The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [90]
She straightened up very slowly with Oliver’s Magnum in her hand.
“It’s got too strong a kick for you,” said Oliver. “And even if you landed a lucky shot and killed the first one, the other three will be on you before you can take aim again.”
“I’m not going to shoot them,” said Lara as two of the lionesses began approaching cautiously. Suddenly the lioness atop the car jumped lightly to the ground, no more than twenty-five yards away.
“Then what did you get the guns for?”
“Quiet,” she said. “I’ve got to concentrate.”
She turned, lifted the Magnum in both hands, held it in front of her, and took aim at the rhino, who knew that the lions wouldn’t bother him and was eating peacefully a hundred yards away.
“I can’t kill him from this distance, can I?”
“No,” answered Oliver. “But you can annoy the hell out of him.”
“Good!” said Lara, squeezing the trigger.
The lions jumped and roared at the sound. She saw a puff of dust rise from the rhino’s flanks, and it began galloping straight at her. She stood her ground as the huge creature came closer and closer. The lions, not knowing that the rhino was charging Lara rather than them, broke and ran for cover.
Lara yelled at the rhino to make sure he didn’t turn away and give the lions a chance to regroup. He snorted, lowered his head, and increased his speed—and she sidestepped him like the bullfighters she had seen in the arena at Madrid and Barcelona. As he had done before, he kept running, and this time he disappeared over a nearby ridge.
Lara and Oliver raced to the car, and were safely inside it before the lions broke cover and began returning. Oliver put his key in the ignition and drove off. Lara’s last sight of the lions was as they were cautiously approaching the dead Arab, determined to eat something this morning.
“That was quick thinking,” said Oliver. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me in the safari business?”
“Some other lifetime,” she replied. “I just want to get to the Seychelles.”
“We’ll get there, never fear.”
They drove to the Langata Gate, where Oliver stopped the car and approached the guard’s station. He spent a few moments talking, then returned to the car and drove out of the park.
“All right,” said Oliver. “I smoothed things over with him and fed him a fable about how we were hot on the trail of a notorious poacher. We even took a couple of shots at him, but he escaped, which at least explains the gunshots if anyone asks about them.”
“And the dead Arab?”
“The lions won’t leave much, and the scavengers will take care of the rest. There won’t be a trace of him by tomorrow.”
Suddenly he pulled off the road and stopped at a small dry goods store.
“Why are we stopping here?” asked Lara as they pulled up to the door.
“We’re covered with blood, remember?” said Oliver. “There aren’t any carnivores at the airport or on the plane, but we’re not going to be too fragrant.”
“You know, I’d completely forgotten,” said Lara, getting out of the car and joining him as he entered the store.
They each bought a khaki outfit, his rather nondescript, hers more elegant and form-fitting, and after another five minutes they pulled into the lot at the Wilson Airport.
“It looks bustling,” Lara remarked as a plane touched down and another took off a few seconds later.
“Almost all the in-country flights take off and land here,” replied Oliver as they walked to the entrance. “There are scheduled flights to the Mara, Samburu, Lamu, half a dozen other locations. And dozens of charters leave here every day.”
“So where’s our pilot?” she asked, looking around as they entered the small airport.
“Beats me,” said Oliver. “We didn’t have a set time—just late morning. These arrangements are always very informal.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait where he’s most likely to look for us.”
He took her to a small bar and restaurant at the far end of the building.
“This is called the Dambusters 77 Club,” he informed her as they sat at a leather booth. “It’s ostensibly