her stomach lurched. She slid to the front of the cabin. Greystoke was already leaning into the cockpit, reaching around the prone pilot so he could level the aircraft out. He tried to climb into the copilot’s seat, but Robbie’s unconscious form was blocking the way. With some effort Greystoke pushed Robbie aside with one hand, keeping the other on the stick. Then he slid into the seat and, with slick palms, took control.

  “Can you fly?” Jane asked, feeling more terrified than she had ever been.

  “I’ve had a few lessons,” said Greystoke, looking bewildered as he scanned the dials.

  “How many?”

  He hesitated for too long. “One,” he finally admitted. “It was a birthday gift.”

  Jane felt oddly calm. She was sure they were going to die, but found herself able to focus on more immediate issues. Robbie lay on the floor, a bump on his head from where he had been struck. There was no sign of Tarzan.

  “You’ve killed him,” said Jane, suddenly horrified. “You’ve killed your own cousin.”

  “I didn’t want to,” Greystoke snapped defensively. “He was trying to kill me!”

  Jane’s next words froze on her lips as the aircraft’s metal door suddenly buckled. Inside the cabin, it sounded like drums signifying approaching doom.

  “What now?” whined Greystoke as he craned around to see what was happening
.

  A fist effortlessly smashed through the door’s window. A muscular arm poked through and gripped the door, yanking it off its hinges. Tarzan swung inside, blood trickling from where Idra’s bullet had glanced his arm, and glass from the cockpit windshield still embedded in his fist like brass knuckles.

  With a single glance, Tarzan took in the cabin’s situation and charged for Greystoke. One hand closed around Greystoke’s neck, hauling him from the seat. His other hand was pulled back ready to deliver a blow that would knock the Englishman’s head off.

  “NO!” screamed Jane. Tarzan hesitated. Her voice was the only sound that could calm his rage. “Don’t kill him,” she said.

  “He try to kill you,” snarled Tarzan.

  “It was a mistake,” Jane assured him. She felt the plane gently lurch to port. Without anybody at the controls it was just a matter of time before they plunged into the jungle. Her eyes met Greystoke’s, which were as wide as saucers. “Wasn’t it?” she said, coaxing his answer. She was frightened for all their lives and, as much as she despised Greystoke, she had no desire to watch Tarzan kill him in cold blood—an act that would send the aircraft plummeting into the earth.

  “Yes, yes,” whimpered Lord Greystoke, his mouth dry. “A stupid accident … I’m your family, Tarzan… .”

  Tarzan increased the pressure on Lord Greystoke’s neck, choking the apology from him. Greystoke started to turn blue.

  “Tarzan! No! This is not right. It doesn’t need to be like this,” said Jane, desperately trying to keep her voice level.

  The plane suddenly shuddered as the undercarriage struck the top of the jungle canopy. Without a hand on the controls, the plane had drifted dangerously low. Tarzan was thrown backward into the aisle and Greystoke gasped for air as he grabbed the stick. But it was too late. Just visible in the aircraft’s lights, a single tree rose twenty feet above the canopy around it. The snarl of branches struck the port engine. Most of the branches shredded in the propeller, but the impact was enough to puncture the metal housing of the engine, and it exploded in a billow of orange flame.