Kalahari (3 page)

“And your mom?”

“She’s from North Carolina. This one is her.” I turned over my left wrist; on the delicate skin, still pink around the edges from the recent inking, was a simple black bee. “She loved bees.” Loved them to death, as it had turned out.

He nodded, looking very serious, then pulled up his sleeve farther to reveal a yellow star inked on the inside of his arm. “That’s for Adam, my older brother,” he said softly, his eyes going distant, and then suddenly he yanked the sleeve down again and grinned. “So when are we going to see lions?” His tone was light and casual. I suspected he was trying to distract me from Dad, and though it wasn’t really working, I appreciated the effort he was making.

“Tomorrow, maybe. There’s a pride not far from here.” I said, my eyes lingering on his arm. I tore them away and dried the last pan. Somewhere out in the bush, an eagle owl let out its first piercing whistle of the night. The nocturnal Kalahari was beginning to wake, and still there was no sign of Dad. “I’m going to try Dad again. I’m sure everything’s fine,” I added.

He didn’t look convinced, and I felt his stare on my back as I hurried to my tent.

I
unclipped the radio from my belt loop and pulled on a ratty gray sweater that used to be my mom’s, covering the tattoos Sam had been so interested in. Then, sitting cross-legged on my narrow little bed, I gripped the radio with both hands and pressed it to my forehead, drawing a deep breath. Visions danced through my mind, memories from the day Theo and I had found Mom with her neck broken and her head dented in from crashing the Land Rover into an umbrella thorn acacia. She’d been missing for a week before that, but when we finally did find her, she’d been dead for only a few hours, her skin swollen with beestings. In my fevered imagination, I saw Dad posed exactly the same way, his skin cold and his eyes open, unseeing, the way hers had been when I’d lifted her head from the steering wheel.

My fingers shaking, I pressed the talk button.

“Dad. Dad, come in. Theo, are you there? Hello? Anyone?”

No answer.

I tried Henrico next, getting no reply, and went back to searching for Dad.

“Dad, please.
Please.
Where are you? Pick up the damn radio!” Heat flared through me, and I hurled the radio at the side of the tent, where it bounced off the taut canvas and fell to the floor. Then I sat with my head cradled in my hands, staring wide-eyed at the lacing on my worn hiking boots. All the panic, all the boundless terror came pouring back, my thoughts running wild with images, possibilities.
They shot him. He found the poachers and they shot him.

No. I had to keep myself under control. I had to think about the five outside, who were—except for Sam, maybe—oblivious to the panic blossoming in my skull.

He’s just running late. He got caught up tracking with Theo, and now they’re hurrying back, probably driving too fast. That’s it! He got the car stuck, and they’re trying to dig Hank out of the sand.

I picked up the copy of my mom’s book and stared at the cover. It featured a photograph of her sitting on the back of an elephant somewhere near the border of Nepal, with me—just four years old, my hair wild and my face smudged and smiling—sitting in front of her. Her arm was around me, and she was looking down at me as I waved my hands above my head. Holding my breath, afraid I’d shake loose emotions I’d been keeping at bay for months, I brushed my fingers over her face. Then I cracked open the book and read the words scrawled across the title page in my mom’s messy cursive:
My Sarah, the wonder of my life.
I hugged the book to my chest for a moment, then set it aside.

I’d left my guests too long by themselves. Joey might have wandered off to God knows where. I picked up the radio, brushed it off, and clipped it to my pocket before going back outside.

Sure enough, there was one face missing from the circle around the campfire.

“Where’s Joey?” I asked, feeling the edge to my concern returning.

They all swiveled to face me and gave a unified shrug.

“He went that way,” said Sam, pointing toward the darkening bush.

I cursed under my breath and grabbed a flashlight from my tent before trudging in the direction he’d indicated. To my surprise, they all got up and followed.

“Maybe something ate him,” said Kase, and I could have sworn he sounded hopeful.

I found Joey’s tracks leading out of camp and followed them. The sun was sitting just on the horizon ahead, and light beamed through the trees and brush, giving the illusion that one of the infamous Kalahari brushfires was sweeping toward us.

The others clustered around me, probably feeling safer with the group. Sam gallantly held aside branches for me to pass through, while Avani plucked leaves from the bushes and pressed them into a notebook. There weren’t many around; it was winter, and few plants had retained their leaves.

In the distance, a haunting, almost-human howl rose from the bush. Avani grabbed my arm and Miranda and Kase came together like magnets.

“Easy, everyone. It’s just jackals,” I said.

“I thought they laughed,” said Kase.

“That’s
hyenas
, you idiot,” said Avani, letting go of my arm.

“Oh, well exc
use
us,” said Miranda. “It’s not our fault we spend more time in the
real world
than in a library.”

“Why are you even here?” asked Avani in a heated tone. “You obviously don’t care about the environment.”

“Whoa, whoa,
whoa.
I
don’t care about the environment?” Miranda put a hand to her collarbone, looking supremely offended. “Excuse me, Aveeno or whatever your name is, but
you’re
the one who heartlessly wolfed down that
burger
tonight. I’m vegan, you know!”

Avani rolled her eyes. “Eating a burger doesn’t—”

“Sh!” Sam held up a hand. “Be quiet! Did you hear that?”

While Avani and Miranda exchanged toxic glares, I strained to hear what Sam had: a voice. Joey. He was . . .
crying?

I broke into a run. The others jogged close on my heels; the camp was out of sight now and I knew they didn’t want to be left alone out here, so I slowed just enough for them to keep up. Joey’s voice grew louder. He wasn’t crying, I realized. He was laughing.

When we got close, I sprinted ahead, weaving through the thick bushes and startling a tiny steenbok out of hiding. The delicate antelope, no bigger than a cat, sprang away with its tail flashing white like a rabbit’s.

When I saw Joey, I skidded to a halt, sending up a spray of sand, but not in time to avoid crashing into the porcupine he’d been feeding.

I’ve run into a lot of things in the wild, but I’ve never smacked full tilt into a porcupine that stands as tall as my waist. I managed to turn enough that I hit it with my back and not my front, shrieking as the quills stabbed into the skin just below my right shoulder. I twisted aside and landed roughly on my stomach in the sand. The porcupine skittered off, minus a dozen or so quills, which were now protruding from my back. I moaned and pushed myself to my knees as the others arrived.

Miranda shrieked as the porcupine ran past her.

“Sarah!” Sam yelled. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Joey stood with a look of shock as Miranda squealed and Sam and Avani rushed to me. They helped me stand, and I winced as the movement made the quills stab me more. I pulled most of them out with one grab, but Avani had to carefully extract the ones that had punctured deeper, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“My parents are both doctors,” she said, as if that meant they’d magically transferred their skills and training to her. “And you, honey, need an antibiotic of some sort. Some of these cuts are deep.”

“Neosporin at the camp,” I gasped out.

I leaned on her as we made our way back. Darkness was falling quickly, and Joey led the way with my flashlight, taking care to hold aside any branches in my path, trying to make up for getting me impaled, I guessed.

Back at the fire, Avani smoothly applied the Neosporin and a few bandages, decided I was going to in fact survive, and then proceeded to instruct me on how often to change the bandages. I thanked her for her help, and she began to arrange and categorize the leaves she’d been collecting.

“Sorry,” said Joey, though he didn’t really look it. “I could have told you to stop if you hadn’t come charging in like that.”

“Dude, you were feeding the thing,” said Kase. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joey stretched his arms and grinned. “I was just taking a walk, minding my own business, and he came right up to me! I gave him the rest of my burger bun.”

“Theo’s been feeding a pair of them,” I said. “He’s got a soft spot for them. I guess you found one of his tame ones.”

“You feeling all right?” asked Sam.

“Sure. I’ve had worse.” Still no sign of Dad. I radioed again, this time with everyone watching, their eyes round and worried, but got no reply. I don’t think I even expected one.

“What do you think happened?” Avani asked softly.

I shrugged. “Most likely a tire blew, or the truck got bogged down.”

“Is he lost?”

“Not with Theo, no.” The Bushman could track a leopard for miles through the bush; he’d never lose his way, not with the Cruiser’s tracks to follow.

“What do we do if they don’t come back?” asked Kase.

I shrugged again, then sighed and said, “He’ll come back, don’t worry.” I looked around at their faces, saw the weariness there, and added, “You guys must have jet lag. You should sleep. I’ll stay up till Dad gets back. When you wake up, everything will be just fine. I promise.”

They nodded, and one by one they rose and wandered off until only Sam was left. He watched me with solemn green eyes, his mouth pursed into a frown.

“Sarah,” he said. “You’re worried.”

“You talk like you know me,” I said, attempting and failing at lightness.

“Well.” He looked down at his hands. “I guess I should tell you—”

He was interrupted by a shriek from the girls’ tent. We both jumped up as Avani and Miranda tumbled out of the tent, Avani in her bra and underwear and Miranda in a skimpy nightgown despite the cool night air.

At once, Kase was there, taking Miranda in his arms, and Joey seemed ready to do the same for Avani but she smacked him when he got close, screeching at him not to look at her.

“What was it?” I asked wearily.

But before they could reply, I saw it for myself. A small warthog sped out of the tent, grunting and squealing and looking more frightened than the girls. It trotted around the fire and veered right, vanishing into the shadows.

“Oh. My.
God.
” Miranda was trembling head to foot. “I
hate
Africa! I hate this desert!”

“
Semi
desert, you mean,” said Avani, looking shaken but more composed. She slipped back into the tent, shooting a dark look at a grinning, dazed Joey.

“Okay, move on,” I said, waving my hands at him. “Get out of here.”

He ambled off, still grinning to himself, and I let Kase deal with his traumatized girlfriend. Sam walked me back to the fire, seeming reluctant to go to bed.

“Is it always this exciting around here?”

“Not hardly.” Then I considered. “Well. I guess it might be, if you’re not used to it.”

“And you are?”

I shrugged. “This is my life. I’ve woken up to chimpanzees staring me in the face, or to elephants ripping up my tent. When I was three months old, we spent a few months in the Congo, and one of the gorillas my parents were studying picked me up in the middle of the night and carried me off.”

“No way. Really?”

“It’s true.” Granted, it got only a few yards before my parents woke up and stopped it. I’d always loved to hear my mom tell that story, about the time the gorillas kidnapped me. I hadn’t thought of it once since she’d died. I felt a small, genuine smile on my lips and, surprised to find it there, I pressed my fingers to it.

“So why are you here?” I asked him.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come on this trip?”

He crossed his arms and frowned at the fire. “My brother—”

“Adam?”

“Yeah. He always wanted to come out here, you know. It was his big dream. He used to read
National Geographic
to me every night when I was little, tell me stories about Africa, India, Australia. He always promised me we’d travel all over the world.”

I noted his use of the past tense, and my heart clenched. Sam’s eyes had gone distant, his tone flat—the same way mine did when I talked about my mom.

“What happened to him?” I asked softly.

“He did go overseas, but not to explore.” He sat down on one of the logs and leaned over to toss another stick into the flames. As he did, a chain slid out of his collar, and the metal tags on it flashed in the firelight. He caught them and dropped them inside his shirt with practiced ease. It was then that I realized I’d seen the star tattooed on the inside of his arm before: It was the star used in the U.S. Army logo. It all fell into place then. His brother had been a soldier.

“Sam—”

The radio on my hip suddenly crackled to life. Instantly I unclipped it and held it to my ear, my heart skipping a beat. Sam lifted his head, his eyes widening.

“Dad?” I said into the radio. “Dad, I can’t hear you. Hello? Is that you?”

Crackling white noise, then “
Sarah.
”

“Yes! Dad, I’m here!” Dizzy with relief, I clenched the radio as if I could squeeze his voice out of it.

“Sarah . . .” More fizzling and crackling.

“Dad? Hello?”

“. . . fifteen miles southwest of camp . . . are you there?”

“I’m here! Dad?”

It was nearly impossible to make out his words between blasts of static. “. . . ambushed us . . . trying to lose them . . . if I don’t make it back—”

The relief I’d felt began to turn icy. “
Dad.
What’s going on? Hello!?”

“. . . can’t reach anyone, bad reception . . . I’m sorry, sweetie. I am so sorry. I—”

I’d turned up the volume all the way in order to hear him better, so the sudden round of pops that cut him off hit my ear with almost physical force.

“Dad?” I turned up the volume, which only resulted in louder fizzling bangs.
Is that . . . gunshots? No, it couldn’t be—it’s just static.
“Dad!”

Then the noise cut off and the channel went dead.