Kynan touched her arm. She glanced around. "What?"

He high-signed her, pointing urgently toward camp. She noticed he'd notched an arrow to his longbow while backing away. "There's no danger," she told. "He's fifty yards away." Margo clicked the camera from snapshot to video and began filming again, motion footage this time. The Cape Buffalo bull lowered his head even more and snorted again, cutting the turf with a sharp hoof.

Then he charged

Oh, shit...

Margo fumbled for her laser-guided blowgun, then realized she'd left it at camp. Then she knew she was in serious danger. That animal's as big as a earl And he was running straight toward her, bellowing like a runaway freight train. Terror took hold Margo fumbled awkwardly for the carbine and brought it around. The whole barrel shook, describing wild circles with the muzzle, but she managed to center the bull. She didn't know where to aim. She squeezed her eyes shut and fired The carbine slapped her shoulder. The crack of the report sounded above the thunder of hooves.

The bull bellowed and kept coming.

WHACK!

A yard-long arrow sprouted from the bull's chest.

The buffalo bellowed furiously-and kept coming.

"Run!" Margo spun and pelted toward camp. Kynan was right behind her. The thunder of hooves bearing down told Margo they'd never make it.

"Its too far!" Margo cried. She turned and fired again, emptying the magazine into the charging buffalo.

Kynan notched another arrow and let fly. It caught the bull full in the chest The crazed buffalo faltered only one stride then picked up speed again. Two more arrows followed, pincushioning the enraged animal. Margo fumbled for another magazine to reload the carbine. She was still fumbling with the ammunition when

KA-RUMP!

The bull went down as though pole-axed. It snorted, screamed, and staggered back to its feet Then charged again.

KA-RUMP! The thunder of Koot's big rifle barked again.

The buffalo crumpled and slid to a stop. Margo stood where she was, shaking like a leaf. Kynan, poised between her and the maddened bull, slowly relaxed his bow. The bull had skidded to a stop less than four feet from his toes.

"You stupid English!" Koot van Beek muttered, rising from the grass behind them. "You cannot stop a Cape Buffalo with children's toys." He raised the Winchester Model 70 African Special he'd brought along. "This is why I brought my own rifle, English."

Margo gulped. "I-I see. Yes. I- Thank you."

Koot grunted once then jerked a thumb back toward camp. "I have fish for supper." The scathing way he said it made Margo wish she could crawl into a hole and pull it in after her. Maybe hunting did have its place...

The Welshman slowly, carefully, replaced his arrow in the quiver at his side.

"You were very brave," Margo told him, wondering if he knew enough English to understand her.

Kynan turned to face her. Margo gulped. His whole face was pasty white. He glanced at his bow, stared for a moment at the dead Cape Buffalo, then looked past her to Koot. He said in broken English, "Koot? You show gun?"

Koot grinned. "Sure. Come to camp. I will teach you to shoot."

The look in the Welshman's eyes was one of vast relief

Wordlessly, Margo followed the men back to camp. Next time, she promised, to bring a gun powerful enough to stop anything I'm likely to encounter: She'd made a mistake. A bad one. Fortunately, it hadn't proven fatal. This time, she'd been lucky.

Margo's second mistake was far more serious than not choosing a powerful enough rifle. Watching the falling fuel gauges-and searching the inhospitable terrain below for nonexistent landing sites--did nothing to slow the alarming rate at which they burned fuel. Far sooner than they should have, the ducted engine fans sputtered and went silent. Terror choked Margo into equally profound silence. We're out of fuel. Dear God, we're out of fuel ... .

Try as she might, Margo spotted nothing that looked remotely like a survivable landing sight for miles in any direction. The fuel gauges read empty--and Margo knew the spare fuel canisters were just as empty as the main tanks. They started to drift rapidly off course.

It's not fair! ! was so careful! I figured our exact fuel needs. I got it right for the inland flight! For all those maddening trips upriver My calculations should've been right for the return to the coast, too. Dammit, I put in every variable I could think of to balance weight against lift-even looked-up, how heavy that diamond-bearing soil would be! It's just not fair!

But-as Kit and Sven had been so fond of saying, the Universe didn't give beans for "fair." It simply was. You got it right or paid the price. And Margo, for all her cautious calculations, had forgotten one simple, critical factor: the wind

Year round, the wind blew off the coast of Madagascar across the Drakensberg ranges, flowed around the foothills of the Limpopo valley and blasted inland, carrying moisture that kept the eastern half of Africa's tip from baking into desert like the Kalahari and Skeleton Coast farther west. That wind never shifted direction. In all her careful planning, Margo had forgotten to calculate the effect of bucking headwinds all the way back along five hundred miles of river valley while summer storms drenched them and threatened to blow their little airship off course.

It wasn't fair; it just was.

And now the fuel was gone.

"English!" Koot called urgently. "Fill the fuel tanks!"

Oh, God, l have to tell him...

"Uh ... I can't! We're, uh, out of fuel ... ."

The hydrogen wing bucked in the wind and dropped sickeningly, then spun lazily at the mercy of rising storm winds. From across the PVC gondola, Koot stared at her, then gave the silent ducted fans a single disgusted glare.

"English."

Margo clung to the gondola with her heart in her throat She had no choice but to take them down. If they could get down. The terrain below was absolutely treacherous: broken rocks and a snaking river bordered by tangles of brush and tall trees. But if they waited much longer, the wind would push them even deeper into the interior, stranding them miles from the Limpopo with no way out but to walk.

"We're taking her down, Koot!" Margo called. "Let's go!"

He gave her a cold glare, but didn't argue. Clearly even he could see the need for getting down now. With all three of them fighting the steering controls and hanging on for dear life in the gusting winds, Margo managed to open valves on the lifting wing, draining out buoyant gas. The little ship descended treacherously, canting at wild angles, spinning out of control in gusting winds. Kynan tied down gear that slid and threatened to fall, off, then had to grab for a cable to keep from sliding off the edge himself.

"Rope in!" Margo yelled, kicking herself for not thinking of it sooner. One of them might have been flung out. Of course, the way the ground rushed at them ...

Koot tied himself to the gondola. Kynan and Margo did the same. She trimmed the ballonets, trying to slow their rate of descent. Then dumped ballast overboard. Their wild plunge toward the ground slowed. The flying wing sheered around, flinging Margo against the tiller, then righted itself and continued to descend.

She had no control over where they might land. She searched the ground frantically. If they landed there, they'd break up on the rocks. There and they'd crash through trees and die messily another way. The river was in flood stage, but jagged boulders stuck out of the water like teeth and massive debris including whole trees washed down the raging torrent. They couldn't land in the water. By chance, a freak wind blew them toward a bend where floods had washed out trees and brush, leaving a tiny, muddy clearing. She wasn't sure it was big enough. But if she waited, another gust would blow them past it. Margo released hydrogen with a vengeance. The gondola dropped so fast even Koot yelled.