She looked thoughtful. “I actually think there should be a name for it. Some scientific term that describes the crazy that people get when they’re in mortal danger. You know, like in apocalypse stories—everyone’s biggest wish is to get with someone before the asteroid strikes or the aliens blow us up, or whatever. Or how people will confess all their secrets right before they’re shot or hanged. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. I should research it when I get home.”
She must have realized I was staring at her, because she finally broke off and shrugged guiltily. “What? So I do research for fun. You should understand, right? Of all people?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What it is then?”
“There’s a scorpion in your hair. Parabuthus granulatus, to be exact.” I thought she’d appreciate the specificity. “Don’t move. I’ll get it.”
But she ignored me and went berserk, batting at her hair and dancing in a circle, screaming.
“Avani! Stop!”
At once, the others jumped up and ran over, asking what was wrong.
“It’s the most venomous scorpion in the Kalahari!” she yelled.
“I know!” I yelled back. “That’s why frightening it is a bad idea. It’ll sting you!”
She went still and I quickly flicked the scorpion with a twig. Avani had only driven it deeper into her wild curls, and it took several tries to get it out; it stabbed the twig once, and I was infinitely glad that I hadn’t used my finger. I’d been stung by this little beast twice, and both times had left me sick and in pain for days, and that was with the antivenom, which we always kept stocked.
The scorpion landed harmlessly in the grass and disappeared in seconds, probably gone to its burrow to recuperate after its terrifying ordeal.
“Okay,” I said, maybe too brightly, “so this was a great stop. Very productive. Let’s get going.”
This time, no one complained about walking again. They all seemed eager to outpace the elephants and scorpions, and I didn’t point out that there were likely just as many ahead of us as there were behind us. One good thing might still come out of the encounter: the elephant’s tracks, which had come from the west, could very well lead us to a water source. I didn’t voice this to the others, in case it turned out to be a false trail, but my spirit stubbornly clung to the hope. We needed water, and badly. I could feel myself drying out like a dead leaf, shriveling beneath the sun. The others were no better, and their chapped, dry skin and cracked lips were, like mine, only minor outward signs of the more dire inward symptoms. If we didn’t find water before tomorrow, the Kalahari would kill us as efficiently as one of Abramo’s bullets. The elephant’s trail was my only lead and perhaps our last hope. Mercifully, there are few tracks as enormous and obvious as an elephant’s.
The whole incident had been like a splash of icy water, yanking me out of the stupor Mom’s recording had left me in. There was nothing I could do about Mom now, but there was plenty I could do to keep us alive out here. I promised myself that I’d focus on the present. Another lapse like that, and next time I might not see the danger in time and someone could end up hurt or killed. We couldn’t afford for me to wallow in regret, not now.
The day was, like every winter afternoon in Botswana, brilliant and blue. No clouds, a soft breeze, temperatures as balmy as a Tahitian beach. The weather out here was weirdly coastal, even though the country was landlocked.
People often talked about the Kalahari as a place of physical and emotional healing, and on a beautiful day like this, I could easily see why. It angered me that Abramo and his people had invaded this sacred place, first to exploit it and then to poison it. I felt the same prickling heat that always rose in my dad’s face at the mention of poachers.
I had to do something. Had to get help, had to find Dad, had to warn the authorities about the Metalcium—all of it. This was more than just personal now. What I’d seen in that menagerie had frightened me not only because it threatened my life but because it threatened the entire planet.
My wandering thoughts must have been partly due to my overwhelming thirst, because I can’t explain how else I didn’t notice the helicopter until it was nearly on top of us.
NINETEEN
Miranda yelled for everyone to hide. It took me a moment to realize what was going on, but then I saw it: low and ominous and black, hovering over the savanna like a giant dragonfly. I could just make out the faint chop chop of its rotors.
I didn’t think it had seen us yet, because it was moving slowly, sweeping back and forth in a methodical pattern that would spell disaster for us if we didn’t find somewhere to hide. The problem was, the trees and bushes around us were mostly bare and offered no good cover. The chopper was so low that its occupants would have no trouble spotting us, even if we were crouched under the foliage.
I looked around frantically, trying to find a solution, walking back and forth as the others peppered me with questions.
“What do we do?”
“Should we run?
“Sarah? It’s getting closer!”
My feet found the answer before my brain did. I hadn’t noticed the network of holes until I tripped over one, landing awkwardly on my hands and knees in the sand. I froze, blinking at the hole, as I weighed the dangers underground against the dangers above it. It took less than a second to decide which was more likely to kill us.
“Over here!” I said, waving. “We can hide in these holes.”
The others stared at them, doubt plain on their faces.
“How are we supposed to fit?” Avani pointed out.
“The openings are small, but crawl in a few feet and you’ll find a somewhat bigger chamber where the—” The roar of the helicopter began to drown out my voice. “Never mind! No time!”
It was Sam who stepped forward first.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to me.
He started to kneel down at the hole, but I held up a hand.
“Wait.” I studied the ground around it, noting the aardvark tracks, the sliding marks of porcupine quills, and a lot of warthog hoofprints.
“Hurry . . .” Sam muttered, shifting from foot to foot and eyeing the approaching chopper.
The aardvarks dug these holes, but they were used by many creatures as hiding places. Diving in without first checking to see if the hole had any residents was just asking for trouble. I didn’t want any of us to come face-to-face with an angry mother warthog three feet underground with nowhere to run. After confirming that all the tracks that led in also led out, indicating the hole was deserted, I stepped back.
“All clear. Hurry.”
He drew a deep breath and shimmied into the hole. I knew his cuts had to be stinging him, but he didn’t complain.
Without waiting to see his legs and feet disappear into the ground, I turned to the others. “There are holes all around here. I can’t check each one, so you’ll have to do it. Look for tracks leading in but not out. That’ll tell you if they’re still in there.”
“I can’t tell that from a few scuffs in the sand!” Miranda protested. “You check it for me.”
I cast an anxious look at the chopper. It was only getting closer, and we had less than a minute before it was right on top of us. Then we’d have no chance at all.
“Avani, can you read the tracks?”
She nodded uncertainly. “I think so.”
“Good. Take Joey and go. I’ll take Miranda and Kase.”
We split up, searching for more holes. Kase found one and I checked it, and then he kissed Miranda swiftly before diving inside.
“Your turn,” I said when we reached the next hole.
Miranda looked ready to cry. “I can’t do this,” she said.
“Sure you can. The Bushmen did it all the time, when they were hunting.”
“Have you done it before?”
“Lo
ads of times,” I lied. “Miranda, they’re almost here.”
“I can hide under a bush or something!”
“They’ll see! And if they find you, they find the rest of us.” I resisted the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her. Why couldn’t she understand that the humans in that chopper posed a far greater threat than any critters underground? The sound of the chopper was almost deafening now, drowning out all other noise. For all I knew, they’d already spotted us. We were bent low and dressed in camouflaging khaki, so I thought we might have a chance still, but I didn’t want to risk it any further.
“Miranda,” I said, looking her in the eye, “if they see you, they’ll kill you. And then they’ll kill Kase. Do it for him.”
That must have struck a chord, because she nodded and squared her shoulders.
Dizzy with relief, I watched her wiggle into the narrow opening, and once her top half had disappeared, I sprinted to the next hole.
There was no time to check the tracks. I just had to hope for the best.
I crawled as fast as I could, knocking loose so much sand that I was afraid I’d collapse the tunnel and bury myself, but somehow it held. I choked on the sand, shut my eyes against it, and crawled blind. The space was so narrow that I had to wriggle on my belly like a snake, my hands stretched in front of me. I had no idea if my whole body was concealed or if my legs were hanging out for the guys in the helicopter to see. Half expecting someone to grab my ankles and pull me backward, I pressed on, feeling roots snatch at my face and hair.
The walls around me began to open, and I wiped the sand from my eyes so that I could look around. I’d found the small cave that had been dug out by aardvarks and the other furry residents who had used this space, creating a chamber just large enough for me to turn around in if I needed to. It was dark and dusty. Only the faintest bit of light trickled in from the mouth of the tunnel. I guessed I was about three feet underground, not very deep, but deep enough to hide me from the eyes in the sky.
I stopped crawling and lay very still, listening to the sound of my heart and my breath. Together they were almost as cacophonous as the chopper had been; the aircraft was still roaring above, but it was muffled. I couldn’t tell if it was right above me or already moving off. I wouldn’t make a move until it was completely silent.
Shutting my eyes, I tried to distract myself by summoning a pleasant memory. I went back ten years, to a sleepy village in Bangladesh. We’d lived there for a year before moving deeper into the jungles in search of tigers, and I’d attended the tiny school with the Bangladeshi children. It was one of the few times I could remember making real friends with kids my own age. At the end of the year, we’d moved on and I’d cried as we loaded our belongings onto the backs of the elephants and walked into the jungle. My mom picked me up and let me ride on one of the elephants, right behind the huge flapping ears that the villagers had decorated with earrings and paint, and she told me that it was okay to cry for the friends I’d left behind, if only I promised to smile when I was done and be glad for the time I’d had with them. I realized this memory had come to my mind because my mom’s words seemed to echo what Sam had said.
In the darkness of my tiny hideout, covered with sand and roots, I smiled.
I could almost hear my mom whispering in my ear, soft and sibilant, like a . . .
Snake.
My eyes snapped open and my mind focused intently on the present.
I was not alone in this hole.
The hissing grew louder, and though I couldn’t see it, I knew the snake was in front of me, slithering toward my face. My hands were at my sides but I didn’t dare move them, didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare blink.
The slightest movement could incite the snake to strike, and if it was a black mamba or a puff adder or a Cape cobra—all distressingly likely cases—then I was dead. No negotiation, no magical Bushman cure, no 9-1-1 call. I wouldn’t live to see the sunset.
I held my breath and went so still I swear my heart stopped beating altogether. I might have been a corpse already for all the life I displayed.
The snake’s hissing was my only indication of its position, and even as my other senses shut down, my ears sharped, honing in on the sound.
It moved past my left ear. Ssssss, soft as silk over glass.
I felt its tongue flicker across my neck and my stomach heaved, bile rushing up my throat. I didn’t move. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even think. I just waited.
I was blocking the snake’s exit, but that didn’t discourage it. It simply chose to go over me.
Cold, smooth scales slid across the back of my neck. I could feel the muscles beneath them working, bunching and releasing, taut and strong and smooth as liquid.
Not inside my shirt, not inside my shirt, not inside my—
It slithered under my collar and across my bare back, and I have no idea how my eyes didn’t pop out of my head then and there. They were so wide they ached, but I couldn’t shut them out of pure horror.
This snake was big. Seven or eight feet, I guessed, which meant it wasn’t a puff adder or a Cape cobra. Most likely it was a mamba. Maybe it was even the same mamba that had slithered through our camp two nights before.
Of course, black mamba was the worst possible option. One bite held enough venom to kill twelve men in under an hour. At least a puff adder’s poison would give me a chance to crawl out of this hole and die with the sunlight on my face.
Thankfully my shirt was untucked, so the snake didn’t get trapped inside. It slithered out the other end and worked its way down my leg, over my pants, which were scrunched up to my knees from crawling, and my bare calves. It moved slowly, unhurried, which was good because it meant it wasn’t alarmed by me, and which was bad because it took it ages to traverse my length.
By the time its head reached my ankle and slid off onto the sand, the tail was just slipping inside my collar. I endured in silence, barely aware of the tears burning in my unblinking eyes.
Then finally, blessedly, I felt the tip of the tail slide over my leg and into the sand, and I was almost free. I’d stopped listening for the helicopter and now I turned my hearing back to the world above.
Silence.
It had moved on, and we were safe for another few hours. I didn’t relax quite yet, not until I was sure my way back would be clear.
Gradually my other senses reawakened. I blinked, and the tears that had been balancing on my lashes fell down my cheeks. I tasted blood; I must have been biting my lip the whole time. A slow, cold shudder worked its way down my body, from head to toes, and still I waited another few long minutes while the others searched for me aboveground, calling my name over and over with increasing panic.
At last, I began maneuvering myself around in the tiny chamber.
I crawled out at a snail’s pace: I wasn’t taking any chances surprising the snake from behind. As I neared the tunnel’s exit and the light strengthened, I could make out the long, thin track the reptile had left behind. Seeing it made me shudder all over again.
Sam was the first person to spot me as I peeped out of the ground. He ran to me and helped me out.
“You okay?” he asked. “We thought maybe they’d grabbed you. What took you so long?”
“Snake,” I gasped.
Now that I was on my feet, I was trembling, on the verge of throwing up. I bent over and put my hands on my knees, sucking in air as greedily as I had when I’d emerged from the underground lake.
After a moment, I was able to recount what had happened. They made faces of disgust at the story, but I don’t think any of them could understand just how horrible it had been.
“We’re safe,” said Sam. “That’s the important thing.”
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice still shaking. “No problem.”
He cocked his head. “You’ve, uh, got some dirt on your face.”
&
nbsp; I wiped at my cheeks, but he shook his head. “Here.”
Gently, he brushed the pad of his thumb over my eyebrow and temple. I shut my eyes, letting his touch steady me, even as it sent a nervous thrill shivering over my skin.
“Better,” he murmured. “Can you keep going?”
I nodded, dazed, starting forward, and picked up the elephant tracks once more. Avani caught my eyes, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips smugly. I gave her a quick defensive look before striding past her, ignoring her soft laugh.
TWENTY
The encounter with the helicopter left me shaken and paranoid. Now I mistook every bird I saw in the sky for the approaching chopper. Any hopes of Abramo forgetting about us were vaporized, and the grim desperation of our cross-country journey left my stomach in knots.
We walked until the elephant tracks led us to a fat, lone baobab tree. A small troop of bored-looking baboons was lounging in the branches. They perked up as we approached.
I grinned. It was about time we had a win. “If there’s still fruit in the tree, we can eat it. And if there are baboons, there must be water nearby. Spread out and look for it, but please, please watch out for snakes and elephants and lions.” I paused, then added, “In fact, just watch out for everything.” Better to be on the safe side.
They scattered through the grass, each of them moving with hyperawareness. I went to the tree and eyed the baboons.
There was fruit all right. The baboons had it, and I wanted it. Baobab fruit is not only delicious; it’s a superfruit, packed with all kinds of vitamins and iron and carbs that our bodies desperately needed after meager meals of grass seeds and bi root. If I could get my hands on some of the fruits and if the others found the water source, then we’d have ourselves a Kalahari feast.
But there was the problem of the baboons.
After a bit of hunting, I found a termite mound and broke off a piece of it. The dried dirt was nearly as hard as rock. I went back to the tree and picked out the baboon on the lowest branch. It was a male, and he was holding a beautiful whole fruit the size of a melon. I was salivating just looking at it.
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