Page 33 of Wandering Wild

“Atropa belladonna—deadly nightshade,” Hawke says. “Also known as ‘devil’s berries’ or ‘death cherries.’ If you want to go the way ofThe Hunger Games, that’s how you do it.”

I move an automatic step away and keep my distance from the lethal bush as we gather a bunch of lilly pillies and a handful of wombat berries, using a large leaf Bentley finds as a collection plate. It’s looking like I might actually enjoy our lunch, until we start back toward the fire and Hawke sees something further along the bank of the river.

Something furry.

And very much dead.

“It’s our lucky day,” he says when we get close enough to see what it is.

Nausea crawls up my throat as I recognize the animal.

“Whatisthat?” Zander asks, squinting down at the small gray creature.

“A brushtail possum,” Hawke answers. I have to turn away when he picks it up and gives it a whiff. “And it’s fresh.” He grins at us both. “I hope you’re not vegetarians.”

I look from the possum to him and back again, before rasping out, “I am today.”

He has the audacity to laugh. “Possums are protected, just like goannas, but since this one is already dead, it’s free game. Let’s clean it up and get cooking.”

My gag reflex won’t allow me to watch as Hawke skins and guts the possum, and I want to cover my ears like a child as he explains every part of the process for the sake of the audience. He even passes his hunting knife to Zander at one point, and while I can tell Zander is almost as disgusted as I am, he’s still able to follow Hawke’s instructions until the marsupial is roasting on the fire.

All too soon Hawke declares it’s done, and he slices a strip of meat off, holding it out to me. When I hesitate, he says, “Survival is about opportunity, Charlie. If you don’t want to starve to death, then you need to eat what you can find.”

I nearly tell him that I had a large dinner last night and, hungry or not, I’m hardly going to starve within a few hours. But then I see Bentley’s camera trained on me and remember that this is all part of the drama of the show, and for Zander’s sake, I agreed to be all in. I try to find comfort in thinking about some of the other animals I’ve seen Hawke feed his guests—maggots, scorpions, and spiders—and the various organs they’ve had to consume—brains, eyeballs, and testicles—and I know that in comparison, this really isn’t too awful. In some places, possum is even considered a delicacy.

Gritting my teeth, I pull the meat from his blade and slam my eyes shut before shoving it in my mouth.

“It’s very... gamey,” Zander says, sampling his own slice.

“I’ve definitely eaten worse,” Hawke says between bites. “More, Charlie?”

I reach pointedly for the berries. “I’m ready for dessert, thanks.”

We make quick work of the food, drinking from our now-cooled water bottles and then refilling and re-boiling them before smothering the fire and preparing to leave.

“If you need to relieve yourself, now’s the time,” Hawke says, ripping some leaves off a nearby tree. “These are great for wiping.” He then points to a smaller weed-like bush near his feet. “That, not so much. Stinging nettle.”

I cringe, then take off into the forest to see to my business. It’s unpleasant, not having access to toilet paper or a flush—or adoor—but I make do with what I have, knowing it’s only for a few days.

When I return to the group, Hawke is in the middle of telling Zander about the “luxury” restrooms at some of his wilderness camps—none of which soundremotelyluxurious—and sharing the various squatting techniques the attendees are taught. I clear my throat loudly to save my ears from bleeding, and Hawke thankfully wraps things up and moves closer to Bentley to ask him something.

Zander’s face is comically horrified as he whispers to me, “I’m going to need a brain transplant to get rid of all the images he just put in there. Note to self: never visit one of his survival camps.”

A snort leaves me, but I quickly turn it into a cough when Hawke finishes with Bentley and brings me my backpack.

“Which direction are we heading in, Charlie?” he asks.

“Um.” My brain blanks, until I remember that our extraction point is northwest. I check the compass on my watch, and pivot to the right. “This way.”

Hawke nods his approval, and we set out again through the forest, following the stream as it trickles slowly downward.

This time we hike for longer, taking regular breaks to sip our water and swallow more berries. It’s easy at first, but as the hours pass, the gradual descent makes the muscles in my legs scream their objection. The worst discomfort comes, however, when Hawke begins to grill us for personal information.

It starts out innocently, with him inquiring about my job, then asking about the town I live in and my favorite places to visit; if I love the beach—“I’d be kicked out of the country if I didn’t”—if I ever go on local bushwalks—“As long as there are snacks involved”—if I have any pets—“Does helping my best friend ‘borrow’ our neighbor’s dog count?”—and about my family.

At the last question, I clam up enough that he turns his attention to Zander. The actor gives token responses, all things I’ve heard in interviews from him over the years—that he was raised in Montana and moved to California when he was seven, that he’d love to have a dog but he would feel guilty being away from it for work, that his favorite indulgent treat is peanut M&M’s, and that the best thing he ever did was audition forThe Lost Heirs, since it made all his previously unknown dreams come true.

It’s difficult to resist rolling my eyes, but I play my part and school my expression into starstruck adoration as I say, “It made your fans’ dreams come true, too. Where would we be without you?”

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