Serrin tottered off the plane at Nkandia feeling very groggy. Mistakenly, he’d thought the luxurious coach had arrived at the Imperial to take them to the Umfolozi reserve, but all it did was deposit them back at the airport. The plane, which made the 777 they’d flown in earlier seem like the height of luxury and safety, wasn’t any make Serrin recognized, and had little better than bucket seats inside. The flight was less than sixty miles, but it might have been to Mars for how long it seemed. Serrin had never heard of clear air turbulence before, and suspected it was an invention to disguise the fact that the plane was in the process of falling apart. He only barely managed to retain the contents of his stomach during the trip. Michael had told them they were going to one of the less popular, more out-of-the-way campsites, but he hadn’t expected the transport to be quite so awful.