The Veiled Threat by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

truck’s headlights, it swerved to challenge his approach. Shouting at himself, Careful slammed on the brakes. The truck half slid, half skidded to a halt without making contact.
    Elephant.
    The matriarch trumpeted at him but did not charge. Startled by the truck’s lights, she nevertheless stood guard as the rest of her family group finished crossing the road. With a final contemptuous snort, she trailed after them. As he watched the last enormous gray rump vanish into the rain and darkness, Careful allowed himself a sigh of relief. The brakes had worked. He took a moment to bless the unnamed mechanic whose lineage he had so heartily cursed only moments earlier. The idling truck slipped smoothly into gear as he eased it forward. Elephants notwithstanding, if the road did not get any muddier and he met norangers or traffic, he might make Livingstone on time despite everything.
    An hour later, eyes heavy with exhaustion and mind clouded with sleep, he was forced to slow again to avoid hitting another gray mass that was blocking the road. This time it was a solitary young bull.
Damn elephants
, he thought tiredly to himself.
The government should let us cull and can them, as they do in South Africa
. Evidently the lone pachyderm was finding the road to his liking, because despite the glare of the headlights and Careful’s insistent use of the truck’s horn he did not move.
    Leaning out the driver’s-side window into the rain, Careful shook a fist at the recalcitrant creature. “Move! Go find a mopane grove and eat something! I need to eat, too!” Withdrawing into the truck cab, he wiped rain from his face and leaned on the horn anew. When that didn’t work, he tried racing the engine. This time the elephant moved. Or rather, was moved.
    Something picked it up and set it aside.
    Careful Chifungwe’s lower jaw dropped as he leaned toward the windshield, eyes very wide, looking out and up into the storm. A shape, a vaguely humanoid figure, was towering above the road. Its eyes shone like those of the demons his grandmother used to tell him about. A modern man, Careful knew there were no such things as demons, unless someone had imbibed too much of his company’s product. Yet there it stood, glaring down at him.
    Demon or something else, he was not about to linger to ask for identification. Slamming the truck into reverse, he gunned the engine. The delivery truck did not move. Metallic scraping noises came from theback end. Glancing fearfully into the side mirror he saw that another truck, a big powerful pickup, was blocking his retreat.
    If he had not been so busy trying to flee, he might have screamed. He did scream, finally, when a hand slammed down on the open sill of his window. Though unsympathetic, the face that appeared out of the darkness was human. The body beneath was clad in military camouflage gear, and the man wore a sodden dark beret. Other shapes, also human, could be seen moving around in the darkness behind him. They carried an eclectic assortment of weapons.
    Rebels of some kind. Careful was almost grateful. The worst they could do was kill him. He could not imagine what the elephant-shifting demon might be capable of doing.
    “Get out of the truck!” the soldier at the window barked.
    Reflexively, Careful shut off the ignition before exiting. Stepping out into the rain, which thankfully was beginning to let up, he found himself confronted by more than a dozen armed men. While most held rifles, a couple hefted more potent RPGs. Not park poachers, then. Poachers didn’t go after elephants with rocket-propelled grenades. They tended to spoil the ivory. But what kind of rebels? This part of Zambia had been peaceful for a long time.
    Two men returned from having inspected the back of Careful’s vehicle. “Empty,” one of them reported curtly.
    “Too bad.” The man who had ordered the driver out of the vehicle looked Careful up and down. “We’ll make use of your truck. It will be especiallyuseful.