The Greystoke Legacy by Andy Briggs Page B

and legs flailing until the thick branches whipped at his face. He blindly reached out for purchase, his arms ripping leaves and twigs. He felt his stomach lurch as he dropped—then suddenly stopped as his hand snagged a tough branch that supported his weight. His arm felt as though it would be ripped from its socket but he refused to let go. His legs dangled over the hippopotamuses that circled in the water as they watched the intruder above.
    With a grunt of effort, Robbie heaved himself up onto the stout branch and wrapped his arms and legs around it for safety. He lay there and caught his breath. He’d done it! He examined the stinging welts on his fingers caused by the ants. They already looked swollen and he cursed himself for forgetting to bring any medical supplies with him.
    Without any further drama, Robbie lowered himself to the ground and ran across to the blue fragment. It was a torn swatch of denim. A splattering of blood and the ragged tear suggested an animal had torn it off. A few feet away, Jane’s phone lay in the mud. There was no doubt that she had passed this way and was injured. He took his pack off to put the phone somewhere dry, then turned and froze.
    A baby hippopotamus had stepped onto the bank and was watching him curiously. Even the baby was the size of a large desk.
    â€œEasy,” soothed Robbie in his calmest voice.
    The noise startled the hippo, which mewed loudly, drawing the attention of its mother. The hippo surged from the water like a torpedo. Robbie was stunned by the size and speed of the beast. He sprinted as fast as he could in the opposite direction as the hippo plowed through vegetation in pursuit, its huge mouth hinged open revealing dagger-like teeth.
    Robbie’s lungs were bursting as he ran for his life, hurdling trailing tree roots and ducking sturdy branches—all of which splintered apart as the animal charged. He vaulted over a boulder, limbs pumping hard as he fled, before he became aware that the angry parent had given up the chase. Robbie dropped to his knees, exhausted. He cursed the jungle as loudly as he could, wondering what other dangers it could possibly throw at him.
    He wouldn’t have long to wait.
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    Two hours before dawn the storm had abated enough for Mister David to declare the search party should move out.
    Archie and Clark had slept in fits and starts but had not spoken a further word. They didn’t need to, as they had been friends since university and had taken the rough with the smooth. Archie had helped Clark through many dubious legal situations he always found himself in when circumnavigating the globe, and Clark had been there when Archie’s wife had left him, taking every penny he owned and destroying his life and career. Clark was driven by money and it was no surprise to Archie that he couldn’t shake off the financial implications of closing the camp. Archie knew Clark wasn’t putting Jane and Robbie in second place; it was just his abrasive manner made it seem that way.
    Clark didn’t trust any of the loggers enough to send them to the town for help in case they said the wrong thing—he had hoped to send Robbie or go himself. He had ordered nine men to guard the camp while six volunteers joined Mister David, Archie, and Clark in the search party, armed with hunting rifles. Archie slung his shoulder holster on, loading up his revolver, and Clark, discovering his handgun was missing, strapped a combat knife to his calf. They both knew you could never be too prepared in the wilderness. A raft, used when they floated the logs downstream, had been deflated and rolled into a pack, and Esmée had prepared enough provisions to last several days.
    Their powerful flashlights easily found the trail that Robbie had hacked through the jungle and they followed it as swiftly as they could. Boots squelched through mud and branches cracked underfoot. They weren’t worried about making noise,