Fatal Harvest
“Clotilde Loiseau’s brown eyes were fixed on Matt, who sat facing her inside the small charter airplane. “The people have AIDS, tuberculosis, leprosy, oui? The animals, they are wild. They will eat you. Everything is hungry in Africa, even insects. Here is the home of the tsetse fly. Here mosquitoes bring West Nile virus and malaria. Snakes are many in this country. Some, if they bite, you will die before you take three steps.
Matt clung to the armrests on either side of his seat and hoped he could survive the flight itself. He’d been nauseous ever since they left Kampala, the capital of Uganda. Billy was worse. He’d used three barf bags already. Now he lay spread-eagle in the aisle, moaning and begging Mrs. Loiseau to make the pilot land. Who cared about snakes and mosquitoes when the entire contents of your stomach were threatening to come flying out of your mouth at any moment?
“We shall arrive at the safari camp in one hour,”
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