The battered Land Rover bounced haphazardly across the parched savannah, scattering startled herds of wild antelope. Dust spewed from beneath the vehicle's hefty tyres and the spare wheel rattled angrily on the dented bonnet.
Kruger swung the steering wheel, his foot pressing hard on the accelerator and the gear stick thrust hard into fourth gear. He relished driving in this fashion. It exhilarated him and taxed his highly tuned reflexes.
An earth mound appeared in front of him and with a callous grin he pushed the accelerator to the boards and crouched low over the steering wheel. The Land Rover reached the crest of the mound and in a plume of sand from the spinning back wheels, hurtled through the air to land with a teeth-jarring crash on the two back wheels in a cloud of sand. The landing sent Kruger bouncing off his seat. Like a small child he hooted with delight, regained his posture and swung the steering wheel just in time to avoid a ditch. The Land Rover clawed its way through a dried-up river bed of colourless stones and water-purged sand which taxed Kruger's driving ability to the utmost.
The Ethiopian Highlands stretched ahead of him shimmering in the midday heat, their eroded tops thrusting into the unbroken blue sky. Kruger smiled. Once again he was back in the one place on earth he felt accepted in and which he loved. The vast endless expanse of parched savannah stretched ahead as if beckoning and the crumbling rocky pinnacles curved like fingers urging him on. Kruger had been journeying to the wildernesses of Ethiopia for twenty five years and a deep love for the area had embedded itself within him. The ancient mountains, the windswept savannah and the roaming herds of wild animals captivated him. He felt an addiction to the cold, clean desert air at night - its very taste and aroma permeated his senses like an ancient living entity. He was always filled with awe at the history, intrigue and mystery of Africa, the dark continent. When plodding across the heat-baked desert at midday with the awesome intensity of the equator's rays beating down upon his face, he was in blissful harmony with himself and his surroundings. As he sat beside a gently crackling fire watching the sun dip below the horizon he would muse on the secrets that Africa held. The incessant fury of the battle against the beasts and the elements would forever rage in the undergrowth and hinterlands of this devastatingly beautiful land
Kruger was a hunter.
The biographic image of his leathery visage contorted itself into runnels and crevasses as he strained against the wheel to avoid a boulder. He had decided that this trip into the Ethiopian wilderness would be his last. Although only forty four, he knew that towns were expanding in conjunction with industry in this part of Africa. Recently he had discovered that plans had been actioned to construct a hydro-electric power station on Lake Tana, one of the country's largest areas of freshwater. Kruger wished to remember his paradise unspoilt, untarnised as it had been since creation. He had considered this for a long time. Although his mind taunted him to return the following year, he knew he could not bear to witness the pollution and scarring of his kingdom by his own kind. Instead, he would prefer to relive his sanctuary at home with his drawings, his photographs and his memories.
The Ethiopian sun beat through the windscreen and Kruger tilted his face to it, absorbing its therapeutic warmth.
Once enconsed in his kingdom he could relax in the knowledge that he had escaped from the industrialised and revolutionised Africa which he so loathed and from the affected society climbers which were the epitome of every dark undercurrent that exerted its force on the shattered continent.
He always travelled alone. People bored him with the refute inanity of their conversation and affected accents. Kruger preferred animals, who refrained from indiscriminately devastating their habitat.
Kruger's dusty blond hair, tinged with delicate wisps of grey was ruffled haphazardly by the wind from the open window and the leathery tanned face of a man who had lived all his life in the tropics crinkled in the dry desert wind. He had first travelled to Ethiopia as a boy of fifteen on a hunting trip in the company of his older brother. The incredibly hot merciless sun, acute beauty of the sunsets, cold humbling nights and desert wind, dense with particles of ancient sand which seemed to sweep down from the mountains like waves captivated him. The born hunter's sense of a duel with his prey increased his addiction to the fantastic land which stirred something primeval within him and throughout the following year he thought of nothing else.
The next summer he had returned alone to sample to the full the true vigour of the Ethiopian wilderness. He had returned to his home in Cape Town with the knowledge that finally he had found a way of living he relished and a country he loved. Every consecutive year from then on he had returned alone to hunt and travel across the savannah.
Kruger spotted a boulder field ahead. Upon reaching it he spun the wheel furiously from left to right, the muscles on his veined forearm contracting in unison with the vehicle weaving its way between the boulders. Sweat glistened on his wrinkled brow and the veins popped out around his eyes with the strain.
He drove on through the crusty sand and brush well into the morning. It would be long before he could stop for the night. Kruger had always camped at a small waterhole, which even at the height of the dry season was never exhaustively parched. He had left Abbis Ababa at seven that morning and by now he had covered eighty miles of desert and brush. The waterhole gave access to the only water to be had for a ten mile radius without digging. This resulted in many animals visiting its life-sustaining flanks, providing plentiful game for Kruger, although he much preferred to track his game as the ancient warriors had always done.
It was two in the afternoon. He knew he could reach the waterhole within the next hour and decided to shoot some game for supper. Skilfully, Kruger swung the Land Rover to a halt, sending sand sifting in the heat-clogged air.
He opened the door of the vehicle and stepped down onto the sand. The full strength of the Ethiopian sun struck down mercilessly on his bare back and shoulders. Kruger brushed his hair back from his neck and face and closed his eyes blissfully, luxurious warmth enveloping his body. After a while he walked fifty feet ahead of the Land Rover and scanned the indistinct shimmering horizon. He noticed a twitch to the extreme right of his vision and shifted his gaze toward the movement. Faintly in the pulsating heat he could vaguely discern the golden head and body and reckoned the animal was not more than two thousand yards away.
On sprinting back to the Land Rover, Kruger sprang into his seat, rammed the gear-stick into reverse and in a cloud of sand, with the tyres spinning, jerked the vehicle abruptly backwards. Then, pushing the stick forward, he dug the ball of his foot into the accelerator and sped towards his prey.
The vehicle ploughed through the scrub at sixty as Kruger locked his eyes, faded by the glare of a thousand suns, on the still motionless animal. At fifteen hundred yards the great creature tilted its enormous head to the whirring noise. The animal's abdomen, golden yellow and glistening in the sun, rippled as the shock waves stretched along its awesomely powerful body. At nine hundred yards the lion sprang onto its muscled legs and darted away, sand licking its heels. Slowly, keeping his foot on the accelerator, Kruger reached for his gun on the passenger's eat. Cradling the rifle in his lap and guiding the vehicle with his knee out the corner of his eye, Kruger ran his hand up the sleek mahogany, savouring its smoothness.
His hand curled around the knob of the bolt. He lifted the knob and slid back the bolt with a click. He touched the plate beneath which in turn sprang up. Carefully he extracted a sleek .375 finger-length bullet from his trouser pocket, slid it into the breech and shut the bolt, cocking the powerful weapon.
The lion was powering vigorously away from its pursuer, its muscles contracting excitedly with the exertion. Kruger guessed the vehicle was about four hundred yards from the animal and closing rapidly. He knew it was an impossibility to shoot accurately at that range from a moving vehicle. He could stop the vehicle and then try to kill the lion from a stationary position but by then it would have at least a thousand yards on him. Instead, he would have to use his practised method: to get closer and fire from the moving Land Rover.
Heaving the bulky rucksack from the seat beside him, he wedged it tightly between the accelerator and his seat. With the accelerator now jammed at the boards, he threaded one of the rucksack straps through the steering wheel and pulled the bucket tight, rendering the protesting wheel fairly motionless.
Grasping the rifle in his sinewy hand, he leant out the side window and curled the monkey-like fingers
of his right hand around the roof-rack bar above. The aluminium was smooth and slippery to his taut fingers as he swung out of the window, locking his bare feet onto the window ledge. The Land Rover hurtled on in fourth gear, its suspension chattering furiously. On glancing forward, Kruger noticed with some concern that the bucking vehicle was set on a collision course with an alarmingly large rock. Desperately, he kicked at the steering-wheel but it refused to budge more than an inch. Flinging his rifle onto the half-empty roof-rack, he held onto the rack with his left hand and attempted to unbuckle the stubborn rucksack strap which seemed bent on destruction.
Now the rock was a thousand yards away. Kruger, having given up his battle with the rucksack strap, was contemplating jumping off the doomed-machine when he realised that the roof-rack was falling off. He had been meaning to tighten the screws for days and cursed himself under his breath, at the precise moment that the vehicle's left front wheel struck the sloping boulder.
With a stomach-turning drop the rack slid another six inches as Kruger's transport teetered precariously on its two right wheels. The soles of his bare feet trailed on the ground and grit as he clutched the doomed rack with one hand.
Another bump and now his calf muscles were being dragged through the earth, sending spasms of pain darting up his leg as the flesh was shredded mercilessly. With little ceremony the rifle rolled off the roof, the full weight of it striking him on the shoulder blade.
With considerable speed and some desperation Kruger lunged, managing to catch the muzzle in the crook of his arm, oblivious for now to the throbbing pain in his shoulder blade. The roof-rack's remaining screw popped out. Kruger threw himself for the edge of the door. His fingers curled around it and he gripped it with every ounce of his remaining strength. The battered roof-rack, laden with provisions, bounced incongruously away, exploding tins of beans and ammunition which spewed over the earth like silver pepper-corns.
But Kruger praised God he was still alive.
The car door swung open.
Kruger swore viciously as he spied another huge boulder rapidly nearing the open door which he was so resourcefully clinging onto. Staring in maddened incomprehension at the innocent steering-wheel he flung himself at the rattling tyre on the bonnet. Upon hitting the wheel full on the chest the wind was sucked out of him like a vacuum. Weakly, the hunter grasped the bonnet edge and hooked his scuffed feet around the front of the bonnet edge and lay there speadeagled as if crucified. Powered on solely by adrenaline, Kruger tilted his aching head just in time to see the open car door strike the boulder, tearing the old door of its hinges and into the scrub where it twitched and spun until eventually settling in a flurry of sand.
Clambering onto the roof the hunter scanned the savannah for the animal which had been the catalyst for the partial demolition of his car. Whilst he did so it occurred to him that the vehicle was now only doing about thirty when it should be edging at least sixty with the accelerator at the boards in fourth gear.
Just when he was beginning to think the lion had evaded him, he caught sight of shifting mane and powerful legs not more than three hundred yards ahead. The urge to kill swept through Kruger's system like opium. That creature owed him a great deal. In a feverish rage he kneeled precariously on the dented roof and brought the caressed mahogany butt up to his shoulder. Levelling the cross-hairs on the animal's temple he enhaled deeply and endeavoured to keep the weapon steady, which, due to the bucking motions of the vehicle and the rage that churned within him, was a near impossibility.
He curled his forefinger around the trigger. It felt cold and wet to him. It occurred to him that the lion was the equivalent of a rogue elephant: if that was indeed so then the creature could be maddened by its mates and driven to the point of insanity. It was a liability to all concerned and demanded to be extinguished. Such creatures had been known to attack moving vehicles.
Due to the considerable damage inflicted upon it, this particular vehicle was slowing. Another hundred yards and the animal would be within firing range.
In a single heart-stopping moment the maddened creature turned around and began charging towards the oncoming vehicle.
Kruger realised he could only fire one shot in that time.
He squeezed the trigger.
As if pre-warned by some sixth sense, the huge animal leapt and the bullet kicked harmlessly into the sand beneath.
Unbeleivingly, Kruger stared transfixed through the empty sights for a full three seconds. He had never known that to happen before. He felt almost cheated. Almost panicking, he clambered in the open space where the door had been, slashed the rucksack straps and powered ahead at thirty on a head-on course for the charging animal.
In blind rage he drove forward.
The lion sprang twenty yards from the vehicle and landed with a heart-sickening crash on the bonnet.
With one massive pad of paw it shattered the windscreen, showering Kruger with tiny particles of glass. Panicking, he swung the Land Rover from left to right and, stopping sharply, witnessed the massive creature shoot off the bonnet and thud unceremoniously into the scrub. As he accelerated away he fed another slender bullet into the oiled breech of his rifle. Desperately he broke to a halt, grabbed the rifle and leapt out onto the sand. Scurrying round the vehicle he searched in vain for the lion.
The savannah drifted in waves to the clammy desert wind and particles of sand sifted in the heat-clogged air.
Puzzled and fuming Kruger dove back into the driver's seat just as the lion leapt once more onto the bonnet. Frozen by fear, by the time he had scrabbled for his gun, the creature had clambered onto the roof.
Kruger, fumbling with the gear-stick, stamped on the accelerator and the vehicle sprang forward.
Staring at his cracked wing-mirror he did not see the ditch ahead. The three ton vehicle hurtled into the quicksand at thirty miles an hour and began to sink slowly beneath the surface.
The impact hurled Kruger savagely out of the place where the windscreen had been and headfirst into the quicksand. With admirable presence of mind he managed to clasp hold of the guard-rail and drag himself onto the bonnet.
Then he remembered the lion. A quick yet efficient scan of his surroundings revealed nothing bar the fact that he had manoeuvred his vehicle into a bed of quicksand approximately twelve feet wide. The poor old Land Rover was sinking fast and Kruger crawled back into the decrepit mutilated vehicle. Locating his rifle and rucksack he slung them over his shoulder and opened the small padded cupboard where he retained his water-bottle. The plastic bottle was still intact and he clipped it beside the heavy hunting-knife on his belt and scrabbled onto the bonnet.
He leapt the five foot gap onto the firm scrub fringing the sand. It gave way and it was only with swift and meticulous movements that he did not immediately follow the path of his car.
Kruger watched as the massive three ton vehicle slid with a cacophony of bubbles beneath the sand and with all his heart cursed the lion. Without transport, eighty miles from any settlement, his only chance of survival was to travel by night and rest in the shade by day. The hunter raised himself to his feet and left his twenty year old Land Rover for the last time, saddened at the loss of it and incredulous at the events of the past twenty minutes which had conspired to leave him devoid of food and transport and with only ten bullets to his name.
The day was old and to the west a faintly reddish glow emanated from the clear sky. The scrub rippled in waves in timing with the musty desert wind and clouds of dust eddied in the clear air.
Kruger stood firmly in his kingdom and waves of emotion racked his soul as he surveyed the wilderness and the symphony of colours splintering across the horizon. Delighting in the fact that this daily ritual had not changed since creation he closed his eyes in harmony with his surroundings, momentarily oblivious to the problem of survival
Shaking himself from his trance, he transferred his thoughts to survival. He was wearing his wrist-compass so it was unlikely he would become lost. He remembered hearing of people who had lost their minds when lost in the bush, the effects of which could surely be exacerbated in the featureless terrain of a desert.
Thinking rationally and lucidly, he laced up his boots, shouldered his rucksack and slinging the heavy rifle over his shoulder, ran his fingers through his blood-matted hair. He began to walk due west towards the waterhole which he had calculated was now not more than seven miles away. On reaching it he would rest and then continue on towards a small settlement called Gore, seventy miles from the waterhole. Hopefully, as he was well-known there, he could borrow a vehicle to take him to Malakil, a major Sudanese city and thence to Cape Town.
The webbing straps tore at his bare shoulders, chafing them as he slogged through the coarse earth. His hair, matted with blood and sweat, stuck uncomfortably to his forehead. Physical hardship was revelled in by Kruger yet every step tortured him to a degree he had never known possible.
The universe tilted Africa away from the sun and darkness fell on the land like a blanket. Like diamonds in a black cloak the stars shone in the sky overlooking the earth. Sweat dripped down into Kruger's eyes causing them to sting angrily and dust clung to his face, burrowing into the shotgun barrels of his nostrils. Sand sifted over his scuffed boots like petrified waves, working its way into mounds inside his shoes, encasing his protesting toes.
As if the lid had been removed from a kettle, the heat of the day dissipated into the void. With the exertion, the lone walker did not notice the cold, numbing in its intensity.
Kruger thought of the lion.
By now he had no doubt that it was quite mad: no normal lion would have attacked a moving vehicle...and twice. He had hunted and killed a hundred lions and never before had one behaved like his most recent quarry. It perplexed him and the snake of fear began to uncoil in his stomach.
At three in the morning, after walking for five hours, Kruger reached the waterhole. The water was saturated with a thin film of mud and stank of animal excreta. It was exactly as Kruger remembered it - nondescript and fringed with brown reeds, brittle in the heat. There were a few duiker drinking on the banks, their sleek bodies shiny and wet with sweat. Flies buzzed incessantly around their flanks and straggling vultures picked clumps of damp carrion from the festering bodies of dead animals.
To Kruger the waterhole was a delivery direct from heaven, first class and registered thank you very much.
A milky dawn broke across the horizon as Kruger drank.
Afterwards he rested in the shade of a rock whilst the sun beat down around him with maximum intensity. As the day progressed he became the recipient of a sharp hunger pang in his belly.
The rough webbing strap of his rifle chafed uncomfortably against the raw, peeling skin of his shoulder.
There was a stray duiker breakfasting on a clump of brush fifty yards ahead of him.
Kruger slipped a bullet into the breech, brought the cross-hairs up to the animal's temple and slowly squeezed the trigger. The top half of the animal's head exploded in a spray of flesh and blood which tore away in a grotesque whiplash. Kruger could distinctly hear the lumps of flesh plopping into the water, like a bad case of the runs. The animal's legs buckled underneath and it collapsed with a suprisingly large splash into the water. Its front legs twitched until the nerves discovered the animal was dead.
The lion was on top of the felled animal and tearing at it before Kruger had lowered his gun.
Feverishly he brought the rifle down, ejected the spent cartridge and dug in his pocket for a fresh round. His fingers closed around the pointed bullet and he threaded it into the breech.
The lion was in a feeding frenzy, wrestling pieces of purple intestine from within the unfortunate beast, its gargantuan jaws dripping slivers of blood-stained cartilage.
Kruger raised the butt to his shoulder and wrapped the sling around the supporting arm. He was shaking and the sight was pulsating erratically in his line of vision.
Kruger fired.
He lowered the gun. The lion had abandoned the carcass and was heading off into the desert.
Kruger followed.
For an hour he saw nothing. Then he saw the lion. Not more than five hundred yards away, it was coming towards him very rapidly indeed.
Three cartridges fell with a puff into the sand before at last he managed to feed one into the breech. Trembling, he aimed at the animal's breastbone and leaned forward to take the recoil. The butt kicked into his shoulder and he lowered the gun.
The lion was still coming.
All Kruger's senses seemed hyper-sensitised as he ejected the cartridge, reloaded and fired again..
In a flash of golden mane the creature darted to the left and sped off into the desert. Kruger was not sure if the animal was hit. The thrill of the hunt was still surging in his veins. Even after a thousand hunts, the thrill remained. But now he yearned for the utter finality of death, the extinction of life, the only true conclusion to the hunt.
He stared after the prodigious animal that nature had furbished, its consciousness and senses pummelled into cerebral mince by prolonged exposure to the irrational capriciousness of man.
Kruger counted his bullets...only two left. He had always disciplined himself to using one bullet per animal, so improving his aim.
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It was dusk and Kruger sat on the boulder, his rifle cradled in his lap.
Imperceptibly, the sun ball dropped down towards the rim of Africa. Kruger remembered how, as a boy, he had observed this scene for the first time and how it had stirred something within him. He wondered how many times since he had observed this ritual.
Picking up his rucksack, he hurled it into the lake. It disappeared beneath the surface, sending smooth measured ripples across the surface of the pool.
Sliding the first bullet into the breech, Kruger closed the bolt just as he heard the rustle of the scrub and saw it twitch as the King of the Beasts trotted towards him.
Kruger raised his rifle to the sky and squeezed the trigger, emptying the bullet into the African sky. As he opened the bolt, the spent brass cartridge popped up in front of his face, sparkling with the last rays of the sun at the utmost curve of its arc and dropped with a puff of sand into the earth..
The lion stopped ten feet in front of Kruger and swung at the earth with its claw.
It was a huge animal.
Its mane shifted in the wind.
Kruger stared into its deep unfathomable black eyes.
Kruger slid his last bullet into the breech and closed the bolt.
The lion sprang.
Kruger fired.
The slug slammed into the lion's heart as the animal's mammoth paw crushed Kruger's sternum. Together, they tumbled off the slab and fell into the sand of the wilderness. They wheezed softly. The hunter could feel the animal's stale pungent breath on his face.
The rifle and the lion lay beside him.
The hunter drew his last breath, looked at the lowering sun for the last time and closed his eyes.
The final hunt was over.
THE END
