The Lion King

Chapter 9 - Stampede

Chapter 9

Something was clamoring in his head for him to move. He could hear his own internal screams, feel his own fear choking down his common sense; but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself move, couldn't make himself breathe. He just stared, immobile, at the moving wall of gray, streaking down, down, down into the Gorge.

Run, Simba, run!

Maybe it was because it was his father's voice this time. Suddenly, he could move.

Simba turned tail and fled for his life.

* * *

Zazu's eyes drifted lazily across the plains, across the savanna, across the sky. There was something about the Gorge that always made his head feel fuzzy.

Something caught the hornbill's eye, and he turned his head, peering questioningly over his shoulder. A thick cloud of dust was rising from the Gorge, and as he looked closer, Zazu saw a herd of wildebeests streaming like grains of sand down into the heart of the canyon.

"Oh, look, sire," he said, readjusting his position on Mufasa's shoulder. "The herd is on the move."

Mufasa glanced over his shoulder, whiskers twitching with surprise.

"Odd," he mused.

"Mufasa!" A terrified shout echoed up the rock pile, and Zazu jumped on Mufasa's shoulder, feathers in a flutter. Not a second later, a dark shape sprang up the pile of rocks, eyes alight with panic.

"Quick," Scar continued in a gasp. "Stampede, in the Gorge. Simba's down there!"

Zazu hardly had time to feel his heart stop before Mufasa was roaring, "Simba!"

* * *

The blood roared in Simba's ears, filling his every nerve, as the thundering of hooves grew louder and louder behind him. Flashes of tan, blue, green flickered by, but he hardly noticed, hardly cared. His throat rasped for breath, choking on dust and fear, and his paws thrummed, thrummed, thrummed the earth. It was not enough. It could never be enough.

The first wildebeest overtook him, nearly toppling him to the side, then another took its place, then another, then another, until Simba was engulfed, surrounded by screams and snorts. He stumbled away from the writhing gray bodies, wailing in terror, only to collide with the warm hide of another wildebeest. He stumbled in the dust, twisted and fell, but then leaped right back up, gulping for air, screeching for the help that would never come.

Suddenly, through the haze of flying sand and whipping black manes, he saw a spindly form emerging through the dust. He hardly had time to notice the tree before he was clawing his way up its side, clinging to a shaking branch with the little left of his strength. A spike of pain shot up his side as he clung to the tree, flung side to side as wildebeests whipped past, dislodging more and more choking dust into the air.

Daddy! Simba's dry, broken voice tried to wail.

* * *

Zazu had never flown faster. The air practically shrieked beneath his wings as he followed the scrambling forms of Mufasa and Scar, diving together down the steep cliffs into the heart of the Gorge. Zazu rushed to follow them, flapping madly, then swooped to overtake them as they came to a scrambling halt above the stampede, their eyes searching frantically through the rising dust.

Thank goodness he could be of some help.

Zazu shot over the herd, practically swimming among the endless gray bodies. Wildebeest, wildebeest, wildebeest . . .