Kalahari

by Jessica Khoury

  I stirred up a quick pot of lemonade and served it in tin cups. Having smelled the food, our local vervet monkeys came sauntering into camp. Normally, the monkeys wouldn’t have stayed out here through winter; they would have followed the elephants north to the Okavango Delta after the summer rains were gone. But thanks to our borehole, there was usually a large puddle under the pump, which sustained the monkeys and enabled them to beg at our table year-round.

  One of them broke into a loping gallop, and before I could cry out a warning, it scurried up to Miranda and snatched a handful of her beans. Miranda let out a bloodcurdling scream, scaring the monkey witless. It sprang away with a loud shriek, then bucked and flung dirt at Miranda while she scrambled away. Everyone was on their feet now, shouting excitedly. Recognizing a familiar face, the monkey scurried to me and leaped onto my shoulder, sitting with his paws on top of my head and his tail curled around my neck. I reached up and stroked his back to calm him.

  “He didn’t hurt you. See?” I held up a piece of bread, which the monkey snatched and gobbled up. In thanks, he began grooming my hair, making me laugh; his tiny fingers tickled. “They’re really quite friendly! You were lucky; they usually don’t let strangers touch them. Do you want to pet him?”

  She gaped at me as if I’d been speaking gibberish.

  “She could have gotten rabies!” Kase snapped.

  “That’s ridiculous! The monkeys aren’t rabid.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Miranda sobbed. “It attacked me!”

  “No, it just wanted—”

  “Leave her alone,” said Kase. “You’re only making it worse.”

  Ears burning, I turned and walked away, while the rest of them stared from me to Kase and Miranda as if they were spectators at a Ping-Pong tournament. The offended monkey screeched at them in reproach. When I drew near the edge of camp where the rest of his troop was waiting, he took a flying leap off my shoulders and vanished with them in the bush, with only one backward glance. People who say that animals don’t have emotions have never seen the expression on the face of an insulted monkey.

  I took my time washing the dishes under a small pump rigged over the borehole, which was one of the few working ones left in the area and the only reason we were able to stay out in the field for such long periods of time. There is no permanent surface water in the Kalahari, not this far south, and the borehole was our lifeline.

  “You’re not going to eat?” asked a voice.

  Sam was standing behind me, his hands in his pockets. He’d put on a gray fleece and a raggedy knit cap against the quickly falling temperature.

  “I ate while I cooked,” I lied. Truth was, I didn’t have an appetite. My stomach was too full of worry over my dad.

  “Don’t you have a radio or something? Some way to reach him?”

  I studied Sam thoughtfully, wondering how he had guessed my thoughts. “I tried earlier. He’s either out of range or he turned it off. Or the batteries are dead.” I picked up the stack of clean dishes and turned off the pump. “There could be a hundred reasons for him to still be out there, and ninety-nine of them are nothing to worry about.”

  “And the one reason left?”

  I started to reply, then found I couldn’t.

  “Sarah, should we be worried?” His voice was soft enough that the others couldn’t hear, and I could tell he was already worried but didn’t want to upset the group. He met my gaze, and I was the first to look away.

  “The poaching has been getting worse lately,” I said. “The fewer rhinos and elephants there are left, the higher the price of ivory and horn gets on the black market. Which means higher competition to bag the animals.” I set the dishes down again and looked Sam squarely in the eye. “When I say poachers, I don’t mean a few guys with hunting rifles. Selling illegal animal goods is one of the most lucrative crimes in the world. These poachers operate like military strike teams. Tactical gear, assault rifles, helicopters, you name it. They’re often working for terrorist outfits that operate in central and North Africa, and even in the Middle East. The ivory and rhino horn they take goes to fund people like the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda. That’s why my dad was so upset. It’s not just that they’re driving species to extinction—they’re sending the money to slavers, warlords, and terrorists.”

  Sam’s eyes went wide as he digested this. “And he’s going to take them on by himself?”

  “He’ll just get their location, and then he’ll send that to the government.”

  Sam nodded.

  But I really didn’t know what Dad would do once he found them. In India, he’d chased a pair of poachers for miles through the jungle all by himself. He’d shot up the foliage and raised as much noise as he could to make them think there were a dozen of him. That time, it had worked. But out here? There wasn’t enough ground cover for that kind of approach. If they saw him . . . I swallowed the thought, but it stuck in my mind like a splinter under a fingernail. Once I’d have shared his reckless heroism, even begged to come along.

  But that was before Mom.

  I carried the dishes past Sam and to the small folding table I had set up by the grill. Sam grabbed the towel on the table and began to dry the dishes, handing them to me so I could stack them in a crate.

  “He’s brave,” Sam said. “I’ll give him that.”

  “A brave idiot,” I muttered.

  Sam’s lips twitched. He rolled up his sleeve in order to reach into the bucket of water for the clean plates, revealing a muscular arm dusted with fine blond hairs. His hands were large, his fingers long—ideal rugby hands, Dad would have said. I realized I was staring a bit long and jerked my gaze away. I reached up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind my ear, and Sam’s eyes followed the gesture.

  “Nice tattoos,” he said. “What do they mean?”

  I paused, a plate in my hand, to look at my arm. “This one I got last year. It’s for Bangladesh, where I lived from the time I was three until I was eight.” The stylized Bengal tiger stalked over my left shoulder, teeth bared and claws extended. I tapped the skin behind my left ear, where a spiral was inked in black. “This is a Maori symbol from New Zealand. My dad’s country. It’s called koru and stands for new beginnings.”

  “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.

  THREE

  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 excuse 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 shou
ld 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!”

  “Semidesert, 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?”