“Fire.” He jerked his chin. “In those trees—exactly where we were headed.”
“Why are we headed there?”
“I know the riverbed is hard sand there, and it’s a narrow crossing with low banks on the Botswana side.” He spun the wheel, turning sharply northwest. “We’ll have to cross higher, but the higher upriver we go, the steeper the bank on the Botswana side, and the wind is going to drive those flames upriver, fast.” He hit the gas, wheels skidding beneath them as they blundered through scrub, racing away from the smoldering fire in the trees.
“What about the headlights?” she called out, hanging on to the roll bar.
“Got to risk it now!”
Dalilah gritted her teeth, pain shooting out from her arm as they jerked and bashed over rocks and bushes. As they neared the fringe, the trees seemed bigger, darker. Leaves clapped in the hot wind that would bring the fire to them. They entered the trees and in the glow of the headlights the wet bark glowed yellow-green. Panic licked softly through Dalilah’s stomach, fueled by the tension she could feel rolling off Brandt as he negotiated the gaps between the trunks.
Suddenly ahead of them stretched a wide swath of silvery-white sand. The Tsholo. And as their headlights hit the far bank, Dalilah saw a cliff of sand on the far side. How they were going to get up that cliff once they crossed, she had no idea.
“Hold on!” he yelled, gunning the jeep down an incline toward the dry riverbed. They hit soft sand and the tires began to spin, but he kept going, steady, the rough diesel engine growling.
Go, go, go, keep going...she willed the jeep to keep powering through to the other side. But it was a big vehicle, heavy, and the sand was soft.
Wheels started to spin deeper, then the left front wheel on the driver’s side suddenly dug right in, tilting the front of the jeep forward and pressing the running board against the riverbed.
Brandt cursed in Afrikaans as he grabbed the game spotlight and hopped over the driver’s-side door. He panned the far side of the river, and swore violently again as the beam glinted off water moving below the sand-bank cliff.
“Water’s starting to come down already. A full flash flood could hit in minutes. Get out, now!” he ordered. “Go back to the Zimbabwe side and climb to higher ground under the trees. Get as far away from the river’s edge as you can without losing sight of me. And take the rifle!” He ran around to the back of the jeep and opened the compartment under the rear seat.
Dalilah spun round to look at the bank from which they’d just come. A few hundred yards downriver orange flames were already crackling fast and furious through foliage along the bank, coming directly toward them. Wind was blowing hot into her face, full with the smell of the fire, smoke stinging her eyes.
She turned back to see Brandt had put on a headlamp and was hauling out what looked like a massive jack, which he threw onto the sand in front of the sunken tire. He returned for a shovel, began digging sand out from under the front chassis of the vehicle. Adrenaline mushroomed through Dalilah.
She ran up to the vehicle, removed a second, smaller shovel from the tool compartment. Using one hand she began digging awkwardly next to him.
“What are you doing?” he yelled, water sheening over his face.
“Helping—what do you think I’m doing?”
“I said move, dammit! You want to be a sitting duck in a flood, or what! Get the hell out of this riverbed.”
“No!” she yelled, rain plastering hair to her face, her dress to her body. She could hear the crackle of the fire now. She dug faster.
“Dalilah, you agreed to do as I say. I came here to keep you alive.” His voice vibrated with fierce energy.
“No, Brandt, ultimately I am responsible for myself. My decision. My life. We work as a team or we don’t work at all.”
He cursed. “Just because you’ve ordered people around your whole life—”
She raised her good hand, pointed her finger at his face, blinking into the glare of the lamp on his forehead. “You know nothing about me. If you want to get us out of here, quit picking on my title, stop being such a prejudiced ass and dig before the river comes down or the damn fire swallows us.” Her voice was pitched high with fear, and she was using words she never ordinarily used, but she didn’t care. She was afraid. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to stand on that riverbank while Brandt was swept away without her. She was sticking right at his side come hell or high water. Or fire and crocodiles and leopards. Or Amal.
“Dalilah—”
“Shut up and dig! I’d rather face a flash flood than be raped by Amal’s men and have my head cut off!”