The Greystoke Legacy by Andy Briggs Page A

eye. Lying in her bed; eyes closed, skin pale, her body horribly thin. She was dead. That’s how he had found her. Dead . . .
    Robbie’s fingers clenched as he shook with rage and grief at the unwelcome memory. If only he’d reacted quicker. If only he’d spoken out. If only . . .
    He wiped the tears away from his eyes, and suddenly noticed something on the opposite bank: a swatch of blue. It was such a strong color against the browns, yellows, and greens that it stood out as artificial.
    It was enough to suddenly give him hope that Jane had indeed come this way. Any clues to which direction she had taken lay across the river. All Robbie had to do was get over there.
    The muddy river waters flowed swiftly, some branches zipped by while others were caught in powerful eddies as the three rivers clashed together. Robbie was a strong swimmer and judged his options. If he swam from farther upstream he calculated he should be able to cross without the currents making him overshoot his intended landing area, but it was a gamble.
    That’s when he noticed the shapes in the water. What he had previously assumed were rocks suddenly submerged, only to reappear a minute later with the twitch of an ear.
    â€œHippos . . . great,” he said aloud. There were six of them, four adults and two babies, and they showed no intention of leaving the area they wallowed in.
    He looked around for an alternative route. The arcing trees formed a leafy tunnel over the narrowest point of the river and the branches looked sturdy enough to support his weight.
    Robbie secured his backpack and approached the foot of a tree. The gnarled bark provided plenty of handholds and his ascent was made easier by dozens of low-hanging branches. Ten feet up his hand cut through a column of ants. He quickly pulled his fingers away before the large-headed soldier ants could bite him. He traced the line of ants up to a large mass in the crook of the tree that appeared to move as if alive. Climbing a little higher, Robbie could see that it was alive. It was a bivouac three feet in diameter constructed from the bodies of a hundred thousand ants all clinging together. Army ants poured out of their living shelter with renewed vigor when they detected Robbie’s scent and veered toward him.
    Robbie quickened his pace toward the thick bough that bent over the river, but the ants were quicker and massed in their thousands. Robbie had expected them to make a terrifying scuttling noise, but their silence was more ominous. He could already see the massive heads and powerful pincers of the soldier ants as they got uncomfortably near. These ants had been known to kill humans, and Robbie couldn’t think of a more painful death.
    He scrambled farther up the tree as the first of the ants crawled onto his sleeve. He couldn’t risk letting go of the branch to swat them. Instead, he gritted his teeth as the powerful jaws pinched through his jacket, and hauled himself into the crook of the branch. He brushed ants off his sleeve and pants, receiving nasty nips to his fingers. The swarm continued advancing, forcing Robbie to run across the branch, his arms windmilling to keep his balance. The ants relentlessly pursued as he ran over the river, the branch sagging from his weight with every step.
    Robbie fought to catch his balance and resisted the terrible itching he felt all over his body. The ants followed along the limb, which was now sagging so much it threatened to drop him in the water where the hippos bathed.
    From the ground, the branches of the tree on the opposite bank had appeared to mesh together to form a natural bridge. But now that he was closer he could see that it had been an illusion and the sturdy branches he needed to get to were a tantalizing seven feet away. He would have to jump. The bough behind him was seething with ants, so there was no going back.
    Robbie took a deep breath and jumped.
    He sailed through the air, arms