Rage of the Rhino

by Bear Grylls

  Abruptly the rhino let out a last snort of air through her nostrils. And that was it. Her sides simply stopped moving. Her eyelid stopped flickering and there was silence.

  Samora bit a trembling lip and lowered her head. Beck reached out hesitantly, and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. And Samora gripped his hand tightly and cried.

  Beck’s ears pricked up at the sound of an approaching engine. It was revving hard; the driver was obviously accelerating across the veld. ‘Too late,’ he murmured.

  They both got to their feet and waited for Al and the lodge’s vet to appear. But it wasn’t a Green Force Jeep that burst through the bushes.

  Beck’s first thought was that James had found him again. Yet it wasn’t the sleek black car with tinted windows that he remembered, either. It was a battered pick-up truck with a canvas roof. It lurched to a sudden halt in front of them.

  It was hard to say who was more surprised – Samora and Beck, or the two men in the cab, staring out at them.

  The driver leaped down and advanced towards them. He wore a battered, floppy bush hat, and carried a rifle with a long curving magazine. He barked what was obviously a question in a language Beck didn’t understand.

  The other man climbed down more slowly and came forward. He held his rifle at the ready, one finger tapping against the trigger guard. He was clearly trying to decide whether he should use the gun.

  ‘Beck . . .’ Samora said quietly, but Beck didn’t need to be told who these people were.

  He swallowed.

  These were poachers.

  Chapter 18

  The two men spoke to each other quickly, and then the driver hurried back to the truck. He returned carrying a hacksaw and a brown sack.

  Beck suddenly realized what he was going to do. ‘No!’

  He stepped in front of the rhino to block the man’s path. The poacher simply gave him a shove that sent him flying. Samora threw herself at him and was knocked aside in the same way. By the time Beck picked himself up, the man had knelt down beside the dead rhino and was starting to saw at the base of the horn.

  Even then Beck was prepared to try and stop him. But the second man shouted, ‘Hey!’ He had raised the rifle so that it pointed straight at Beck. And he didn’t look like he would hesitate to squeeze the trigger.

  And so the pair had no choice but to stand there while the man with the saw did his grisly work. Tears rolled down Samora’s face as she watched the butchery, so they turned away – though they couldn’t block out the brutal sound of the saw as the beautiful animal was desecrated by the poachers.

  Within minutes the horn was off. Beck turned to see the gaping bloody hole where it had been. He felt sick inside, while beside him Samora was sobbing.

  The man standing in front of them waved the barrel of his rifle in their faces and threw questions at them.

  ‘Quem é você? O que você está fazendo?’

  ‘Nós estávamos tentando ajudar o rinoceronte,’ Samora answered. To Beck, she added, ‘He wants to know who we are and what we’re doing; I told him we were trying to help the rhino.’

  ‘Where are they from?’

  ‘Mozambique. That’s Portuguese he’s speaking.’

  ‘Hey!’ The man didn’t like them talking to each other in English. He waved the gun aggressively from one to the other, and asked more questions. Samora answered as calmly as she could, though her voice trembled.

  It was hardly surprising, Beck thought, with a gun being pointed at them like that. It is a natural reaction to fear – the start of panic.

  It wasn’t the first time he had been held at gunpoint, but that didn’t make it any easier. His whole body was taut with nerves; the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, alert.

  Beck had a bad feeling about how this was going to end.

  ‘Meh.’ The man grunted in disgust and suddenly strode over to his friend.

  Samora and Beck watched him go, and Beck’s anger began to boil again when he saw the bloody mess of rhino horn in the poacher’s hand.

  ‘Devemos matá-los,’ said the man with the gun. At that, Samora gasped and went rigid. ‘Eles viram as nossas caras.’

  The colour drained from Samora’s face as she translated for Beck’s benefit. ‘H-he said, “W-we should kill them. Th-they’ve seen our faces.”’

  ‘Eu não estou nessa para matar crianças!’ the man carrying the rhino horn objected angrily.

  Samora whispered her translation to Beck. ‘He said, “I’m not in this to kill kids.”’

  Beck didn’t reply. He had seen bad men fall out before.

  The men continued to argue.

  ‘If it looks like they’re going to do it,’ Beck whispered over his pounding heart, nodding to their left, ‘run that way. I’ll go this way . . .’ He looked to the right.

  Finally the one with the gun wheeled round towards them. The two friends braced themselves to flee, in a last desperate attempt to save their lives. But the man simply jerked the gun at the truck.

  ‘In back,’ he ordered abruptly. ‘Boss decide.’

  If Beck had found the Jeep uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to being thrown around in the back of a pick-up truck. Their feet and hands were bound with lengths of old rope that bit into their skin. It was dark outside now and they could barely see each other in the gloom beneath the canvas cover. And it was stiflingly hot.

  There were no seats, just a rusting, dirty metal floor to perch on as the truck lurched its way across the veld. With their hands tied behind their backs it was almost impossible to hold onto anything. Just as they managed to lever themselves upright, the truck would hit another bump and they would fall over again.

  Even so, Beck managed to shuffle himself over to the side of their bouncing prison. He lowered his head to the bottom of the canvas cover and tried to peer out underneath. He bit back a curse as another bump made his chin bang against the metal edge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Samora asked. At first they had talked in whispers because it seemed right, but the pickup was so noisy that only loud voices could possibly have been heard by those in the front. Beck doubted their kidnappers were listening in.

  ‘I want to see the stars,’ he said. He rested his head against the metal and strained the one eye that he could get close to the gap. ‘If I can see the stars, then I’ll know which direction we’re heading, and how far we go.’

  ‘OK, that’s smart, Beck Granger.’ She paused. ‘But my watch has GPS on it.’

  Beck twisted round to face her. He could see only the faintest outlines in the dark, but he was pretty sure she was smiling.

  ‘OK.’ He shuffled over towards her.

  Using Samora’s watch wasn’t easy. They had to sit back to back so that Beck could operate it by feel. Then he had to turn round very quickly and look at the watch face, which stayed lit for only twenty seconds at a time.

  But eventually they worked out what Beck had already guessed.

  They were being taken across the border, into Mozambique.

  Chapter 19

  There was very little they could do except wait.

  They explored every inch of their small moving prison, but could find nothing to help them. All the men’s tools and weapons must be carried in the cab.

  Beck made his way all around the edge of the truck, where the canvas cover met the metal edge. The ties that held the cover in place were on the outside and he couldn’t have got at them even if his hands had been free. The flap at the rear was secured with bolts on the outside.

  Every so often Beck would check Samora’s watch to get an idea of how far they had travelled. He mentally translated that figure into the length of the trek back – if they ever managed to escape.

  No – they would escape; he was determined about that.

  But there was no way they could escape from this truck. They could only wait until they reached their destination. He hoped it wouldn’t be too far into Mozambique.

  It
was three hours before the truck came to a sudden stop that threw them both against the back of the cab. Artificial orange light showed through the canvas. There were several voices, all men’s, talking in Portuguese. Then the cover was pulled back, the flap lowered, and their old friend with the gun was gesturing abruptly.

  ‘Sair!’

  Beck didn’t need to speak Portuguese to realize that they were being told to get out. They shuffled over to the back of the truck, where they were dragged out and thrown to the ground. They managed to land on their feet, though Beck immediately stumbled as pins and needles took hold. He hadn’t been able to stand since they were captured, and the ropes had cut off his circulation.

  The truck had stopped in a small compound. There were low buildings on all sides, some inhabited, some just storage barns and outhouses. And there were far too many men for Beck’s liking – he could see five, plus their kidnappers, without even moving his head. The more there were, the harder it would be to get away.

  Several of them were engaged in a loud argument with their kidnappers.

  Samora was standing next to him, looking equally wobbly. ‘They want to know why they’ve brought two kids back with them,’ she murmured, which Beck had already guessed.

  One of the kidnappers held up the bag that contained the severed rhino horn, which seemed to calm the others down a little.

  Then one man came over to them. There was a flash of steel as he pulled a knife from his belt and brandished it in front of them with a cruel smile. Beck felt his guts lurch inside him, but he gritted his teeth and tensed his body, ready to throw himself forward. If they were going to be stabbed instead of shot, he might as well go down fighting – which could, in turn, allow Samora to make a break for it.

  But the man just crouched down and slashed through the ropes that tied Samora’s ankles together. Beck was next. Now they could walk properly, though their hands were still bound.

  Beck hopped from one foot to the other to get the blood flowing again, before a shove in the small of his back sent him staggering towards one of the outbuildings. Like all the others, it was propped up off the ground to keep out any snakes or creepy crawlies.

  Beck had one foot on the steps when a voice shouted, ‘Hey!’

  They were both pulled to a halt. The man with the knife reached behind Samora’s back and grabbed her tied wrists. She winced as he pulled her hands up to have a look at her watch, before undoing the strap and releasing it.

  ‘That’s the taxi fare!’ he said with a grin, holding it up.

  Another man did the same with Beck’s watch. Then a shove sent the pair on their way again. They turned to see the expensive new toy being passed around and shown off.

  Beck was glad they hadn’t left it on the GPS setting. He didn’t want these people to know that their captives knew exactly where they were.

  The inside of the hut was almost as dark as the truck had been. A sheet of plywood had been nailed across the window, and a narrow band of light slid in around the edges. He could see a battered wooden bed frame and a table and a couple of chairs. A final shove sent him and Samora stumbling inside and the door was pulled shut behind them. Beck heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Then footsteps on the steps again. Then silence.

  They looked at each other through the gloom. Their feet hadn’t been tied again, but their hands were still bound.

  ‘So we’ve lost the watch,’ Samora said.

  Beck shook his head. ‘I memorized our location.’

  Samora smiled, clearly dubious. Of course you did, Beck Granger! After all, it was only a fourteendigit number of longitude and latitude. ‘Did you really, Beck?’ she asked.

  Beck didn’t reply. He was busy looking around the room.

  ‘OK. Let’s see what we’ve got, so that we can get out of this stinking place.’

  Chapter 20

  It didn’t take long to explore the room and its contents. There were no useful tools – nothing that Beck immediately identified as being helpful. Even something like a knife or a fork might have come in handy.

  He went over to the back of the room and studied the boards carefully – both on the floor and in the wall. Escaping out through the front wasn’t going to work, because that was where all the men were. If they were going to get out at all, then it had to be at the back.

  Beck crouched down and inspected the floorboards. They had been nailed rather than screwed down, and that made him feel hopeful. A nail just goes straight in, and what goes straight in can come straight out again.

  There were gaps between the boards, and he reckoned there was just enough space below the hut for them to crawl out underneath. Maybe he could wedge something into the spaces and lever the boards up.

  But first he and Samora had to get untied.

  ‘Come and stand in the light,’ he told her.

  Samora came over to stand by the window, and Beck looked at the knots that bound her. Now that he could actually see them, he might have something to work with.

  A real expert would have known how to fasten each hand individually, then bind them together so that there was no way they would ever came loose. But the guy who had tied them up was no expert. He had just wrapped the ends of the rope around each other and pulled them tight, over and over again.

  The knots were still tight, but in theory, Beck should be able to work his hands loose eventually. Every time he flexed his wrists, the ropes would grow a little looser. The problem was, it would take hours, and in the meantime the rough strands would scrape the skin off his wrists.

  ‘OK . . .’ He turned round and they stood back to back so that his hands could get at her knots. He bit his lip in concentration as he felt his way. It would be easier to loosen Samora’s knots for her, if he could only see them. But the rope was old and greasy, and it wasn’t easy to get a purchase with just his fingertips, fumbling behind his back.

  ‘We need something to jam between the knots . . .’

  If Beck could do that – let something else take the pressure – he could work the knots loose much quicker. He let his eyes wander around the hut again.

  ‘That chair doesn’t look too strong,’ Samora suggested.

  The wooden chair was a rickety relic from another age, the legs, seat and supports slotted together. Now, any one of them would make a very useful tool . . .

  Beck didn’t want to smash it up – too much risk of being heard.

  ‘Right!’ He walked over to the chair, turned his back and clumsily picked it up with his tied hands. ‘You try and get a grip too . . . OK?’

  They were standing back to back with the chair held between them.

  ‘Now, hold on and walk!’

  The chair’s maker would have used glue, of course, but that had been a long time ago. Glue can perish . . .

  They walked in opposite directions, muscles straining, teeth clenched. Pain sparked in their shoulders from the unnatural force on their arms. And then, suddenly, without warning, the chair came apart. They staggered across the room, each clutching their pieces of wood.

  ‘Now we’re talking!’

  Beck had part of the seat, and a leg, and one of the struts. The end of the strut was pointed, where it had gone into a hole in another leg. That was what he had wanted. They pulled at it again so that the strut came free, and Beck was left with a pointed, cylindrical piece of wood the length of a school ruler.

  ‘Turn round again . . .’

  Once again he studied the knots around Samora’s wrists for the likeliest weak point. He turned his own back and, clumsily and from memory, worked the point of the strut in between the two bits of rope that he had chosen. He felt it dig in and gave the wood an extra twist to push it in even further.

  ‘It’s working! I can feel it!’ Samora reported. The knots were being forced apart by the wood, which exerted more pressure and leverage than Beck’s fingers ever could. All at once the wood fell to the floor and Samora stepped away, shaking her hands. The last remains of the knots fe
ll off and her hands were free.

  ‘OK! Let’s do you!’

  It took her much less time, using the strut with free hands, to get Beck free. He flexed his shoulders to ease his muscles, which were protesting after being tied back for so many hours. He felt the blood flow back into his muscles.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we find a way out.’

  Chapter 21

  First Beck tied the rope around his waist – ‘Just in case!’ he muttered dryly.

  Then he picked up one of the chair legs, which was sturdier than the strut, and went to work on the floorboards.

  There was only one gap wide enough to accommodate the leg, so that was the only place he could work. He dug the leg in as far as it would go and pulled, levering the piece of wood up against the floorboard.

  It wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to pull too hard in case the leg snapped. They had three other chair legs to work with, but someone outside might hear something. And the floorboards had been nailed down for a long time. They were in no hurry to move.

  He gritted his teeth and pulled, and pulled again. Sweat began to flow down his forehead and into his eyes. The wood shifted, one reluctant millimetre after another.

  Finally it shifted upwards. Samora and Beck could both get their fingers under it, and they pulled with all the strength of their arms and legs. The board came away with a groan of protesting nails – squealing like an angry elephant, Beck thought.

  There was no reaction from outside, and they looked triumphantly down into a dark space – a space about twenty centimetres wide.

  ‘You’re skinny,’ Samora said, ‘but you’re not that skinny.’

  ‘Same again, then . . .’

  With the first board, Beck had been able to jam the leg into a narrow gap and use it as a lever. Now that the gap was wider, that wasn’t possible. He thought for a moment, then knelt down and pulled his shirt off over his head.