“There it is.” He pointed.
The ranger cabin.
She turned off the rutted road and followed the tire tracks to the front door. “This is not what I was expecting.”
The cabin turned out to be a cute little thatch-roofed cottage that looked like it belonged in a children’s story. It stood back from the road in a clearing, its walls painted the same rust-red color of the soil, an old-fashioned water pump out front, the setting sun glinting off the glass panes of its single window. The only sign that this wasn’t some idyllic retreat were the iron bars over the window.
She parked, turned off the engine.
“Stay here, keys in the ignition and lock the doors. I’m going to clear the place.”
“Okay.” She had no idea what he meant by that. Clear it of what?
She watched while he climbed out, rifle in hand, and moved around the house, body tensed for action, rifle raised, finger on the trigger.
Damn.
He moved with the grace of a predator—and it turned her on.
He disappeared behind the cabin for a time, emerging on the other side. Then he retrieved the key from its hiding place, unlocked the door, and walked inside. A moment later, he stepped out, rifle pointing at the ground now. “Clear.”
She took the keys out of the ignition, hopped out, and got her backpack and one of her bags out of the back.
“You get inside. I’ll bring whatever I think we need.”
“Okay.” She went inside.
The place smelled of wood smoke and was dimly lit, one bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, a simple wooden shelf holding spices near the stove. A table with two chairs stood against one wall, the bed against the other. The bed wasn’t much bigger than the one they’d slept in at Amundsen-Scott, the mattress bare, no pillows to be seen.
Malik stepped inside with his duffel bag and a few bottles of water. “It’s not the Hilton, but it’s more secure than the forest.”
“Are you kidding? After Jidda’s hut and last night, this place is a palace.” She set her backpack down on the table, then went into nurse mode, checking beneath the mattress for creepy-crawlies and bedbugs.
“What are you doing?” Malik stood there watching, a puzzled look on his handsome face.
She used his language. “I’m clearing it.”
He watched, obviously still confused.
“Clear.” She settled the mattress back into place. “No bedbugs.”
“Good.” He chuckled, dropped his duffel onto the floor, unzipped it. “The latrine and gas pump are out back. Let’s get some grub, and then I need a few hours’ sleep.”
“Yes, you do.” She knew he must be exhausted. She’d once gone forty-eight hours without sleep when a bus full of school kids had gone off the road and rolled. By the end, she’d been running on fumes. By her count, Malik had been awake for about thirty-six hours now.
Malik held up a couple of MREs. “Do you want the spaghetti in meat sauce or the meatballs in marinara sauce?”
“You choose.” She sat at the table, set the hand wipes out for him to use. “You’re the one who stayed awake all night.”
“I’ve eaten both of these so many times…” He set them on the table, tore open the boxes, and went through the same process as this morning.
While they ate, they talked about what they’d seen along the way. Different kinds of monkeys. Another pangolin. A small herd of duikers. A mother warthog with her brood of three.
Kristi took her last bite of spaghetti, chewed. “I always wanted to go on safari. If we weren’t running from killers, it would have been a really fun day.”
He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. “We’ll get through this.”
She wanted to believe that. “I hope so.”