by Bear Grylls
‘Follow me,’ Beck said. ‘Run quickly, but carefully too. We’re not just going to sprint as fast as we can – we can’t afford to trip over or get disorientated. We go with purpose, pace and caution.’
He hoicked up the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nostrils. ‘And do this. It’ll protect against the smoke.’ It helped that the shirt was soaking wet from his mud bath. The moisture would block out the smoke particles too. ‘Ready?’
‘Um . . .’ James said. ‘How do we know our friends aren’t just waiting outside to pick us off?’
Beck drew breath to answer, but it was Ian who spoke.
‘We don’t,’ he said bluntly, ‘but if we stay here, we’re dead, for sure. Besides, I don’t think they’ll hang around. If any rangers see the flames, they’ll be all over us like fleas on a dog. The poachers won’t want that. They’re just letting the fire do their work for them.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Beck said, ‘let’s be ready in case they are waiting. We can use the smoke, dark and confusion to our advantage. Come on.’
They covered their noses and mouths . . . and then just went for it.
Chapter 50
It went against every instinct in Beck’s body. They were running towards a fire. The air grew hotter. The sting of smoke in his eyes and on his tongue grew stronger. But there was no other way out.
Even though he had aimed for the spot where the flames looked lowest, they were still completely surrounded by them. The trees were huge columns of fire, roaring and crackling as they were consumed. He steered a course well clear of those. But still, small tongues of flame ran along branches and through the undergrowth. Clouds of burning leaves and cinders blew around them.
It was like running through a minefield, where the mines suddenly show themselves just as you’re about to tread on them.
Beck tried to head straight for the point he had picked out, but it was impossible. They had to run from side to side, hopping and jumping one way, then another as fire licked all around them.
The air was roasting hot and thick with smoke, almost unbreathable. Sweat poured down Beck’s face and washed away the protective layer of mud. His eyes stung as if insects were attacking them, even though he narrowed them to slits behind his hands. The smoke was too thick to see where he was going.
All he had was his basic sense of direction to tell him he was still heading in the right direction.
And then – wham!
Beck cried out in pain as he tumbled forward onto the ground. It felt like someone had just thumped him across the shoulders with a baseball bat. A heavy weight on his back pinned him down. He was dimly conscious of James and Ian running past, not stopping.
He tried to call out to them, but all that emerged was a gasp. He didn’t dare draw in the breath he needed to shout. He didn’t want that smoke inside him.
He twisted round as best he could. A fallen branch lay across his thighs. He was lucky it had only struck him a light blow – a couple of centimetres in the wrong direction and it would have knocked him out.
And then, with horror, he saw that the leaves at the end of the branch were on fire, and the fire was spreading.
No!
He braced his arms against the ground and pushed up as hard as he could. Pain sparked in every joint and in the bruised muscles of his back, but he couldn’t shift the branch. He risked another look at it. The fire was getting closer, its heat growing more intense.
Beck had known many types of pain – cuts, bruises, broken bones. The closest he had come to burning was foolishly playing with a hot stove when he was little. That had been enough to teach him to handle fire with respect. And now he was trapped, held down by a weight he couldn’t move, and if he didn’t do something soon, he would burn to death.
He tried one more shove against the ground, gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain of his screaming muscles.
‘Aargh!’
Then a pair of feet appeared in front of him. He gazed up at James and saw a very strange look in his eyes.
And suddenly, Beck was no longer in Africa, trapped in a burning forest. He was on a metal platform attached to a drilling rig in the middle of the ocean. James had been there too, struggling to help Beck shift the metal girder that held James’s mother pinned. But it had been too heavy for two boys.
That had been Beck’s last glimpse of James – until a couple of days ago.
All at once his mind was back in Africa again, and James was staring down at him. Now it was Beck who was pinned, helpless, about to die.
And then the weight on top of him shifted slightly. Beck turned his head. James was now at the far end of the branch; the end that wasn’t burning. His arms were wrapped around it and his teeth were gritted with the effort.
‘Move!’ he shouted. Beck dug his elbows into the ground and tried to crawl forward. The branch was still weighing him down. He could manage a centimetre or two, but that was all.
‘Keep going!’
‘I’m trying!’
‘I’m going to drop it – I can’t—’
And then Ian was there too, blundering back through the smoke. He took in the situation at a glance and went to help James. Between them they lifted the branch free, and Beck crawled forward until he was clear of it.
He tried to stand, but his bruised back made him cry out in protest.
‘Help him,’ Ian told James curtly.
They stood on either side of him, arms around his shoulders, and helped him hobble through the smoke, away from the burning trees.
Chapter 51
When the trio emerged from the flames, they collapsed, coughing, to the ground. Their lungs rasped, their chests heaved as they gasped for air.
No one spoke for a while.
Then, finally, Ian helped the boys to their feet and they stumbled over to the rocks where the dogs had cornered Beck. They made a handy landmark.
‘No sign of the poachers,’ Ian commented. ‘That’s one good thing. OK – you two wait here. Get some rest. This may take a while . . .’
And he wandered off into the night to try and find the hidden black Jeep.
For a while Beck and James just sat there in silence, breathing the clean, fresh air, and watching the blazing trees two hundred metres away. Luckily the flames weren’t spreading. The ground was damp enough to act as a firebreak. A column of thick, ugly smoke blotted out the stars above, though. Nothing could have survived in there.
James gave Beck a nudge and a big grin. ‘Trust me now?’
Beck was too tired to say much, but he managed to give James a smile in return. ‘Yeah . . . I trust you. Thanks.’
Silence again.
‘So, what now?’ Beck asked. ‘You didn’t just want to get me out of London to save my life – though thanks for that, by the way. You wanted me here for a reason. Something about getting back at Lumos?’
‘Here’s what we do now. Your uncle Al goes back to England and tells everyone you’re dead. Ian goes back to Lumos and is our man on the inside. I go back to being the spoiled brat of an heir.’
Beck smiled slightly. ‘And me?’
‘You lie low. Enjoy your anonymity for a change!’
‘But . . . you still haven’t told me what we’re going to do. How are we going to fight back at Lumos?’
‘Oh, we’ve well and truly got them,’ James said confidently. ‘We’ve got corruption, we’ve got murder . . . and we’ve got evidence.’
‘Where?’
‘Ah.’ James’s face fell, but only a little. ‘That’s the thing. We have to go and get it . . .’ He paused and turned at the sound of an engine approaching. ‘Good, here’s Ian.’
The sight of the two headlights lurching towards them was a welcome one. It meant that the poachers hadn’t found the Jeep.
Ian pulled up and leaned out of his window. ‘I’m listening in to the rangers’ radio traffic. There’s already rumours of a fire in the park. First light, they’ll be all over us. And that’s not good.’
> ‘Why?’ Beck asked.
Ian shot him a sideways look. ‘Maybe it hasn’t sunk in, kid, but you’re dead. Let’s try and keep you that way.’
James and Beck climbed into the back of the Jeep and Ian set off across the veld.
‘OK . . .’ The idea was growing on Beck. This could be quite cool. ‘So I’m dead. But wait – first we have to find Samora and get back to Uncle Al. He’ll be going crazy!’
He suddenly felt very guilty that, what with one thing and another, he hadn’t even thought about Samora for a couple of hours. ‘She still thinks . . . the dogs got me . . .’
He trailed off, confronted by one face that looked unhappy (James’s) and one that was hard and unreadable (Ian’s, in the mirror).
‘What?’ he asked.
‘You can’t tell either of them, Beck,’ James said gently. ‘They have to believe it too.’
‘No way!’ Beck replied straight away. ‘They can keep secrets. They can—’
‘Beck,’ Ian said gruffly, ‘do you know how good an actor Samora is? ’Cos I don’t. Lumos will check this story inside out and back to front. They’ll poke it at every point and they’ll do their best to tear it apart. One weak link and it all goes to pot. Samora and your uncle both have to believe it, and Lumos have to see that if they are to believe it. When it’s all over – then, of course, we can tell them.’
Beck groaned. He could see Ian’s point, but it felt so cruel. He knew what it was like to lose those close to you. He didn’t want to put a friend through that, especially when it wasn’t even real.
And Al . . . How could he do this to Al?
‘You tell me the plan,’ he replied quietly. ‘Starting with this place we have to go to get the evidence. And then I decide if it’s worth keeping this from them.’
‘No,’ Ian said abruptly.
‘Yes,’ James said, and for the first time Beck heard a hint of command in his voice. James had been raised to take over Lumos one day. Someone must have taught him how to be a leader, even if he fought against it at every step.
Ian was silent, and then shrugged. ‘You’re the boss.’
‘One day . . .’ James leaned towards Beck with a mischievous smile on his face. He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘So . . . Have you ever been to the Himalayas?’
Epilogue
‘My name is Beck Granger. I’ve survived in some of the world’s toughest environments. But right now, the rhinos of South Africa are fighting a battle for survival of their own.’
Beck’s face filled the screen, his eyes narrowed and steely. His expression showed nothing but total resolve. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair.
The camera pulled back. More of Beck came into view. Behind him a rhino grazed placidly on the grass. Beck turned to look at it for a moment, then faced the camera again.
‘Some will say that the fight is already lost – that it’s already too late to save them. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my adventures, it’s “Never give up”. No matter how desperate things seem, never, ever give up.’
The picture froze, then faded to a smartly dressed woman standing in almost the same place Beck had. Unlike Beck, she held a microphone bearing the logo of a news channel. Her face was composed and sombre as she looked at the camera.
‘That was the last known footage of Beck Granger, who disappeared shortly after it was filmed, and is assumed dead. Beck was here in South Africa to record a video with wildlife expert Athena Sapera, to raise awareness of the perils that face the rhinoceros. And it’s quite possible that even though he is no longer with us, he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.’
Another cut, this time to a courthouse in Johannesburg. Police were escorting three men in handcuffs into the building; they were surrounded by photographers. The woman’s voice continued in the background.
‘Beck and his friend, Samora Peterson, were able to track down evidence that has led to the arrest of a major rhino-poaching syndicate. Three arrests have been made so far, with more expected to follow. If the men are found guilty, then Samora will be eligible for a reward of one million rand for the information. A spokesman for the family says that she has already pledged to return the money to continue the fight against poaching.’
Now the scene showed Samora approaching the same courthouse, escorted by her father, Bongani, and a couple of other rangers, chosen for their height and bulk so that they could keep the journalists at bay. In spite of them, the woman with a microphone was able to force her way through.
‘Samora! Samora! What was the last you saw of Beck Granger?’
One of the rangers looked like he was about to push her aside, but Samora stopped him. She looked into the camera with eyes that were still a little red and puffy. Her voice was steady, but everyone could hear the huge effort she was making to talk without bursting into tears.
‘Beck and I were being chased by a pack of wild dogs. I believe he deliberately made himself a target so that they would go after him and leave me alone.’ Her voice began to shake. ‘He was the bravest boy . . .’ She tailed off, then continued, ‘Make that, he was the bravest man I’ve ever met—’
A ranger moved her away before she could break down completely. The camera didn’t follow her.
The scene returned to the woman, now back in the Kruger National Park.
‘This station tried to contact Beck’s uncle and guardian, Professor Sir Alan Granger. He was too upset to appear on camera, but instead released a statement.’
She read from a sheet of paper.
‘I hope against hope that Beck is still alive, but with each passing day I know that good news becomes less and less likely. I honour Beck’s life, the values he lived by, and his total commitment to preserving the world in which we live. I know that his life was not in vain and that he will prove an untold source of inspiration to many others that follow.’
A final, solemn look at the camera.
‘This is Serena Vorster, returning you to the studio—’
The picture vanished as a hand jabbed at the remote control.
In an oak-lined office, a tall, thin, elderly man smiled. He was bald apart from a circle of white hair around the edge of his scalp. His neck was long and gangly and his shoulders were stooped.
Edwin Blake always reminded Ian of the vultures he had seen in South Africa, hovering over corpses. When the old man smiled, his mouth moved a little at a time, as if the separate parts were remembering what to do.
‘Show me the trophy,’ Blake said.
Ian pulled a khaki safari shirt out of a plastic bag that lay at his feet. It was tattered and torn, and it was soaked in blood. The blood was dark brown now, dried and caked.
‘The DNA matches,’ he said.
The blood actually was Beck’s. He had parted with it, painlessly, in a doctor’s surgery in Johannesburg. That had been Beck’s idea.
The old man took the shirt reverently, as if handling a holy relic. ‘Did you see him die?’
Ian shook his head. ‘I got there too late, Mr Blake. But I heard the screams. He was torn limb from limb.’
Blake was silent for a moment. His eyes were closed and he swayed from side to side. He looked as if he was taking a moment to appreciate some beautiful, distant music.
‘So Beck Granger is out of our hair for good.’ He opened his eyes and passed the shirt back to Ian. ‘Burn that, and get some rest. Be back here tomorrow. We have a very great deal to get on with, now that kid is finally gone.’
BEAR’S SURVIVAL TIPS
MAKING YOUR OWN LAID CORDAGE
Laid cordage is the term for any rope made from fibres that are twisted together.
Stage 1
Take a long, single fibre. Twist it repeatedly in one direction until it naturally wants to form a kink.
Stage 2
Fold the fibre about a third of the way along. Don’t be tempted to fold it in half, as this will give you a weaker finished product.
Stage 3
Grasp the fold between t
he finger and thumb of one hand. Place the doubled-over fibre on your lap and use the palm of your free hand to roll it one full roll away from you. You are not trying to make the fibres overlap at this stage; just aiming to twist each strand individually.
Stage 4
Keeping your palm firmly held down, to stop the cord from untwisting, release your other hand. The cord should twist neatly.
Stage 5
Pinch the cord where the twisting ends and repeat the process until you are 4–5cm from the shortest end. To continue, lay another strand of fibre up to the shortest end and carry on the process as before – the new fibre will automatically entwine itself into the existing cord. When you’ve finished rolling the cord, just tie it at the loose end to stop it unravelling. If the cord is too thick to do this, you can tie a separate piece of cord round the end instead.
Your finished cord will be substantially stronger than your original fibres, but you can make it stronger still by folding over the existing cord and repeating the process. If you do this, make sure you roll the cord in the opposite direction to the way you started.
About the Author
BEAR GRYLLS is one of the world’s most famous adventurers. After spending three years in the SAS he set off to explore the globe in search of even bigger challenges. He has climbed Mount Everest, crossed the Sahara Desert and circumnavigated Britain on a jet-ski. His TV shows have been seen by more than 1.2 billion viewers in more than 150 countries. In 2009, Bear became Chief Scout to the Scouting Association. He lives in London and Wales with his wife Shara and their three sons: Jesse, Marmaduke and Huckleberry.
GOLD OF THE GODS
Location: The Colombian Jungle
Dangers: Snakes; sharks; howler monkeys