Page 3 - Fables volume 2

off into the bush, the cries of a rudely-awakened night watchman
barely audible in his ears.
Within hours he was being remotely tracked via the transponder
implanted in his shoulder. His progress indicated a period of
wandering followed by purposeful travel, but at a pace unusually slow
for a pachyderm, particularly one with his length of stride. A barely-
functioning security camera had revealed his injuries during the
escape. The trail of blood ended on rocky ground after a day. By then
he was alternating between open grassland and thick forests, and
could not be hunted on the ground. The Bozambiqueyans gave up
the chase, but not two foreigners.
One was a wealthy Chinese dealer in rhinoceros horn and ivory.
He interpreted Sampson’s path and pace as those of a dying elephant
heading for its ancestral graveyard, a legendary trove of tusks worth
millions. An opportunity like this would not be repeated. He
chartered a helicopter and headed for the spot on which Sampson
had virtually ceased moving. It was in the center of a vast national
park and game preserve increasingly penetrated by illegal roads for
logging and mining trucks. There, in a cave or hidden valley, the
tycoon believed, lay thousands of tusks ripe for plunder.
At the same time, the signal from Sampson had been carefully
monitored by a French resort developer in Matamboko, the country’s
capital. His plans—and his competitors’—to build casinos and hotels
in the park were shelved as long as an elephant remained alive within
it. When news broke of the creature’s escape, he was quick to hack
into the GPS signal. Believing the animal was slowing and coming to
a terminal halt, he determined to become the first to lay claim to the
soon-to-be available acreage. Acting quickly, he too engaged a
helicopter from the only leasing company in the country’s lone
airport, leaving within minutes of the Chinese entrepreneur.
Tourism’s decline had made transport readily available to both of
Sampson’s pursuers.
But the object of their pursuit was neither dying nor at the
threshold of an ancient ossuary. Sampson had returned to the place
of his birth, the territory of his mother’s clan. His damaged leg forced
a reduction in speed; the concussion he had received clouded his
memory sufficiently to send him on several false starts to his goal.
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