8
Vic-torrrrrr, vic-torrrrr the little brownish coloured bird called.
It was driving Sam crazy. ‘Shut up!’ He tossed a green branch he’d stripped from a nearby tree on the pathetic fire in front of his tent and it started smoking. He was too dejected to go in search of more dead wood. Two days and still no contact. He’d eked out the last of the two energy bars that Cheryl-Ann had allowed him to carry, and his stomach was no longer rumbling, it was crying.
Vic-torrrrrr, vic-torrrrr.
Earlier that morning, as he’d sat on his sleeping bag taking stock of his meagre supplies, elephants had surrounded his tent. At first he thought they were trying to break through the canvas with the tips of their tusks when he’d heard the scratching on the fabric. In fact, they were feeding on seed pods fro
