11
Sam slapped himself in the face. A mosquito was inside his net and had been buzzing around his ears for what seemed like an hour. He was hot, but had zipped himself into his sleeping bag partly to protect the rest of his body from the insect, and partly because he remembered the sight of the python sliding its way into the hollow log.
His left side ached from contact with the one rock he hadn’t cleared from the ground under his mat. He rolled over. In his tent he’d had a thick, high-density foam camping mattress covered with green rip-stop canvas. He hadn’t thought it too luxurious on those first two nights but now it lived in his memory alongside the five top luxury hotel beds he’d ever slept on. Sonja had not let him bring it with them because it was too bulky to strap to her old na
