Then I recalled I wasn't wearing pants. I slapped them into the dirt to knock any stray ants out of them and worried them on over my boots. I checked my camera in the backpack to make sure all was fine and sat down on a rock to lace up my boots.
"You saved my life," she said again, more lucid now.
"Actually," I said, grabbing her hand to pull her up, "I'm not done."
Chapter 28
WE HALF JOGGED the rest of the way back to the camp. It took us a little over an hour. In silence, the woman followed, still somewhat out to lunch in her brain, off somewhere else. It was late afternoon now, verging on gloaming, what photographers call the golden hour. The sinking African sun was huge above the darkening horizon, hanging there like a ball of burning blood. Bats had come out, flittering, swooping, and diving to catch insects. The world was beginning to chatter with twilight noises.
"Find some dry clothes and get changed," I said, guiding her into the first of the camp's platform tents. "We're not out of danger yet. I'm going to need your help barricading this place before nightfall."
After I left her, the first thing I did was look for another gun. I couldn't find one, not in any of the other tents or the storage container. Not anywhere.
So I went to the next item on my priority list. I headed straight for the camp's centrally located bar and dining area and cracked the seal on a bottle of twelve-year-old Glenlivet-for medicinal reasons. I poured some on my smarting arms and legs and took a swig.
I was trickling Scotch down my back when I heard the unmistakable mumbling drone of a plane. Thank God. I ran out onto the little road that led to the airstrip and waved my arms as a single-engine plane buzzed low over the camp.
The plane waggled its wings in response as it flew past. It cut a wide arc around the camp and came circling back. As it roared overhead again, something fell from its window and landed in the reeds beside the airstrip. I searched thrashingly in the reeds and found it: it was a note crumpled around a stone.
"Staff informed us of situation. Need to check on camp farther upriver," the note said. "Back in twenty minutes."
I jogged back to the bar. Maybe we weren't dead after all.
I'd switched the Glenlivet for a bottle of Veuve Clicquot when the woman came in carrying a bag. She was wearing fresh khakis and a faded white polo, but she was still filthy, scratched up, hair bedraggled, muddy, wet.
"Was that a plane?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said from behind the bar, unwinding the wire cage around the cork. "They saw us and dropped a note saying they'll be back soon." I thumbed out the cork. It popped and hit the drum-tight inner wall of the tent. The bottle smoked and white foam cascaded over my fingers like a science-fair volcano. I slurped Champagne off my wrist and took a swig.
"Vive la being out of here in twenty minutes," I said, offering her the bottle.
"Twenty minutes?" she said, eyes brightening with panic. "But we need to get out of here now!"
I looked at her hands: they were shaking like a machine about to break. I put the bottle on the bar and walked around to her.
"It's okay," I said. "We're going to be okay, Miss … "
"My name is Chloe. Chloe Tousignant," she said. She slumped and gripped the counter with one hand. She began to look sick, the color draining from her face.
"Listen, Chloe," I said, guiding her onto one of the bar stools. Her thin shoulders were shaking. I tried to rub them, but the muscles under her skin were so tensely knotted it was like massaging sponge rubber.
"You've been through hell, but you're okay now. I promise you. Nothing's going to happen now."
She didn't reply. Her color wasn't getting better.
"Come on, Chloe," I said. "Stay with me. Can you talk to me? Who are you? Were you with the safari that was attacked? Were you on vacation?"
"No, I'm not a tourist. I'm a scientist. Population ecology." The words came out of her in a rapid, piqued flutter. Talking seemed to help, at least. "Our group came from the École Polytechnique in Paris."
That's an impressive institution. École Polytechnique is basically the French MIT. Female biologists I knew usually didn't look like ballerinas. They tended to favor Morrissey T-shirts and combat boots.
"Have you seen anyone else?" Chloe said. "I was with two colleagues, Jean Angone and Arthur Maxwell."
"No, I'm sorry," I said. "You're the only other person I've seen, besides some Botswanan cooks who threatened us with machetes and the guy I came in with, and he's dead."</ol>
She shook her head and bit her lip as she stared, glassy-eyed, at the floor.
"Why were you here?" I said. "A field trip?"
"Yes," she said, nodding. "We were collecting data on migratory birds at the Moremi Game Reserve. We came here to the delta two days ago. The lions attacked at dusk the day before last. They fell from a tree. The guide died first, and then everyone ran. I don't know how I escaped. I fled across the water and spent the night in a tree. When I heard your truck, I climbed down and headed for the sound. I was wading back across the river when I saw the crocodiles, and climbed onto that rock, and then just stayed there waiting for them to go … "
She closed her eyes and took a shivery breath. When she opened them again, I suddenly realized I'd been wrong about her. She wasn't just good-looking. There was something else, something austere and regal about her face. She was beautiful.
"And you are?" she said. "An American reporter? A documentarian?"
"My name is Jackson Oz," I said. "I came here to try to document aberrant behavior in lions. I got a tip that the lions in Botswana were acting weird from a guy I know-well, knew-Abe Bindix, who guides safaris here. Or did. His brother ran this camp, but he'd been out of contact for days, and we came to check on him. We were searching for you when the lions attacked us today. I escaped, but Abe died. There was nothing I could do."
Before I knew what was happening, Chloe softly took my hand in hers. She leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss on both cheeks.
"Thank you so much for what you did," she said, starting to tear up as she continued to hold my hand. "I was so tired. I was in despair. If you hadn't come along right then, I'm not sure if-I don't know if I would have lived."
"Well, you're here now," I said. I found myself wanting another brush of her lips. I squeezed her hand back, swiped the Champagne bottle from the bar, and offered it to her. "You made it. We both did."
"So you're not a documentarian. Who-I mean, what are you?" she asked.
"I'm actually a scientist, too. A biologist."
"From Columbia University?"
"Yes," I said. "How'd you know?"
She took a swig of Champagne.
"It was written on your underwear."
Chapter 29
"JACKSON OZ. COLUMBIA University," Chloe said. To my great irritation, I felt my face reddening. "I thought I knew all the names from Columbia. Do you know-er … " She put a thin finger to thin lips and her eyes turned up, trying to think of a name. "Michael Shrift?"
"Mike was my adviser," I said.
"Oh, so you are-er-a student?" Chloe said.
I liked her accent. This woman somehow made being confused sexy.
"Well, actually, I dropped out," I said.
She gave me a cockeyed glance, the needle of her WTF-ometer twitching.
"You dropped out? Um … let me guess. You have a blog."
"Yeah," I said, brightening. "Do you read my blog?"
"No," she said, taking another sip from the Champagne bottle. "It was just a guess. But I will now. Since you saved my life."
I didn't like the faint note of sarcasm in her voice. When things aren't going your way, change the conversation.
"What was your population study about?"
"Over the last few years, there has been a big change in some migratory bird populations," Chloe said as she shifted the bottle to her other hand and looked at the label. "Changing very rapidly. We do not know why."
"So you're saying what?" I said. "Birds are dying?"
"No," Chloe said, picking at the foil on the bottle with her thumbnail. "It's just the opposite. Bird populations are increasing at incredible rates. Exponential. It is very, very strange."
I thought about that. Like frogs, birds are often indicator species-animals whose population stability is a good measure of the stability of an ecosystem. Changes in the environment affect them quickly. Did this have something to do with HAC? I wondered.
"Tree nesters?" I said raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, and shrub and ground nesters as well," she said. "The phenomena are so unprecedented that many of the faculty in Paris refuse to believe it. That's why my colleagues and I came here. To gather data. I think something very, very wrong is happening to the environment."
"So do I," I said, talking fast now, getting excited. "It's not just the birds. There's been a massive outbreak of animal attacks on human beings over the last three years. The lions that killed your friends and mine, that wasn't just an isolated incident. Human beings are being increasingly attacked by animals. There's something that's gone completely haywire with the lions in this area. And other species, too. I think there's something badly wrong with the environment that's changing their behavior."</ol>