If his hands were supposed to shake, the absolute steadiness of his fingers gave nothing away.
The scrub shifted, and a shadow stepped free. A white rhino cow, massive and prehistoric, stepped onto the red dirt of the road. She wasn't grazing—her head was up, ears snapping between us and the drainage line. Behind her, a juvenile pressed against her flank.
The cow took two slow steps toward the Land Rover, close enough that the windshield filled with horn, hide, and dust. Then she huffed, a harsh rush of breath that fogged the glass.
"Don't move," Nick said, his voice low enough that everyone had to go still to hear it. "Everyone. Slow breaths. No movement."
I froze. My brain cataloged exit strategies and found nothing but thorns. My hand moved an inch before I stopped it.
She moved closer, not charging, not retreating. Deciding.
In the back seat, the Brussels woman was fumbling with her bag, her hand shaking as she pulled out a smartphone.
"Phones down," Nick said. He didn't turn around. "Now."
"I just—"
"Put the phone in your lap," I said, my voice cutting through her panic with a cold edge. "Now."
Nick didn’t rev the engine or honk. He just sat there, becoming part of the landscape. He was giving the animal the only thing she needed: room to choose a different path.
He made room for her to leave without turning it into a fight.
"Movement on the eastern drainage," the radio barked. "The crash is pushing west. Something's behind them."
Nick’s jaw tightened. Whatever had touched the boundary had reached the road.
The cow tossed her head, her horn carving a violent arc in the air. She looked toward the drainage, then back at us.
"Stay still," Nick whispered.
Finally, the cow groaned—a deep, chest-vibrating sound—and nudged her calf. They turned, their heavy footfalls thudding against the earth as they disappeared back into the thicket.
Nick waited. One minute. Two. Long after the road looked clear.
Only then did he exhale.
"Daniel," he said into the radio. "We're turning around. Abort the loop. All vehicles back to the lodge. Now."
The return trip was a blur. By the time we reached the lodge, the reinforced lounge had been stripped of atmosphere and turned into containment.
Nick opened my door. He was already looking past me toward Sarah.
"We're not retrieving luggage today," he told her.
"Nick, my laptop is in that suite," I said, stepping onto the gravel. My knees registered the gravel a second after my boots did. "And the guests in four and five—they’re leaving today."
"Not today," he repeated.
"That was not a suggestion," I said.
"Neither was my answer." He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. "I’m not risking a ranger for a suitcase, Juliette. Not when I don't know where the pressure is coming from."
I looked at him—really looked at him. The dust was thick in the lines around his eyes. Dust had worked its way into him by then: collar, cuffs, the tired set of his mouth. His hand stayed closed around the radio long after he stopped speaking.
The anger died. I understood.
"Fine," I said. "Then I need a toothbrush, clean clothes, and somewhere to work."
