KALAHARI

Chapter Two

“Okay,” said Avani uncertainly. 

“Wait right here,” I said. I jumped  up and ran into the bush, searching for the spot where I’d seen a kudu earlier. After a few minutes  of scouting through  the underbrush,  I found what I was looking for, then stopped by my dad’s tent. I grabbed his canteen of whiskey and poured a small portioninto a cup, then returned to the fire.

“I learned this from some kids in a village near Gaborone,” I said. I held out my hand and opened it. They all stood and came over, peering at the contents of my palm.

“Is that . . .” Sam began.

“I think it is,” said Avani, holding a hand over her mouth.

“Kudu droppings!” I said brightly. “So what you do is, youjust drop one into the whiskey—that kills any bacteria and also helps with the taste—then you put it in your mouth like this, and—” I demonstrated, popping one of the brown pellets in my mouth, then shooting it out. It sailed an impressive distance, and I was pleased. A yearly dung-spitting championship (the Afrikaners called it Bokdrol Spoeg) was held in South Africa, and I’d seen some of the best contestants do worse. 

“So basically,” I said, “the object is to see who can shoot them the farthest, and . . .”

My voice died as I took in their expressions. Each one was gaping at me with a mixture of shock and horror. My heart quailed. 

“It . . . it’s not gross. See? It’s just grass, really.” I broke apart one of the pellets to demonstrate, but they turned away, making retching noises and cursing. Only Sam was left staring at the droppings in my hand, and then he looked up at me as if he wasn’t sure what language I was speaking.

 “Okay,” I said quietly. “So maybe a different game?”

I tossed the droppings back into the grass, and when I turned  around,  they were all seated at the fire again. Kase, Miranda,  and  Joey had  their  smartphones  out  and  were either playing games or listening to music. Avani took out an electronic reading device and was soon absorbed in a book. Their faces were all illuminated by soft blue light that seemed otherworldly out here in the wilderness. Sam was writing in a journal, stopping in between words to chew on the end of his pen.

I stood and watched them for a minute  in silence, then tossed out the rest of the whiskey and went to make dinner.

There was still no sign of Dad and Theo. A seed of anxiety had settled in my gut, and now it was growing, a toxic vine that wrapped around my nerves and my heart. Every time he left, even for a little while, a part of me was certain that he wouldn’t return. I even dreamed about it, a regular nightmare that had plagued me since Mom’s death. It was like my subconscious had reasoned that by always expecting the worst, I could somehow blunt the pain before it struck.

 The others noticed me haul a stack of pans out of the supply tent and looked over curiously.

 “Dinner?” asked Joey hopefully, and I nodded. “Where’s your dad?” asked Avani.

“He’ll be back by dark,” I said, in a tone far more confident than I felt. The  light was already beginning  to fade, turning the sky murky gray. “In the meantime,  I’ll get some burgers going.” 

“Miranda’s vegan,” said Kase. His girlfriend sniffed and gave me a challenging look.

Well, of course she was. “All right. I’ve got beans.”

“Are they organic?” asked Miranda.

“Oh my gawd.” Joey flopped backward off his log, landing with his arms spread in the dust. Miranda gave him a venomous look.