Chapter 12

iSigodi Resort Restaurant, Lake St Lucia, iSimagaliso.

Sam was at Melanie’s side in no time flat. He dropped everything he was busy with and rushed over.

“I’ll go see why the emergency power generator has not kicked in, Miss Ková,” He informed her and looked at me.

“I’ll go with you, Sam,” I added and got up.

We emerged from the cozy warmth of the restaurant into the tumultuous chaos outside and stepped into the heart of a tempest. The wind assaulted us with ferocious intensity, roaring like an enraged beast as it whipped around the buildings and trees, driving sheets of rain sideways with unrelenting force. Each droplet felt like a tiny needle prick against my skin, and I could barely keep my eyes open against the deluge.

“Here,” he shouted above the roar of the wind, thrusting a length of rope into my hands. “Tie this around your waist. If we’re tethered together, we’ll have a better chance of staying upright in this maelstrom!”

With trembling fingers, I secured the rope around my waist, feeling its reassuring weight anchoring me to Sam like a lifeline amidst the chaos. Together we forged ahead, two lone figures battling against the fury of nature, determined to reach our destination despite the overwhelming odds stacked against us.

The palm trees, usually serene sentinels of the tropical landscape, were bent and contorted under the onslaught, their fronds flailing wildly as if pleading for mercy from the relentless storm. Branches were torn from their moorings and sent spiralling through the air like wayward projectiles, adding to the cacophony of chaos.

Above us, the sky churned with ominous clouds, their dark masses swirling and roiling in a sinister dance. It was as if the very heavens were in turmoil, unleashing their fury upon the earth below.

With every step, the wind threatened to knock us off balance, forcing us to lean into its relentless onslaught just to maintain our footing on the slick pavement. But Sam pressed on, his determination unwavering as he led the way towards the emergency power generator shed.

As we trudged through the inexorable force of wind and rain, each step felt like an eternity, the elements battering us with unyielding force as if determined to test the limits of our endurance. Time seemed to stretch and warp, minutes feeling like hours as we battled against the storm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the weather-beaten shed that housed the emergency generator. Sam’s hands shook with the cold and the effort as he fumbled with the padlock, his fingers slick with rainwater and struggling to find purchase on the cold and slippery metal. But despite the odds stacked against us, he refused to yield, his determination a beacon of resilience in the face of adversity.

With a triumphant click, the padlock finally gave way, the door swinging open with a creak of protest. The sudden reprieve from the howling wind felt like a blessed respite, the shelter of the shed offering a brief moment of calm amidst the chaos.

Breathless and soaked to the bone, we collapsed onto the damp concrete floor, our chests heaving with exertion as we sought to catch our breath. But even as we caught our bearings within the relative safety of the shed, the roar of the storm still echoed outside, a constant reminder of the raw power of nature raging beyond the confines of our makeshift sanctuary.

“Next time, let us remember to get raincoats or some foul weather gear...” Gasping for breath, I managed to utter a strained suggestion between ragged inhalations, the words escaping my lips as mere whispers against the backdrop of the storm’s relentless fury. But my plea for better preparation fell upon deaf ears, the only response was a hoarse croak from my partner, his voice strained and worn from the battle against the elements.

“I did remember to bring a flashlight,” he finally rasped, his words a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume us.

I became aware of a funny smell inside the shed but could not place it. Sam must have smelled it too as he turned his head and sniffed the air, then shook his head and looked at me. In the surrounding darkness, I could not see his expression, but rather felt his unease.

With a decisive click, Sam activated the high-powered flashlight and its brilliant white beam sliced through the oppressive gloom of the shed like a sword through the night. The sudden illumination revealed the interior of the cramped space, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls in a macabre ballet.

The stark contrast between the harsh glare of the flashlight and the enveloping darkness outside only served to heighten the sense of isolation and vulnerability that surrounded us. But at that moment, bathed in the stark light of the flashlight, we found a flicker of courage amidst the uncertainty, a reminder that even in the face of adversity. There was still hope to be found in the smallest glimmers of preparedness.

As we struggled to regain our footing in the dimly lit shed, a sudden curse from Sam pierced the air like a bolt of lightning, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. My heart sank as the flashlight’s beam danced erratically across the generator, illuminating the scene of devastation before us.

Even to my untrained eye, the extent of the damage was immediately apparent. The auto-start battery lay shattered, its casing cracked and leaking acid, a tell-tale trail of corrosive liquid marking its destructive path across the battery cradle and the concrete floor below. The stench of sulphur filled the air, mingling with the acrid tang of diesel fuel that hung heavy around us.

But the horror didn’t end there. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I followed the beam of the flashlight to the diesel fuel filter, only to find it shattered as well. The precious fuel within it now dripping steadily onto the floor in a grim testament to the sabotage that had taken place.

A cold dread settled over me like a suffocating shroud, realization sinking in that we were not merely victims of circumstance, but targets of a calculated act of sabotage. Someone had deliberately disabled the emergency generator, leaving us vulnerable to the wrath of the storm raging outside.

As the full weight of the situation bore down upon us, tendrils of fear crept insidiously into my mind, whispering of the dangers that lurked in the darkness beyond the shelter of the shed. But even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remained clear: we were not alone, and whoever had done this was still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

I had to get back to Melanie. Fast.

“Mister Ty, let’s go back. I can get Alphonse to come and help me. We can get some batteries out of the game drive vehicles, and I know where there is a spare fuel filter for this generator.”

“Will you be able to fix it?”

“No problem. It might take a while, but Alphonse and I will have it running within the hour. All the fuel has not leaked out and there is still fuel for about eight hours in the tank.”

“Good, let’s go back then,” I replied, dreading the journey back to the main building and the restaurant. But the trek had to be made. I needed to get to Melanie.

We staggered back towards the restaurant, battling against the wrath of nature itself. The wind howled and pushed against us with such force that every step forward felt like a Herculean effort. Raindrops the size of marbles pelted us mercilessly, stinging our skin as if nature itself was trying to punish us for daring to venture out.

Just like the journey to the emergency generator hut, we clawed and struggled our way back to the main resort.

Finally, we stumbled over the threshold of the restaurant, collapsing onto the floor in a sodden heap. But as we caught our breath and surveyed our surroundings, a sense of relief washed over me.

Someone had set up storm lanterns and candles on the tables of the restaurant. The glow of the dull light tried to dispel the darkness.

“Ty! Sam!” Melanie shouted and hobbled over from the table where she sat in the wheelchair. Instinct had taken over, and she just shot out of the wheelchair and rushed over to us.

I heaved to my feet, the flickering glow of the lanterns casting eerie shadows around the restaurant, their feeble light failing to penetrate the darkness fully.

“Hello, Mel,” I said as she finally reached us.

“Alphonse, get them something warm to drink, please!” Melanie instructed in her usual kind way, but with urgency in her voice.

“We’ll be okay, Miss Ková...” Sam soothed, but Melanie, Alphonse, Nita, and Helen were adamant.

“Get out of those wet clothes,” Nita directed, and then giggled.

Melanie looked at her with a smirk. “Here! Just like that?”

“NO! That’s not what I meant ... We must find them something dry and let them go to the bathroom and change...” Nita backtracked.

“We’ll just go stand next to the oven in the kitchen,” Sam said. “It is still warm enough to dry us out.”

“Good, let’s go!” I replied.

“So, where’s the electricity?” Helen asked.

“The generator is broken...” I softly replied.

“Broken?” Melanie asked with a from on her face. “It was serviced just last week!”

“The emergency generator was sabotaged!” I said. “The battery and fuel filter were smashed.”

“Dammit!” she exclaimed. “Why, why, why?” But in her eyes I could see that she understood; “the why” part. Clever girl, she did not want to let on that she and I knew the game the villains were playing.

In the background I noted Sam talking to Alphonse. Alphonse was shaking his head up and down, his lips slightly apart and his eyes narrowed. Then together the two left.

“Sam and Alphonse are going out again to see if they can get the generator started.” I said. “Sam has got spares that will get the fuel filter sorted, and they would take some batteries from the game viewing vehicles to use to start the generator engine.”

Melanie and Helen both nodded to indicate that they understood.

“Come, let’s get you dry,” Melanie said and started to steer me to the kitchen.

“Get into your chair first,” I replied.

“I’m not completely disabled, you know?”

“Yes, but each time you put pressure on that foot, you drive that piece of glass deeper into your foot.”

“I’ll be careful, Nurse Van Aswegen.”

“Famous last words...” I sighed.

Giggle.

The afternoon dragged on relentlessly, each moment stretching out like an eternity under the oppressive weight of the storm. The wind howled and whipped around the resort’s log-built structures, shaking them to their foundations. With every groan and creak of the timbers, my anxiety mounted, fearing that at any moment the whole place might come crashing down around us.

Melanie’s discomfort grew palpable as the hours dragged on. The pain in her feet seemed unrelenting, only temporarily subdued when she reluctantly took another dose of painkillers at three o’clock. It was only after she took the painkillers that she slumped in the wheelchair and drifted off for a half an hour or so.

The staff worked tirelessly to tend to the guests, but my attention was fixated on each of them in turn, scrutinizing their every move with growing suspicion. And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning illuminating the storm-darkened sky.

The recordings ... the distorted voice ... it had to be a woman. But none of the female staff were blond; they were all brunettes. My mind raced, connecting the dots in a frantic flurry of realization. The woman who attempted to poison Melanie and me could have easily disguised herself with a blond wig!

I did not see the blond woman clearly, only the side of her face, and it was distorted by the wig. I watched the staff as they went about their business to keep the remaining guests calm and stuffed with food and drink. I tried to visualise each one of the female staff with long blond hair. One of the staff stood out for me.

The storm outside seemed to echo the turmoil within me, mirroring the tempest of emotions swirling through my mind. Time seemed to slow as I processed the gravity of the situation, the danger lurking unseen in our midst. Suddenly, the air crackled with tension as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.

My mind became a whirlwind of its own, spinning with the images of the staff members. Like a digital artist manipulating hairstyles in a virtual salon, I began to mentally transform each brunette employee into a blond counterpart. With each adjustment, I scrutinized their features, searching for any semblance of familiarity, any hint of deception.

I meticulously worked through the mental catalogue of faces and hairstyles. And then, amidst the storm of thoughts, one image emerged with startling clarity. My mind saw an image of a woman, but the dim lighting and chaos kept me from translating that image to a staff member. Yet!

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that my suspicions may have found their mark. But now was not the time for hesitation or doubt. It was time to set the trap, to confront the hidden threat lurking among us.

Next to me Melanie stirred. Stifling a yawn, she sat upright in the chair and then cringed in pain as she knocked her left foot against the table leg.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch...” She whispered with her face screwed up in pain.

“Mel?”

“It’s okay ... It will be better soon. I must just not forget to watch out for stuff near my feet.”

“And you still got that broken off piece of glass in your foot. I just wish the storm will pass so that it is safe for the floatplane to land on the lake.”

“Yeah ... me too...”

Coffee?”

“Yeah, please ... But you know what that means?”

“I do! Me too...” I chuckled. “We’ve been drinking at least four mugs of coffee the last few hours, and a visit to you-know-where must soon be adhered to.”

“Sounds like the storm is weakening,” she stated.

“I hear no more thunder. That means that either it has faded out or else it is gearing up for a fresh assault.”

“The wind is also weakening.”

“Does a storm like this last only a few hours here?”

“Yes. Normal thunderstorms only last an hour or an hour and a half, but I suppose the cyclone has weakened to a tropical storm or less, and also moved further north.”

The lights came back on.

As they flickered back to life, they cast a warm glow across the restaurant, and a surge of relief washed over me. Sam and Alphonse’s successful repair of the emergency generator was a beacon of hope in the darkness that had enveloped us.

But as the room bathed in the gentle illumination, my gaze sharpened, focusing intently on the faces of the staff gathered around. Each expression was scrutinized, every movement analysed. And then, amidst the crowd, one figure stood out like a lone silhouette against the backdrop of the newly lit room.

Her features were a mask of composure, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, a glimmer of guilt dancing in their depths. It was a subtle shift, imperceptible to most, but to my trained eye, it spoke volumes.

Time seemed to stand still as the weight of realization settled upon me. I had found my suspect, the one responsible for the sinister plot that had threatened Melanie and me. A wave of determination surged through my veins, steeling my resolve for the confrontation that lay ahead.

I locked eyes with my suspect, holding her gaze unwaveringly as the tension crackled in the air between us. There was nowhere to hide, no escape from the damning gaze of justice.

In that charged moment, the room seemed to pulse with energy, the very air alive with anticipation. I prepared to confront the culprit, and I knew that this would be the defining moment, the climax of our harrowing ordeal.

With a steady breath, I braced myself for the confrontation to come, ready to unveil the truth and bring an end to the shadow of suspicion that had loomed over us all.