Shadowrun - 14 - Nosferatu by Sargent Carl; Gascoigne Marc

Author:Sargent, Carl; Gascoigne, Marc [Sargent, Carl; Gascoigne, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

18

Serrin tottered off the plane at Nkandia feeling very groggy. Mistakenly, he’d thought the luxurious coach had arrived at the Imperial to take them to the Umfolozi reserve, but all it did was deposit them back at the airport. The plane, which made the 777 they’d flown in earlier seem like the height of luxury and safety, wasn’t any make Serrin recognized, and had little better than bucket seats inside. The flight was less than sixty miles, but it might have been to Mars for how long it seemed. Serrin had never heard of clear air turbulence before, and suspected it was an invention to disguise the fact that the plane was in the process of falling apart. He only barely managed to retain the contents of his stomach during the trip. Michael had told them they were going to one of the less popular, more out-of-the-way campsites, but he hadn’t expected the transport to be quite so awful.

Michael was appallingly unflappable, resplendent in khaki shorts, shirt, walking boots, and a pith helmet. With his thin white legs and knobby knees, he looked the perfect English tourist. The zinc cream smeared over his nose and lips, added to a generous dosing of lighter sun block over every inch of exposed flesh, looked more than faintly ridiculous. He was clearly loving every minute of it.

“If you haven’t sprayed yourself with repellent, now’s the time to do it,” he said cheerfully, squinting through his shades along the red-brown dirt strip that passed for Nkandla’s runway. “And don’t forget to spray that talc inside your underwear. Sweat chafing can take off a layer of skin in hours out here, even in dry heat. And Tom, even though you’re a troll, in this climate you need sun block. Really. Trust me.”

Tom grunted and hurriedly attempted to extract some of the cream from his plastic bottle as the jeeps roared into sight in a great cloud of dust. He managed to deposit roughly three-quarters of its contents into his huge hands and began busily smearing himself. The heat of the brilliant yellow sun was intense enough for him to feel even through a skin thicker than anyone else’s around, black or white.

Serrin looked around at the handful of other people along for the safari. Most of them, he was pleased to see, looked as absurd in shorts as he might have if he hadn’t opted for long khaki pants instead. Two Americans, a trio of dumpling-shaped Germans, and a pair of Japanese; the standard mix. Only Kristen looked as if she was at home here, neither uncomfortable nor out of place. The half-dozen tour guides pointedly avoided speaking to her, though they were short on conversation anyway. Ruanmi, the leader of the group, was the one who’d done almost all the talking, but most of what he had to say consisted of the standard warnings and reminders to sign the usual disclaimer forms.

After piling into two of the jeeps and roaring off northward into the heart of the reserve, the group had to hang on for dear life.

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