Safari Showdown

The walk back should have been simple. Retrace their steps, deliver the bananas, accept whatever bizarre monkey honour came next, and figure out how to leave Africa without offending anyone.

Instead, Clive found a jeep.

It was parked at the edge of a clearing — a dusty Land Rover with the keys dangling from the ignition like a gift from a universe that wanted to see what would happen next. The driver was nowhere in sight. Probably off photographing a giraffe. Probably having a lovely time.

"No," said Bobo, reading Clive's expression. "Absolutely not."

"It's right there."

"You crashed a forklift AND a plane today."

"Third time's the charm," Clive said, and climbed in.

The engine turned over on the first try. Clive grabbed the wheel, shoved the gear stick into what he hoped was drive, and the jeep lurched forward with a violence that sent bananas flying off the back seat.

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Clive shouted, bouncing over rocks and roots. The monkeys had scattered — Bobo was clinging to the roof rack, Zazu was in the back seat narrating his own death, and Pogo was somehow in the passenger seat looking at Clive like he'd just written her a love poem.

"You drive like a maniac," Pogo said adoringly.

The jeep smashed through a low branch. Leaves exploded across the windshield. Clive couldn't see. He didn't slow down.

Then the growling started.

Clive checked the mirror. Behind them, gaining fast, was a lion. Not a small lion. Not a "maybe it's just curious" lion. A proper, full-maned, I-haven't-eaten-today lion, and it was running like it had somewhere to be.

"LION!" Bobo screamed from the roof.

"I SEE IT!"

"DRIVE FASTER!"

"I'M DRIVING AS FAST AS THIS THING GOES!"

The jeep bounced and rattled across the savanna. The lion kept pace, its eyes locked on them with the focus of a predator who'd decided this was happening. Clive swerved around a termite mound, clipped a bush, and nearly rolled the jeep on a ditch he hadn't seen.

Then the elephants appeared.

Not one or two. A whole herd, right across their path, standing there like a grey wall of "absolutely not." The biggest one turned its head and trumpeted — a sound so deep Clive felt it in his hooves.

"LEFT! GO LEFT!" Bobo shrieked.

Clive yanked the wheel. The jeep tilted onto two wheels, hung there for a sickening moment, then slammed back down. They shot through a gap between two elephants that was definitely not wide enough for a jeep, scraping both sides with a sound like the world's worst violin.

The lion, apparently deciding that elephants were above its pay grade, peeled off and disappeared into the grass.

Clive didn't stop. He drove until the monkey village appeared ahead, then slammed the brakes so hard that everyone and everything — monkeys, bananas, loose screws from the forklift that were still somehow in his wool — went flying forward.

The jeep skidded to a halt in the middle of the village. Bananas rained down around them like the world's most tropical hailstorm.

The monkeys went berserk. Cheering, hooting, throwing things in the air. Bobo peeled himself off the roof rack, looking like he'd aged ten years. Zazu was still narrating from the back seat, though his voice had gone very quiet and very high.

Lulu ran up to Clive, beaming. "You did it!"

Clive sat in the driver's seat, covered in dirt and leaves and banana pulp, his wool sticking out at angles that defied geometry.

"Yeah," he said. "I did."

He looked at the jeep. He looked at the jungle. He looked at the sky, where somewhere, a plane he'd crashed was probably still sitting in a field.

I need to get out of Africa, he thought.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.