Page 78 of Sheltering Instinct

The guide turned to Tess, “What questions do you have?”

Tess turned to an elder. “Are you anticipating rain today?”

After an exchange, their guide said, “No rain any day. Those clouds are normal for this time of year, but rain would be improbable.”

Tess scratched the back of her head and reached out to feel the air again tipping back. “Do you ever get thunder and lightning?” she asked.

The guide looked up at the sky and then at the women. “I've never seen it, no.”

“Huh.” Tess held her arms out wide, palms up. And then let her gaze sweep the sky from horizon to horizon. She weighed the air in her hands as if she were a scale and then lifted one hand up over her head as if she were scooping air into her palm. And then she rubbed her thumb against her fingers.

Mojo had his nose in the wind, nostrils quivering as he sniffed the air, then he gurgled a whine from deep down in his throat.

“Talk to me, Tess,”

Tess focused on the guide. “I don't want to be an alarmist, but I have a question. Are there precautions in place for flooding?”

“Here?” The guide turned and conferred with the elder, listening intently, then told Tess, “When the rains fall in Angola, the floods happen in the villages farther north.” He lifted his chin to show the direction. “Aunty said that when the rains come down, they naturally fill the flood basins. It doesn’t happen often. This is a problem for the people who are not used to flooding because they built their huts where it will flood. This is a poor choice.”

“But here in Etosha?” Tess insisted.

“We're too far from Angola to be bothered by it. Besides, September is the end of winter here, the end of the dry season. We might get some rain next month.”

Tess leaned back and looked at the sky.

Levi stood perfectly still, and she was grateful that he kept his energy away from her. She needed to concentrate. She was remembering. It was something from her deep past. But when she tried to grab at it, it disappeared like smoke in a breeze.

“It rarely floods here, and we like it when it does.

it seeps into the ground, and after, we have a good harvest,” the guide seemed as though he was trying to reassure Tess. “Though, once I was in Windhoek, and we got three weeks of rain in twenty-four hours.” He moved his hands to his heart. “Two children were swept away, and later, their bodies were found by the dam.”

The event had an obvious effect on him. Tess put her hands to her heart in response. “I’m so sorry. Two precious children is a terrible loss.”

The guide looked up at the sky as if trying to see what had upset his visitor.

“This isn't good,” Tess said and blew out. “It's really not good, Levi. I need to call Gwen. I need information.” She rounded one of the huts where the small children sat in the dirt, tracing their fingers through the powdery soil.

When Tess and Levi arrived, she’d spotted their guide on his cell phone over here near the pen with the lone goat. Tess had surmised there was a hidden WiFi connection nearby.

And standing where he had been, Tess was able to get Gwen on the phone. “Gwen, I need you on the computer. Start with history. Has this region ever flooded?”

“Looking.”

The minutes stretched out, and Tess’s anxiety mounted.

Finally, Gwen said, “Yes, about twenty years ago. I’m scanning the article that I pulled up on our system. There was a flood that killed forty-two people, mostly children and elders who were swept away in a flash flood.”

“Where did the water originate?”

“From Angola. Okay, here’s more. WorldCares sent in helicopters to evacuate people stranded on high ground without food, drinking water, or shelter. They dropped MREs and water bottles while they performed the prioritized evacuation sequence—nursing mothers with their infants, then young children, then twelve and up. That was a big mission. But it was in February, which would be the wet season. Wetter than usual.” Gwen paused, then asked, “What does your intuition tell you?”

Tess whispered. “It feels like a disaster.”

“Mom and Dad are here. They need to know what’s going on.”

“Tess, sweetheart, are you in trouble?” Iris’s worried voice came through Tess’s phone.

“Hang on, Mom. Just listen for a minute, okay? Hey, Tess, when we were on safari in Etosha, you mentioned that spaghetti model that trailed down to Angola, the outlier.”

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