Deep within the heart of the African bushveld, three adventurous, slightly idiotic young men had found themselves traversing over the sandy plains of the beloved Karoo. By their own admission, they were less like competent survivalists braving the treacherous terrain and more like lost ants on a desperate mission to crawl their way over the backside of a sleeping, moody baboon.

It was a moody baboon with a hairy backside- if analogy does it justice- shamelessly unshaved and sore for the eyes to look at, as nothing but greyed bushes and crusty soil surrounded them to every horizon. It was as if the sun itself were a drunken fool, carried from a tavern and hung out over the sky, like a wet cloth on a line, to mindlessly drool it’s heat over everything and everyone beneath it.

More than once on this perilous journey, Nevil and his companions had looked up to the sky, raised the finger and cursed this drunken fool, but to no avail.

Finally, after a long and tiresome day of crawling over enormous termite heaps, sheltering under dried-out thorn trees and marching over vast spots of white-bleached soil, the three men had found a resting place for the night: a stony mound that rose like a brick wall about two stories above the soil and scoped over the otherwise plain landscape. Nevil and Cornelius had followed the curving path behind the mound to reach to the top of the plateau, whilst the third member of their party had excused himself to the nearest bushes for…relief.

As the moon had kicked the drunken sun from its spot in the sky, nightfall replaced the scorching heat with a freezing cold. Center-stage for all to behold, it was as if sky pulled open its cosmic drapes to reveal the most exquisite display of glistening stars that sprung from their blackened backdrop.

Whilst waiting for their third member, the other two had set up camp and started a fire, all in a miserable attempt to stave off the evening chill that seeped into their clothes and shivered their bones.

Nevil had already snuggled into his sleeping bag and wriggled himself close to the fire, while Cornelius was preparing dinner in the cookware he had brought all the way since their incident.

“For the love of all that’s living! It’s been too long since we’ve had a meal!” said Cornelius as he rearranged the burning logs.

Nevil mindlessly stared up at the sky, content that he got to lie on his back for the first time in 17 hours. “What does it matter now? We’re getting food aren’t we?”

“Yes,” scoffed Cornelius. “After everyone got groggy and started biting my head off, now we finally get to eat.”

“You poor victim.” Nevil sighed and twisted his body to him. The tiny pebbles beneath the bag poked into his sides, between the ribs, like tiny ants biting him only out of spite. “We have every reason to be mad at you, and you know it.”

“You really make it sound worse than it is! This is not all my fault-”

“Shooting our tour-guide wasn’t all your fault?”

“It was an accident!” Cornelius now furiously poked at the burning logs that sent sparks scattering into the air. “Besides I didn’t kill the guy…” he added guiltily, “…he only took a bullet in the bum.”

“Yes!” Nevil scoffed. “And it sent him running into the bushes like an ostrich with its tailfeathers on fire, never to be seen again.” He let out a sigh. “And how long have we been lost in the bush because of it?”

Cornelius winced at his own admission. “Three days…”

“Three days,” barked Nevil. He dropped his head back onto the ground and drew a deep breath, recounting the words that he had uttered every day since the incident. “I’m surrounded by stupid…” He left it there and rolled onto his back while the tiny pebbles bit him once more.

The crackling of the flames filled the childish silence between them and so the moody atmosphere lingered for longer than a while.

Even though he wanted no proximity to his fellow ‘survivor’, the chilly wind had snuck its way back into the sleeping bag and forced Nevil to keep himself close to the fire. Meantime, he watched Cornelius put the pot to the flames and eventually heard how the water coughed up bubbles to the surface, ready for the eggs they found earlier that day.

Nevil was forced to admit to himself that, to Cornelius’ credit, he was the reason they had something to eat tonight.

Somewhere during their day march, something in a patch of dense underbrush had caught the bloke’s eye, as almost everything did, and sent him crawling into the foliage like a baboon.

Exasperated by his frequent idiocies, the other two were content with abandoning Cornelius there, leaving him to the mercy of the animals and elements. That is, until he reappeared with his backpack stuffed to the brim. He claimed it to be filled with chicken eggs and, in a hurry to move on, they didn’t press the matter.

“You did good with the food,” Nevil made himself admit.

Cornelius whistled a tune as he stirred the pot. “Once we’ve all stuffed our bellies with some protein, you’ll practically be singing my praises.”

The crackling flames retook its intended role of filling the silence and, with the comforting heat it had permeated, defied the deadly elements more vigorously than any of them could have hoped to do themselves. In its own way, the fire, living and breathing as it was, gave them hope that life would indeed prevail over death.

Of course, that was Cornelius’ sentiment, and he was an idiot.

But after some moments, the distant sound of heavy panting and grunting filled the air.

Cornelius was the one to break the silence and ask what the noise was.

But in that moment, Nevil couldn’t care less. His back had just started to go numb from all the sticks and stones that poked into his muscles and stopped the blood flow, and thereby, dulled all pain and sensation. Such euphoria; he really didn’t want to disturb the relief. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. Maybe his whole body could go limp, wouldn’t that be nice?

“I’m serious,” said Cornelius.

“Sure you are,” answered Nevil, already half dozed.

“Something is out there and its coming closer.”

“Sure it is…”

Cornelius had grown quiet, much to Nevil’ enjoyment. But then he had become a bit too quiet.

Reluctantly, Nevil opened his eyes and looked to the other side of the campfire where his companion was brooding beside the flames, as if he was capable of some intellectual thought. “What now, Socrates?” he asked.

A look of confusion had grown over Cornelius’s face as he further stirred the contents of the pot. He lifted his gaze from the fire to look him dead in the eyes. “Roland hasn’t come back yet.”

Annoyed, Nevil heightened his voice and tried to explain it like a child would. “He said he had to poop.”

But Cornelius wasn’t amused. “That was half an hour ago.”

Nevil sighed and blew it off. “Maybe he too needed some time to philosophize. After all, what better place for deep, masculine introspection than when on the privy?”

The grunting noises became louder and louder, until it was only a few meters away from them.

Unhappy to admit it, Nevil had also become unsettled. He let out an annoyed grunt and turned to Cornelius once more. “Did you check if something followed us up the back-path?”

“I did,” replied Cornelius ominously. “And there was nothing.” He pointed from the back path to the other side of the mound, at the nearby ledge that dropped a good six meters to the surrounding landscape. “Something is climbing up the wall.”

They both looked on, frozen in curious anticipation.

The grunting became louder and more aggressive until the creature was forced to slowly reveal itself. First, two hands surfaced from behind the ledge. They clasped onto the jagged rocks and dragged up the rest of the body. The head appeared next, then a foot swung up and caught another rock. In one desperate exertion, the foul creature rolled itself over the edge and collapsed from exhaustion. Panting furiously, it went on all fours, then rose to its feet and scuffled over to the fire.

“Roland!” exclaimed Cornelius and waved him closer. “We thought you were a baboon or something! Come and heat yourself by the fire! I’m boiling the eggs for us.”

Roland, the third member of their party, gave no response. He merely panted like an elderly warthog and slowly scuffled closer, dragging his feet over the hardened dirt as if he was wading his way through deep water. He methodically pulled at the pants that covered his groin and winced with every step.

Nevil studied him, more out of curiosity than concern. He had one burning question but was almost afraid to hear the answer. “Roland…” he began carefully, like a teacher asking a toddler why he did something very strange. “Why did you climb up the wall?”

Roland stopped in his tracks, kicking up small clouds of dust around his worn-out sneakers. Panting, he looked right back at him, his face tired and lifeless except for a faint look of confusion. “I don’t understand. How did you two get up here?”

Nevil sighed and dropped his head. “Roland!”

“What?!”

“You were supposed to follow the back-path up the hill!”

Roland’s face froze, even more lifeless than before, except for his right eye that now twitched hysterically. His dusty cheeks turned red as a look of utter dismay grew over his face. “Damn…”

Nevil dropped his head back onto the ground and drew a deep breath, recounting the words that he had uttered every day since the incident. “I’m surrounded by s-”

“Don’t you say it!” Cornelius warned as he poked a charred stick in his direction. “We’re tired of your insults!”

“Observations,” Nevil corrected him amusedly.

Seemingly outraged by even just being associated with the bloke, Roland scoffed and also turned-on Cornelius, as if to save his own skin. “If it wasn’t for this Quack, we’d never have gotten lost in the first place!” He bent over the fire to look him straight in the eyes. “What kind of a moron accidentally shoots their own tour guide?!”

Cornelius stood up in protest. “Let he who hasn’t sinned cast the first stone!”

The disgruntlement might as well have lasted an eternity, with each man brooding by his spot beside the fire. The only noise atop the plateau was the distant howling of wind and the sound of the eggs boiling in the pot. Roland was the only one who remained standing, surprising for someone who’d just climbed-out a hill. When Cornelius confronted him on this, beckoning him to sit down as it made him nervous, Roland admitted that he couldn’t.

“What do you mean you can’t?” asked Cornelius.

Now curious himself, Nevil turned his head and noticed a look of shame grow over the man’s face.

Roland winced and bit his lip. “I…I got injured when I had excused myself to the bushes.”

“You mean when you pooped?” asked Cornelius.

Roland sighed and gritted his teeth. “It was dark out, and very rocky. I didn’t realize that I had squatted over a termite’s nest until it was too late…”

The other two stared in horror at the thought of it. No man under heaven ought to experience such a pain, they agreed. Nevil could only wince and give a sympathetic nod. “They got you bad, didn’t they?”

The man’s voice was devoid of all hope and emotion. “I doubt I’ll procreate…”

“Yeah, that’s a shame…” And with that, Nevil snuggled back into his bag and closed his eyes, easing back into a relaxed slumber.

“Let’s just forget about it,” he heard Roland break the silence and scuffle closer to the heat. A sound of impatience grew in his voice as he was clearly desperate to change the subject, even though he was the only one that still cared about it. “I’m starving! How long before those bloody eggs are done?! You’ve most definitely overcooked them by now!”

Cornelius scoffed and continued stirring the pot, immersed in his cookery as if he were capable of any kind of sophistication. “You can’t rush delicacy, my Friend. If you knew how long it took to cook these eggs, you’d praise me for getting them done at all.”

In that moment, Nevil felt another presence in the vicinity, as if his sixth sense had warned him. Wouldn’t that be a first? Usually his senses betrayed him, like getting him mingled up with these two idiots in the first place.

But this time his gut had started tingling a different tune and alerted him of some unknown danger that was encroaching on the three of them. He opened his eyes and looked beyond the group to where a large shadow had grown behind Roland.

Instantly, he filled with dread.

Clearly unaware of this imminent threat, the other two kept up their squabble. “Don’t be a buffoon,” Roland protested. “You know nothing of food! I wouldn’t trust you to tell difference between a cantaloupe and a coconut!”

“And what would you know about it?” asked Cornelius who kept his gaze buried deep inside the pot as he continued to stir, like a miserable child content with his flopped handiwork.

Nevil slowly raised his hand. “Gentlemen…”

But they didn’t hear him, nor did they seem to notice the creature that had stalked right up behind them.

Nevil slowly sat himself upright, the pebbles biting into his buttocks. “Gentlemen…”

Roland stuck a finger across the fire. “You don’t boil eggs for half an hour!”

“Have you seen the size of them?” Cornelius scoffed. “We’re practically cooking melons!”

“What are you talking about?” Roland murmured. Clearly infuriated, he scooted over to the pot. And after a moment’s examination of the contents inside, he looked up, eyes wide and voice low. “Cornelius, your intellect amazes me. And here you had me thinking they were chicken eggs…”

“You clearly know nothing of birdlife in the Karoo,” Cornelius snorted. “They are chicken eggs…”

Roland nearly toppled himself over in protest. “What kind of big-ass chicken lays eggs like those! That’s from an ostrich, you Quack!”