He’s sexy in his khaki shirt and jeans, that have just the right amount of snugness. His skin is tanned and golden. Maybe this dream is set in the tropics. I love the tropics. Maybe he’ll give me a hollowed out coconut with a paper umbrella in it. Then maybe he’ll offer to lather me up with sunscreen while telling me how amazing I am, curves and all. He loves a woman whose dress size isn’t of preschool age. Oh yes, this is going to be a lovely dream indeed.
“What the hell are you doing in here, woman?” he suddenly barks.
Crap, this isn’t a dream. I’m awakening to the ongoing nightmare I’m living. It’s the sadist Drill Sergeant hovering over me, the man who tried to feed me to lions yesterday. I take back everything I just said about him being attractive, and all those other ridiculous thoughts I was having in my near comatose state from physical exhaustion. He’s not attractive, he’s repulsive. And dammit, he’s caught me sleeping in the common area.
“There was something in the tent camp again, and this time it was something big and deadly.”
“It was probably just the rain.”
“The rain? It rained?”
“Yes, it rained. First real rain we’ve had in a hundred years.”
“Is it still raining?” If it’s raining maybe I won’t have to work today.
“No, but a huge storm is forecast in the next few days, so get up,” he grumbles. “We’ve got real work to do today.”
Barely able to lift my aching bones from the floor, I head out to my tent to get ready for the second day in hell, working for the devil.
Before I can make my escape, he begins to laugh hysterically. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep in your tent. I just knew it, ha ha ha!”
It was true. I’d spent the night in the common area. I had every intention of sleeping in my tent last night, I really did. But circumstances beyond my control took over and forced me to spend the night inside.
It had been a long first day on the reserve, and the Drill Sergeant’s plan to force me to leave was nearly a success. Cleaning the elephant stables was backbreaking work, and enlightened me to dozens of muscles I never knew I had. I’d returned to my camp and gulped down a simple dinner to allow longer time in a hot shower, where I could warm my bones and relieve my throbbing muscles. I didn’t waste any more time than necessary, since I wanted to be in my tent before dark.
There’s no heater in my tent, but once all the flaps are closed, the heavy canvas turns it into an insulated cocoon that’s quite warm when one considers the outside temperature of 40 degrees Fahrenheit. The canvas is heavy enough that it blocks out all sunlight.
The problem was that afternoon brought with it a light dusting of snow on the mountains. The wind picked up the chill of the frost and delivered it into the valley, dipping the mercury below freezing by the time I retired to my lonely tent.
Once there, I layered my clothing for the night with two pairs of heavy socks, long johns with my jeans on over top of them, three shirts, and a jacket. I went through my nightly ritual of checking in between all the sheets and blankets—just in case a snake or spider had snuck into my cocoon, also seeking refuge from the cold. Thankfully, my search was fruitless, and I tucked myself into bed, pulled the covers up high, just under my ears, and gently slid my arms out so as to not disrupt the positioning of the blankets. It was 6:30 pm.
I thought about Melanie, who is probably enjoying a steak dinner at her fancy hotel in Cape Town or watching television in the comfort of her posh room. Maybe she’s walking around downtown in the crowds of fans who came from around the globe to see the World Cup. I tried desperately to think of anything other than my neighbors, and that’s when I hear it.
Raaaarrrrr. My heart stopped. A lion. Raarrrrrr. It sounded like it was right outside my tent. Could it be? It had to be.
It must be the male. I could see his desire to devour me earlier. He must have followed my scent of fear back to the tent camp.
Raaaaarrrrrrrrr. Holy shit. Maybe it’s the lioness; she knew I was no match for her. She mocked me at Harrison’s window, and could have taken me then, but she, instead, chose to wait. She’s waited until dark, until I’m stranded in my tiny tent camp alone. She terrorized and taunted me from the other side of the canvas. In truth, she doesn’t need to kill me because I’ll die from fear itself. Then she can drag me back to the lion camp and share my flesh with her pride.
Grrrrrrrrrr. What the hell was that? It’s a different growl, not a lion—I don’t know what, but it definitely came from right outside my tent. Oh God, the walls are shaking! I wasn’t imagining this, I could see them. Wait… was it just the wind? Couldn’t be, could it? Snorrrrrrrt. What the hell was that? Something horrendous. Something deadly. Snnnnoooorrrrtttttttt. Oh God. That wasn’t the brownie-eating porcupine. It was much fiercer. Whatever it was, it probably just ate the damn porcupine!
I had to call 9-1-1, only in Africa it’s not as simple as 9-1-1. Now what was it? I saw it on the back of a police car once, I should have written it down. It was something like: in case of an emergency, dial 8649283764521839800. Who the hell will remember that?
I quietly reached over and picked up my cell phone. I hadn’t even turned it on since arriving here, and didn’t know if it would work. I wracked my brain about whom to call. Perhaps the operator could send help?
I held my hand over the speaker hard, so it wouldn’t make any noise turning it on. Please God, please God, give me a cellular signal.
It felt like an eternity for my phone to turn on; finally, the screen lit up, and I searched for a signal. Come on. Don’t do this to me. All I need is one bar, just one bar to make a call. No bars. Please, God! No bars, not even one. I try to dial anyway; maybe it just isn’t showing the signals. I pushed zero and hit Send, but it was just dead space. My chest tightened. I could’t breathe. I didn’t even have a weapon. How could the Drill Sergeant not have left me some kind of a weapon to defend myself? He doesn’t want me to be able to defend myself, that’s why. He wants me to perish out here. Then he won’t have to bother with me.
I heard footsteps now, but I couldn’t tell if they were the footsteps of a man or an animal; they sounded heavy, and they were moving slowly around my tent, pacing, pacing, pacing. Oh God, I can’t believe this. I should have gone to Cape Town. I am an idiot, a first rate, certifiable idiot.
Maybe it was the Drill Sergeant out there. Maybe he was trying to scare me. It must be him. It has to be. I tried to whisper hello, but nothing came out. On second thought, maybe it was safer not to speak; what if wasn’t him, and I alerted the killer that I was in here? What if it’s a murderer, a strange man, a vagrant who has found his way into my tent camp? There are fifty murders a day in South Africa—of course I’m going to be one of them! Maybe the word got out that there’s a woman sleeping alone in a tent camp… without a weapon… or a cell phone signal.
My eyes darted from one wall to the other. I knew that any second now one of these tent walls would crash in by the force of an animal pouncing on it. Either that, or I’d see a knife slicing open the canvas wall. Wait, this is Africa, it wouldn’t be a knife; it’d be a machete, a long, silver machete. No, wait, I had to keep my eyes on the zipper; if it was a man, he’d open the zipper, not slice open the side of the tent with his machete—that only happens in horror movies. Or does it? Oh God, I didn’t know where he’d come in!