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I don't know the name of this town, but it has a phone office and it has ice-cold Coca-Cola. That's exactly what we need right now. Xander went to the phone office, with a payphone near a bench, and I went shopping.
"I know, I know, I know. Regular communications. Check in before you do something. I get it."
Dianne said something about Mexican Coke versus American Coke. One of those nights when there wasn't much to do. Too much training under Drill Instructor Kennedy to want to be active, too afraid of the ever-present threat of Bringers to actually sleep. Or was it Dominique?
Anyway, there's gotta be a type for those who obsess about that nonsense.
"I do have a sense of time. My watch is waterproof and impact-resistant, so I know that this is … two days and nine whole hours after you expected me to call."
I had enough pocket money to get sandals, a cute bag with a colorful print, and two ice cold Cokes.
"Well, it starts with the sat-phone being in my backpack. The one with my notebook and all that."
I'm not sure I could tell the difference between a Mexican Coke and American Coke. I mean, sweet is sweet, right? This is sweet, ice cold and here. That's a good combination after a whole day of walking.
"That backpack is in the Jeep."
My boots are in the cute bag. My socks could probably stand at attention about now.
"The Jeep is … well, it's in the river."
I get bits and pieces of horror stories when we're traveling. Not much else to do but talk. I don't think there's clothes stories, like Buffy's shoes becoming possessed and going off to kick something to death. Do they have bad clothes stories? They gotta.
"It's in the river with the hippos. Yes, hippos. You're getting the plural nature of that, right? Like hippo hippo hippo hippo hippo?"
It's not bad out. Almost 30 degrees. The scarf hiding my dreads so I'm 'presentable' means the wind hits the back of my neck. Feels good against my feet and ankles, too.
"And hungry. Hungry-hungry, even. And other words that start with an H."
30 degrees, that's in the 80s. I don't do that conversion much. Fahrenheit is for home. Celsius is for here, and it normally just means hot. I know that 40 is the desert, stay hydrated, "piss clear" stage, under 20 is when you start asking for a jacket and 30 is not bad at all.
"Yeah, in about eight months, Mommy Hippo will have a cute little baby hippo she'll call 'Jeepy' to remember the day."
So I'm paying attention to the color of my piss now. The life of a Slayer is so glamorous.
"Yeah, that. The thing that's the reason we're even here? Yeah, I remember that. Remember what I said about my bag?"
Who am I wearing? Oh, thanks for asking! The skirt is tschivi cloth, made in China, and shares no color with the scarf. The top? A shirt for some band's 1994 world tour (covering two shows in Japan and three in Europe, 20 or so in the US and none in Africa) somehow made it's way to a market in Ghana. "Obruni Waawu", they call it. Dead white people clothes.
So, two things. Perfect for Buffy, and Buffy would hate it. We should send her a picture. If we can find a new camera.
"So yeah. 'To Tame the Wild Hippo.' I remember going to the video store downtown, looking at the nature documentary section, asking the clerk when it will be back, and him saying 'never, because it doesn't even exist!'"
The street — Is it a street if it isn't paved? Is it a dirt road when it goes through a town? — is reddish brown, and there's a bench outside the phone office. That's where I am. Xander finishes off his call and sits down next to me, on my left. I hand him the second Coke.
"We're okay. Our Uncle Rupert is sending someone. Give it a day to organize, another to fly down, and then another to get up here. We can do three days."
Xander takes a sip and ponders his next thought.
"There's nothing really crucial in the Jeep. Clothes and food we no longer want. A few pieces of electronics that no amount of rice can save. The Jeep will have to have a solid waterectomy before anyone would want to sit in it, much less drive it. We can call it a write-off. Except that one thing. We should probably try to get that one thing. Because Uncle Rupert really wants his one thing."
Damn it.
"It's kinda okay, right? It's safe for now. I mean, imagine Indiana Jones throwing the torch into the Well of Souls and asking 'why did it have to be hippos?' I think it's guarded. 'Guarded by Hippo'."
That one forces me to react. “Guarded by Love Hippo.”
“Horny Horny Hippos,” Xander agrees with a sigh. "The retrieval plan is simple enough. A winch and maybe a snatch block should be strong enough to pull a submerged Jeep out of the river. If I shake some trees and shake some hands, I should be able to get that worked out. I could make the snatch block. It's solid. Except for two things."
Xander takes another sip.
"A, we need someone to get into the river and tie a line. Maybe the tow hitch. Maybe around the axle. Two, we need to distract a bunch of hungry, horny, blind and angry swimming two-ton murder horses so that can happen. We need a hippo whisperer."
He takes a big swig and finishes off his bottle, then wiping the condensation across his forehead.
"And, just saying, I can tie the knots."
I finish off my bottle. There's nothing left but to start back, I guess.