Kalahari

by Jessica Khoury

  “I know that Abramo lied to you. He told you the silver poison is transferred by touch, right? Well, sorry, boys, but you’ve been duped. See, it’s spread by the air, not by touch. You’re all loose ends once this is over. Abramo’s been using you to clean up this mess, knowing Metalcium would kill you for him.”

  A few shifted uneasily, but not the leader. He only bared his teeth in a scowl. “Lies!”

  “Are you willing to bet your life on that?” I returned. “You might be infected already. Don’t you know how it starts? With itching. Like a dog with fleas. Like a kid with lice.” I saw a few hands leave their rifles in order to scratch beneath collars and sleeves, and looks of doubt and panic began to blossom around me. “The itching goes on for days before you start turning silver,” I said. “It’s impossible not to scratch. It’s like ants biting you, like centipedes crawling up and down your—”

  “Stop!” cried the Nigerien, not to me, but to his men, who were scratching furiously now.

  “Man, I been itching for days!” cried one.

  “Me too, brother!” added another as he clawed at his scalp. “What if he’s lying? What if we all got the poison?”

  “You are idiots!” snarled the Nigerien, but I saw his fingers twitching on his rifle.

  “Are you sure you don’t feel an itch?” I asked him. “An itch you just have to scratch?”

  He swore as one of his hands flew to his neck. “Lies!”

  I smiled. “Maybe. Maybe not. My friends and I went into that menagerie at the lab, the one with all the infected animals. Do we look silver to you? Are we scratching?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joey snatch his hand from his shoulder to his pocket, apparently stopping himself in midscratch. My little speech must have infected my own group with the itch as well. But they caught my hint and stayed still.

  “I was taught by a Bushman,” I said quietly. “I know the secret remedies of the Kalahari. I cured us and I can cure you, if you will take us to Abramo.”

  I held the Nigerien’s gaze. He fumed and bristled, but I hoped that I’d planted just enough doubt in his mind to save our lives—at least for another hour or two. Still, it was an hour more than we had now, an hour more to think of something.

  “Take them to the trucks,” said the Nigerien at last, with a look of disgust. “And stop that scratching! Idiots!”

  I allowed myself one small, relieved sigh. Now what?

  They marched us to the road, where there were three white Land Rovers parked in a line. None of us spoke, not even to one another.

  We had been so close—just a few days’ walk from Ghansi.

  How had they tracked us? There had been no sign of the helicopter, and we hadn’t lit a fire. Finding six teenagers in the dark in the middle of the Kalahari wilderness was like looking for a flea on an elephant. I decided it must have been more accidental, based on the men’s reactions to us. They had seemed as surprised to see us as we were to see them.

  I was put into the first Land Rover with Avani. The group’s leader took the driver’s seat, and a short, bespectacled man sat beside him. After hearing their accents, I identified about half of them as Nigerien, including the leader, while the rest were white South Africans, like the small man in the passenger seat.

  “Hoekom doen jy dit?” I said to the latter.

  He grunted but said nothing.

  “Taisez-vous,” returned the driver gruffly.

  “What did you say?” Avani whispered.

  “I asked him why he was doing this. He told me to shut up.” I murmured a nasty word in French, thinking he wouldn’t hear me, but he did. He whipped around faster than I could have believed possible and slapped me across the face with the butt of his pistol.

  “You will be silent, little lady,” he said mildly, giving me a hard look before turning around and cranking the engine. “Or that smooth tongue of yours will get your lovely friend here shot.” He gave Avani a cruel smile.

  I stared at the back of his head, my cheek stinging. I could taste blood in the corner of my mouth where he’d hit me. Avani stared at me with wide eyes, and I shook my head slightly, warning her to stay quiet. She shrank down into the seat, shutting her eyes like she could wish all of this away.

  After making sure that Avani wasn’t looking, I pulled up my sleeve just an inch to inspect my skin. The Metalcium had crept inexorably toward my palm. I prodded it carefully. There was still feeling in the affected area, but it was like poking my skin through a layer of clothing. The sensation was dimmer, not like skin on skin.

  With a shudder, I yanked my sleeve down again.

  The Land Rover shook and bounced through the Kalahari, the Nigerien following the worn tracks of the road and at times making wide passes around the areas that had eroded into miniature canyons. My brain rattled in my skull from all the jerking and bumping, giving me a masterful headache. Through the pain, I tried to think of a way out of this dead-end trip. Ever since running into these thugs, I’d been pulling words and promises out of thin air. But what could I possibly say once we arrived at wherever Abramo was and it turned out I didn’t actually know anything about a cure? I could light some grass on fire and do some kind of fake healing dance, mimicking the San rituals. Maybe I could fool some of the mercenaries for a short time, but I doubted Abramo would be amused.

  After about an hour of rough driving, the Nigerien turned left and drove straight into the bush. It was slow going over holes and branches and brush. I could see that we were following a set of faint tracks, evidence of the vehicles’ earlier passage. We drove like this for another hour, though we couldn’t have gone more than twenty miles at the rate we were moving.

  Finally we arrived at a bush camp set in a wide, flat pan bordered with hulking Terminalia. There were two rows of tents set up, as well as a fire pit in the center. Avani and I were forced to sit still until the mercenaries opened the doors for us. The Nigerien had my door, and at first I sat staring straight ahead, ignoring him. He then grabbed the back of my shirt and dragged me out.

  “Where is Abramo?” I asked, wrenching myself out of his grasp.

  He yawned in my face, his rank breath making me gag. “The boss will be here soon. Don’t get any ideas, eh? These boys, they are very jumpy. Likely to shoot at anything, if you know what I mean.”

  Indeed, Abramo’s hired men were watching us like hawks. They herded us into a group in the center of the camp, and several of them whistled and jeered at us girls in Afrikaans and Sesotho. I was glad that neither Avani nor Miranda could understand what the men were saying. I had met men like these before—often in connection to poaching rings. Many of them had grown up in the midst of violent wars, and some had been forced to kill while they were still children. Not many escaped that life.

  I shivered, wishing I could hold Sam’s hand for comfort. Instead I held my own, locking my fingers together as if I could squeeze an idea out of thin air.

  “What do we do now?” asked Avani.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “But if you’ve got any ideas, feel free to share.”

  “Better think of something fast,” said Joey. “We’re losing Ken and Barbie.”

  Avani cast a worried look at Kase and Miranda, who looked as if they’d fallen into a catatonic trance. Kase’s arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend. Both of them stared unblinkingly at nothing, their bodies trembling and faces ashen. Joey looked angry, glaring at our captors, while Sam watched me sidelong, his mouth a thin line of tension. He didn’t even seem to notice the guns pointed at us, he was so preoccupied with my infection.

  You okay? he mouthed.

  I shrugged and started to give him a wan smile, then frowned instead, my gaze refocusing beyond him, past the mercenary leaning on a termite mound smoking, and on the bush beyond.

  “Sarah?”

  I ignored Sam’s query and studied the grass. Was that . . . ? />
  The grass rustled in the cool breeze, sweeping against the thorny acacias in rippling golden waves. I narrowed my eyes, searching, probing . . . There.

  “Kase,” I said, my voice quiet and casual. “Miranda. I need you to focus.”

  They blinked and looked at me dazedly. I hoped they were tracking what was going on.

  “What is it?” asked Avani worriedly.

  “Trouble.”

  “What now?” squeaked Joey.

  I shot him a shushing look. Our voices were too low for the mercenaries to hear, and I wanted to keep it that way. We had something they didn’t—a warning—and I planned to use it to its full advantage.

  “Wait for it . . . when I shout, be ready to run,” I murmured, looking back at the bush. “Any second now . . .”

  The silver lion sprang from the bushes with a wild roar that resonated in my rib cage.

  “GO!”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Everyone yelled and several of the men fired involuntarily, spraying the sand at our feet with bullets. The silver lion landed beside the mercenary who’d been smoking, his paws sending up a spray of dust.

  “Go go go!” I yelled. “Under the trucks!”

  As the mercenaries fired at the lion, we darted toward the trucks and dove beneath them, wriggling across the sand and then maneuvering around to see if we’d been followed. I kept myself well apart from the others, Sam on one side, Joey on the other. . . . “Wait! Where are Kase and Miranda?”

  “They went the other way, toward the tents,” said Avani.

  The lion had disappeared, presumably back into the bush, but I could still hear him roaring furiously from somewhere in the grass. He was moving fast out there, circling the camp. Abramo’s hired men ran amok, shouting and shooting at the bush.

  Avani’s eyes looked wild. “How—”

  She was interrupted by a deafening roar, and suddenly sand sprayed into our faces as four massive paws sprinted past the car—paws of pure silver. The lion bowled through a cluster of mercenaries, who scattered like pigeons. Gone was the regal, sorrowful lion I had met in the bush only yesterday. This Androcles was all fire and fury.

  “—is it still following us?” Avani finished, wiping sand from her eyes.

  “Bad guy, twelve o’clock!” yelled Joey.

  One of the Afrikaner mercenaries had regained his composure and headed toward us, lowering his gun to line up a shot at Sam.

  “No!” I shouted.

  Before he could shoot, Androcles came galloping from behind a tent. I gasped as the lion sprung, and the man never even saw it coming. The giant paws, flashing with light, struck him at the base of his neck, and he fell face forward into the sand. Avani shrieked and covered her eyes as the lion’s jaws closed on the man’s head. The mercenary’s screams pierced the air louder than even the shots being fired at his feline attacker.

  I could see several of the bullets strike home, tearing gouges into Androcles’s hide. From the wounds poured scarlet blood, but the lion wasn’t slowed. I remembered what Dr. Monaghan had said about Metalcium’s intended purpose in healing wounds, how it had taken a hailstorm of bullets to bring down the infected scientists. That must have accounted for why the lion seemed only slightly affected by the bullets. He shook himself, his tail curling and uncurling silver hair floating free of his shimmering mane. Then he snarled, showing rows of gleaming pearly teeth, and sprinted away in a spray of sand, at once terrifying and bizarrely beautiful.

  “Now’s our chance,” Sam said. “While they’re distracted, we can steal a car and get away. I’ll go look for Miranda and Kase. See if you can get into one of the trucks.”

  He backed up and was off while Avani, Joey, and I crawled out and tried the doors.

  “Locked!” Joey exclaimed. “Why would they lock them?”

  Avani was already running to the next vehicle in the line, but when she reached the door, she shook her head.

  “They’re all locked!”

  The gunmen around us seemed to hardly care what we did. They were too busy firing at every blade of grass that moved, calling to one another, “Over here!” or “There! There!”

  “Look out!” called Avani. “Chopper!”

  A helicopter set down in the grass just outside the camp, and before it even touched the earth, the door opened and Abramo, followed by a cluster of mercenaries, jumped out. They ran straight in Sam’s direction.

  “Sam!” I yelled, taking off at a sprint. I slipped between two of the tents, then froze. Sam was standing behind the tents with his hands spread at his sides, facing Abramo, who had a pistol aimed at him. I hadn’t been seen, and I backed up just enough to conceal myself and get a partial view.

  “Please!” Sam pleaded. “Sarah needs medical attention. Let me take her to a hospital and—”

  “Where are the rest of you?” Abramo demanded, glaring.

  “They—Lion!” Sam yelled suddenly, pointing behind Abramo, who spun and raised his gun. Androcles wasn’t there, but Sam used the opportunity to disappear into the grass. Abramo turned back and cursed when he saw his quarry had vanished.

  I needed to do something. There had to be another gun lying around somewhere—these guys had them coming out their ears. I backed up slowly, almost bumping into Avani, who had caught up. The close call made me dizzy, and I stepped hastily away.

  “Search the tents,” I whispered. “Find a gun.”

  She nodded and immediately ducked into the first tent, and I charged into the second.

  When I opened the flap, someone jumped out at me and I shrieked and fell backward, almost toppling over.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Miranda! Why’d you leap out at me like that? Never mind. Move.”

  I stepped around her and into the tent. Kase and Miranda blinked at me like a pair of owls.

  “Are there any guns in here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Kase. “But there’s some kind of off-brand Gatorade.”

  He held up a bottle of blue liquid, and I’d never seen a sight more beautiful. I took it and drained it in seconds, feeling my body come alive, cell by cell.

  When I lowered it, I saw the two of them staring in shock at my arm. In my haste to drink, I had let my sleeve slide back and the silver plate that stretched from my elbow to my palm was in plain sight.

  “Oh,” said Miranda softly. “Oh, Sarah . . .”

  “Forget it,” I said, shaken but determined to stay on track. “We’re getting out of here while everyone’s distracted. Go help Sam and Avani look for guns or keys to the cars—anything that can help.”

  “How long have you been like that?” asked Kase, his eyes still fixed on my arm, even though I’d rolled down my sleeve.

  “Just go!” I urged them.

  There were still random shots being fired all around us, and I didn’t like sending them out into the middle of that, but it would be worse if the men managed to kill the lion and turned their attention back to us.

  I began searching through the tent. There was only one cot, against the far wall, and from the look of the place I imagined it was Abramo’s. There was nothing personal about any of the items, not so much as a photograph or a souvenir. There was, however, a box of spare batteries, likely for their handheld radios and other devices. At first, I tore my eyes away, but they were drawn back to the box as if magnetized. I grabbed two AAs.

  In a quick, practiced motion, I popped open the back of Mom’s recorder and replaced the old batteries. Then, my stomach in knots, I pressed play.

  The noise outside seemed a thousand miles away. I barely noticed Kase and Miranda sneak out of the tent, hissing for me to follow. With my teeth clenched so hard that I could feel my pulse in my cheek, I held the recorder to my ear and listened.

  Her voice crackled to life. “—one thing Monaghan doesn’t know. I’m
infected.”

  I forget entirely about the gunfight outside. The tent could have burned down around me and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  “I touched one of their silver rats. I didn’t mean to—I thought it was dead, and I opened the cage. . . . I realized I was infected this morning. It matches the symptoms the scientists described in their notes: interminable itching. All over, like being covered in lice. I’ve half a mind to tell them, but then what’ll they do? Keep me, that’s what. They’ll let me die in agony like their poor test subjects, while they take down notes. But if they don’t find out, they’ll simply get rid of me. There’s a man coming, Monaghan told me, a professional. Abrams or Abramo or something.” My blood turned to ice. My fingers locked like steel bands around the recording, as I hardened with cold rage. Mom’s voice went on, “He’ll want to stage my . . . my death like an accident, which means he’ll likely leave me somewhere Ty . . . Oh. I can’t believe I’m saying this.” She let out a long, rattling breath. “He’ll leave me where Ty can find my body. If I disappear without a trace, Ty will search deeper and deeper until he finds this place, which they don’t want. So. They’ll leave me somewhere in the savanna, but the joke will be on them.” She emitted a dry, humorless laugh. “Because even if my skin hasn’t turned silver yet, my autopsy will reveal the abnormalities that could lead the authorities back to Corpus.”

  Except that the autopsy had showed no such thing. Had she been mistaken? There hadn’t been a spot of silver on her when we found her.

  “I’m going to die either way,” she said. “So I’d rather it be on my terms. If . . . if someone finds this recording, please take it to my family: Ty and Sarah Carmichael. They’re camped in Acacia Valley, in the central Kalahari in Botswana. Ty, I have loved you ever since I first saw you plunge neck deep into the Zambezi River, running to rescue me out of a sinking canoe. We’ve lived a wild and wonderful life, my love, and I have no regrets. And Sarah . . .”

  I sank to my knees on the floor of my mother’s murderer’s tent, numb to my bones.