over?”
Samuel shook his head. “I do not know.”
—·—
After a few hours of training, Jack stood upright, stretched his back, and pulled his watch from a cargo pocket. “Can we check the internet?”
“It is not yet working. I left word with my office manager to let me know.”
“And they haven’t.”
“Correct.”
“Then, it’s time for lunch. I grabbed a few things from the cupboard this morning. We can drive south, eat in the southern part of the park.”
“I will not put you in danger. Not again.”
“We can stick to the main roads.”
Samuel held his tongue.
“I’d like to understand these migration corridors. I’d like to understand why you have connectivity issues.”
“No.”
“Samuel, you can take care of me. What happened yesterday will not happen today.”
“It could. Your director . . . ”
“I know what my director said, but I can’t get a sense of how I can help unless I understand the issues you face. I want to understand these connectivity issues.”
Samuel scowled, and rubbed the scar on his chin. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Follow me.” Samuel led him into a building, past a counter, into a back room. On the back wall, in a rack, rifles stood upright.
Jack stopped at the door. “Whoa.” He shook his head. “I do not do automatic weapons.”
“I will take you only if I believe you can protect yourself.”
“Hell, I’d probably shoot myself.”
Samuel pulled a rifle from the rack. “This is an AK-47. Standard issue.” He opened a drawer, took out a magazine, checked to see if it was loaded, slipped it into its slot on the rifle, and pulled back on a lever. “It is now loaded and ready.” He held it out.
Jack stepped back.
“You will take it, or we will not leave headquarters.”
Jack eyed the well-worn rifle. “Never used one of those. No interest in starting now.”
“You have never used a rifle?”
“Not one like that.”
“It is not difficult.”
“I’m sure it’s not.”
“Unless you do, we stay at headquarters.”
Jack scanned the length of the rack. Rifles, most being AK-47s. At the end, a few different kinds. He pointed. “What are those?”
“Carbines, from the great war. Old. I wish we didn’t need to keep them.”
“Got anything like a thirty-aught-six?”
Samuel sighed and stepped over to a door, opened it—a closet —and pulled out a padded case. He slid out a rifle with scope and strap. “Taken from a poacher.”
“Just my style.”
“In terms of fire power, little different than those.” Samuel nodded at the carbines. “I would suggest the AK-47.”
Jack took hold of the rifle and ran an eye down its length. “This will be perfect. Can’t get in much trouble with this.”
“You will look like a poacher. A poor one. If I were you, I’d want the best rifle I could get.”
Jack reached into the pocket on the padded case. He pulled out a box. Springfield shells. “No one ever said I was smart.”
—·—
Driving south, the savannah gave way to breaks in the terrain. The vegetation grew dense. Samuel steered onto a rise. “Mbagathi River. Southern boundary,” he said, turning off the road onto a smaller track overlooking the drainage. “This location is popular with those on photo and bird safari.” He followed the track, stopping where they had a view of the more broken terrain to the south. He turned off the vehicle, took hold of his rifle, and climbed out of the cab.
Jack followed.
“Your rifle, Mr. Jack.”
“Here?”
Samuel nodded.
He turned back and retrieved it, slinging it over his shoulder. “Expecting trouble?”
Samuel offered no answer. He led to high ground, stopped, and pointed. “The park boundary follows the river. Migration corridors cross the river. Nairobi National Park is made up of lands that were once Maasai. Maasai then moved south, into what is called the Kitengela.” He swept his hand across an expansive scene. Houses, fences, gardens, livestock, cultivated lands. “Many Maasai remain. Those with the small protected gardens are likely Maasai. Some lands have been sold and divided into group ranches. Farmers, corporate farms, and developers. It is these farmers and group ranches that are most likely to fence their lands to hold in their cattle, sheep and goats. Migration corridors are becoming filled with these farms, the corridors cut off. Wildebeest and other wildlife move between the park and the Athi-Kapiti Plains to the south.” He pointed. “It is on the plains that they feed during wet season. Then, they return to the park in dry season.” He pulled off his beret and ran a hand over his sweat-covered brow. “Fences now limit options for migration. In many places, they block access to water courses, which are already limited in this part of the world.” He squinted, scowling, as if seeing something he’d not seen before. He seemed to shrug it off. “Wildebeest numbers . . . a mere fraction of former abundance. Range compression and truncation affect eland, buffalo, giraffe and Thompson’s gazelle, but some of those are not migratory. Wildebeest has been replaced as the dominant herbivore by zebra. Even they are at risk.”
“What do you see in a wildebeest migration, numbers wise?”
“Thousands, now. Tens of thousands, before. Now, in some years very few migrate into the park. Fences are to blame, not just for their influence on the migration corridors. Poachers and dogs drive them into the fences and kill them. Populations are not what they used to be.” Samuel sat.
Jack plopped down, laying the rifle beside him. “Gabriel’s study plan looked at factors related to migration corridors. He also hoped to map and document the decision variables with common range science methodologies. A question is starting to form in my mind. It seems those grazing pressures were already here, if those kinds of herbivore numbers were common. Migration corridors are but one factor to manage. Are there other factors that shape the ecosystem?”
“Fire.”
