Kalahari by Jessica Khoury
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Shaken up, but we’re not hurt. You?”
He just nodded. “I shouldn’t have left you. I—”
“You should have seen it!” Joey interrupted. “She went all Tomb Raider on them, pulling out guns, setting fires!”
“Well, I don’t know anything about tombs,” I said. “But you weren’t so bad yourself. He could have told them where you were, but he . . .” My fervor faded as I recalled the infected scientists falling under the gunfire. Suddenly my memory of our escape soured. I fell silent and let Joey pick up where I’d left off. He embellished some of the details, but the gist of the story was there.
Forcing my mind away from the massacre, I replayed Dr. Monaghan’s last words to me over and over, hoping there was some clue I’d missed. I walked a short distance away, wrapped in my own thoughts.
Jillian Carmichael—you look just like her.
I sank to the ground beside a shepherd’s tree. A hornbill hopped through the branches above, eyeing us excitedly. I watched him and fought to control my breathing, which had become short and shallow as if I were on the verge of hyperventilating. Then I looked down at my left wrist, sliding up my sleeve to expose the tattoo of the honeybee.
I realized the others had fallen silent and were watching me.
“Sarah?” Sam asked. “Joey said the doctor mentioned your mom. You . . . you okay?” Concern was etched in all their faces, and for some reason, it made me angry. This was something I hadn’t cared to share with them. The scars were still too fresh.
“Sure,” I said, shrugging, but then my heart sank and my voice gave out and I shook my head. I abandoned my defenses, lacking the strength to hold their concern at arm’s length. “No. No, I’m not.”
Sam knelt in front of me, his eyebrows drawn together. His face was tan and dusted with freckles from being out in the sun each day.
“We have to keep moving,” he said. “We don’t know if any of the infected animals escaped, but if they did, they couldn’t be far. And there’s the lion. He could be anywhere.”
I sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. He started to extend a hand to help me up, then hesitated.
“Sarah, in the menagerie, you didn’t . . .”
I shook my head. “None of the animals—or Dr. Monaghan—touched me. Joey?”
“Nope.” He held up his hands. “I’m clean.”
I rubbed my fingertips against my thumb. “Still. We have to watch each other. Dr. Monaghan said that it starts with itching.”
“Great,” said Avani. “Because the surest way to start itching is to think about itching, and now we’re all thinking about it.”
Suddenly Joey yelped. “My nose itches! Help!” He began scratching his face wildly, and at first we all recoiled, horror-struck, but then Joey burst out laughing.
“Look at your faces!” he gasped between guffaws. “Oh, I got you good!”
“I hope you’re infected,” said Avani. “It would serve you right!”
“Well, if I am,” said Joey with a sly look, “why not share the love?”
He lunged at Avani, arm outstretched. She screamed and kicked, her foot connecting solidly with his groin. Joey’s maniacal laughter turned into a squeal of pain as he crumpled, clutching himself and wheezing.
“Not cool,” he groaned.
We all stared down at him without an ounce of sympathy.
“We left all the food,” I said. “We have no supplies, nothing.”
“Not so fast,” said Avani. I realized then that she had a backpack on, and when she opened it to reveal cans of soup and beans and a box of saltines, we all cheered.
“Nice work, Avani,” said Kase.
“Yeah,” Joey added, still on the ground. “Hope you grabbed a can opener.”
Avani’s face went blank. “I . . .”
Her voice died in a puddle of silence.
“Don’t panic,” I said, as much to myself as the others. “We all ate and drank at the compound. That’ll get us through the rest of the day.”
“And then?” Kase prompted.
And then . . . I shut my eyes and sighed. “We can forage. We can—”
“Great,” said Joey. “More fermented berries. Yum. Exactly how long can we live like this, anyway?”
“We can do it,” I said, my voice weak. Sure, we could do it—for two, maybe three days. It wasn’t food that concerned me most. It was water. I thought of all the bottles of water we’d left behind at the compound and wanted to punch something in frustration. The supplies at the compound would have made all the difference—possibly the difference between survival and death by dehydration. I kept that to myself.
“Should we go back?” Sam asked, perhaps guessing the concerns I dared not voice.
“I’m not going back here,” said Joey flatly. “That place is crawling with monsters.”
I nodded. “Joey’s right. Some of the men might still be back there, in addition to the animals Dr. Monaghan released. It’s too dangerous.”
No one looked happy with this decision, but they didn’t argue either.
We walked in silence. We were all paranoid, watching one another mistrustfully for signs of scratching. Joey limped at the back, blessedly quiet. Though his constant chatter and poorly timed pranks were irritating, I suspected they were just his way of exhibiting his fear. It was the same with animals: Their personalities shined brightest when they were most distressed. The biters bit harder, the runners ran faster, the hiders dug deeper. Jokers made more jokes.
My eyes played tricks on me, making me see things disappear into the bush—a silver tail, a silver ear. Every gray termite mound we passed made my stomach lurch, because I kept expecting to see a Metalcium-infected creature. What if some of them had escaped, like Sam said? Would they follow us? I tried to remember what Dr. Monaghan had said about the infected animals’ tendency to turn aggressive. It must have acted something like rabies, causing them to attack on sight, even if the animal was normally peaceful and shy. Certainly that had seemed true of the infected scientists. I shuddered. Well, at least they were out of their misery now.
I called a halt about an hour before sunset and instructed everyone to give me their shoelaces and to find firewood while I set traps. They gave me odd looks but did as I asked. I hunted through the grass until I found a few likely looking bird trails, then set up three traps using the shoelaces, which didn’t work as well as the handmade twine the Bushmen used but would have to do. The work was good for me. It settled my mind and distracted me from the haunting images of the Corpus compound.
If the traps caught anything, it probably wouldn’t be until the morning, so hopefully the food we’d eaten would last us till then. I paused, my hands filled with dusty shoelaces, to survey the wide Kalahari, wondering where Dad was, if he was okay, if he was as thirsty and hungry and desperate as I was.
“Be safe,” I whispered into the breeze.
I found the others sitting around a pile of firewood, staring listlessly at the ground. Sam was attempting to open one of the cans of soup, to little avail. Maybe if we’d had a rock to hit it with, but the only rocks we’d seen had been in the lab. I wondered how long it would take for Abramo to gather a new team and return to the labs to burn the rest of the research. Would he go there first, or would we become his new priority?
I forced myself to focus on problems I could control.
Avani had the one box of crackers, which was better than nothing. There were four sleeves inside, all of them full, and she parceled out one of them. It was hardly filling, and the saltiness made us all desperately thirsty. I wondered if we’d have been better off not eating them at all, but I took one look at the others wolfing down the crackers and decided to say nothing.
Building a fire posed a problem. I was already beginning to shiver from the cold. But a fire could attract more Corpus
“Start it,” said Avani. “We can take turns keeping watch. They’ll have to have lights if they’re searching during the night, so we’ll see them coming. As dark as it gets out here, we’ll be able to disappear into the bush.”
I had no matches or lighters; they’d all been in my pack.
“Okay,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “Let’s do this Bushman style.”
I picked two sturdy sticks from the firewood pile and looked around at everyone, my eyes settling on Miranda’s hand.
“Miranda, can I have your ring?”
Her fingers closed into a fist, the square cut diamond on it probably worth as much as the Land Cruiser.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, but it’s the sharpest thing we have,” I said, wincing a little. “There are no rocks out here. There’s no other way to drill this wood.”
“What would your precious Bushmen use?” she asked, tucking her hand under her shirt protectively.
“Knives made from giraffe bones, probably. Want to volunteer one of those?”
“Use your teeth.”
“Just give her the ring!” Avani said.
“Give her yours!”
Avani held up her hands, showing all ten of her fingers were bare, and then she lowered all but the middle ones.
“That’s it,” said Miranda, jumping to her feet and glaring at Avani. “You think you’re so smart, but what good do all your snotty facts do us now? You act like we’re all so far beneath you because we don’t know the Latin name for every blade of grass out here, when the truth is, no one cares, Miss Honor Roll!”
Now Avani was on her feet. “Oh no. You do not get to talk about me looking down on people! You! Miss Debutante, with your ridiculous designer clothes and jewelry—we’re in the middle of the wilderness. What do you need to look like a supermodel for? I’m surprised your daddy hasn’t picked us all up in his private jet! Doesn’t he have you microchipped or something?”
Miranda slapped Avani hard across the face and Avani reeled backward, her hand going to her cheek. While Sam, Joey, and I sat gaping, Kase leaped up and grabbed Miranda, who looked ready to pull out Avani’s hair.
Avani fumed while Kase whispered to Miranda in an attempt to calm her down. Miranda seethed and glared at Avani but let her boyfriend lead her a little way off.
“Can you believe that?” Avani asked, looking at the rest of us.
I sighed and shut my eyes. “I need something to carve this stick with, or this fire is not going to happen.” I eyed my nails reluctantly. They were blunt and unlikely to be much use. I tried anyway, and succeeded only in getting a splinter wedged under my nail. For a few minutes I stared at the stick, trying to think of a solution but getting lost in a mental fog. My lips felt like blocks of wood, my tongue parched. Thirst was a terribly distracting need; it pulled at me more and more. I was just about to begin gnawing on the stick like a beaver when I heard a voice say, “Here.”
I looked up to see Kase holding out Miranda’s ring. She was sitting on a termite mound twenty yards away, her back to us.
“She’s not as bad as you think,” he said. “And she’s not a debutante, Avani. At least, not anymore.” He paused, as if weighing his next words, then he said softly, “Her family lost everything two years ago. And I mean everything. Her dad went to prison for fraud, her mom’s in and out of rehab all the time, and all her old friends won’t even acknowledge she exists. She’s not perfect, even I’ll admit that. But I love her, you know? And I just want you know the truth. She’s a good person, if you just get to know her.”
He seemed embarrassed by his speech, which for him was pretty long-winded, and he turned abruptly and walked back to Miranda.
We sat in silence for a moment, nobody looking up. I remembered suddenly something my mom had told me years and years ago, something I’d completely forgotten until now: Everyone you meet has a secret that would break your heart.
My cheeks flushed with shame for the thoughts I’d had about Miranda, for the assumptions I had made about her. When I studied wild animals, I always waited until I had all the facts before drawing conclusions about their habits and lives—why couldn’t I do that with people?
Silently, I stood up and went to Kase and Miranda. Miranda’s face was smeared with tears; she looked five years younger. His hand was on her shoulder. She reached up and squeezed it. Looking at them, so close, so unflinching in their commitment to each other, I felt a part of myself I didn’t even know existed curl up with envy.
“Here,” I said, holding out the ring. “I’ll find something else.”
She looked at me suspiciously, then her hand reached out. The tip of her finger touched the diamond, but then withdrew.
“No,” she said. “Use it. It’s not a real diamond, anyway. It’s just cubic zirconia. Fake.”
I closed my hand around the ring. “Thanks.”
“Are we going to die out here?” Miranda asked suddenly, her voice cased in steel. “Tell me straight. Don’t dish me false hope.”
Lists and numbers swirled in my head like debris whipped up by a hurricane: the distance to Ghansi, the dangers between us and safety, our dwindling strength as our bodies succumbed to lack of water and food, the cold nights, the relentless sun in the day, Abramo and his men . . . In the center of it all, where I wanted to find a seed of hope, I found only a pulsing knot of suppressed panic and uncertainty.
“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry, I . . . I don’t know.”
FIFTEEN
The ring wasn’t as good as a knife, but I was able to gouge a notch about the size of a fingertip in one of the sticks. I laid it over a bundle of dry, fine grass and held it down with one knee. I held the other stick, its tip sharpened with the ring, between my palms. The pointy end went into the notch, along with a few grains of Kalahari sand. I rubbed my hands quickly back and forth, my tongue sticking out slightly the way it always does when I’m concentrating. It took several minutes, but eventually the sticks began to smoke, and a tiny red ember tumbled into the grass. Immediately I set the sticks aside and lifted the bundle of grass, blowing gently on the ember. It seemed to die for a moment, but I kept breathing on it, slow and steady, and then all at once a flame flared up. I dropped the burning grass and began feeding it with smaller sticks.
“Well. That was cool,” said Sam.
Joey looked equally impressed. “I gotta try it.”
I handed him the sticks.
He spent the next hour trying to start a fire, before at last giving up. His hands were raw and blistered, and he scowled when I asked what went wrong. By then, it was dark enough that we couldn’t see anything outside the fire’s glow, and Kase and Miranda rejoined us, but Miranda wouldn’t look at anyone.
Sam was gazing at Miranda thoughtfully. After a minute, he stared into the fire and said, “My mom’s in prison.”
She didn’t look up, but I saw her eyebrows rise.
“Been in and out for ten years for drugs,” Sam said. He prodded the fire with a stick. Embers stirred and broke apart, sending up a shower of sparks that reflected in his eyes. “Me and my brother grew up in foster homes since I was five. Never stayed in one town more than a year.” He settled back and kept staring at the flames. “When Adam turned eighteen he became my legal guardian, and we lived in Pittsburgh for a while. Till he joined the military, anyway.” His face was set in hard lines; the firelight made him look older, sharper. “He was killed by a sniper in Baghdad last year.”
“Sorry, bro,” said Joey, looking as serious as I’d ever seen him. His knees were drawn up and his hands dangled between them, his fingers absently working a piece of grass. “My grandma died when I was seven. She raised me, practically, while my parents worked. You never really get over it, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Sam, and hi
I looked at the fire, my chest aching. Mom. Theo. Maybe Dad too. The others could talk about their loved ones, but not me—it was too soon. It was too close, their faces still too fresh in my mind.
“My dad made me come on this trip,” said Joey. He stuck the grass between his teeth, then flopped onto his back, his arms stretched wide. “He’s on the board of directors for the Song Foundation—you know, the group who thought it would be a great idea to send five random kids into the middle of nowhere. He said it would ‘straighten me out.’” Joey laughed, not his usual light, joking laughter but something deep and slightly bitter. “Isn’t that ironic, though? Like, I might die. Bet he’d feel guilty then. I coulda been surfing in SoCal with my gang, picking up babes.” He rolled onto his side, head resting on his elbow, and he grinned suggestively at Avani. “How about it, Canada? I kinda dig the whole nerd thing. Nerd is the new hot.”
“Dream on,” said Avani, rolling her eyes.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “Is this, like, the land of your people?”
“My dad’s parents are from Kenya,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “And my mom is from Delhi.”
“Where’s that?” asked Joey. “Arkansas?”
“India, you moron.”
“Do you, like, sit down and memorize dictionaries every day?”
“No,” she said. “Only on weekends.”
Joey stared at her, looking perplexed, then suddenly his face split into a grin. “Wait a minute. . . . You made a joke!”
Avani’s lips curled into a small smile.
Sam caught my eye, then traced a heart in the sand between us. My throat tightened and I blinked at it, then looked at him in alarm.