Sahara Crosswind Page 2

  Jake found himself thinking that he, too, could be content in this sand-bounded desert world if only Sally were here with him. But the pain of missing her, which had dulled to an inner ache during the course of rescuing Patrique, now throbbed into anguish during the long hours of waiting.

  When he dozed, he could see her clearly. Sally tall and lithe, cool and confident behind her desk in Badenburg. Sally strong and tender, kneeling to comfort one of the impoverished orphans the war had left scattered in its wake. Sally beautiful in the candlelight, her auburn hair gleaming. Sally sad but determined, telling him about her orders. Telling him goodbye.

  And then he would wake to the reality of sand and wind and children and animals and Sally would be gone once more.

  * * *

  It was around noon of the third day that disaster struck.

  By then, Jake had almost grown accustomed to the wind’s continual growl. He was caked from head to foot with grit, and his hair felt like a used paintbrush that had been left to dry in the sun. But he watched the others and saw how they ignored what they could not alter, and he resolved to try and do the same. By the third day, the dry crunchy feeling of his skin seemed almost as natural as the thundering gusts that shook their tent from time to time.

  The change came without warning. Jake sat cross-legged in what had come to be his corner, trying to concentrate as two men laid out a complicated game of rocks and shells on a board design drawn in the sand. He nodded as though he understood as they pointed at each rock or shell in turn, then gave lengthy explanations. Clearly they had decided that his lack of Arabic could be overcome by shouting, because their explanations were as gentle as artillery barrages. Jake found the game totally incomprehensible, but since they were tugging at his sleeve with one hand and fondling their daggers with the other, he tried to pay attention. He felt like his mask of wide-eyed interest had become glued in place.

  Suddenly the wind’s pitch rose to a horrendous shriek. The flickering lamps shook as the tent’s guide ropes threatened to give. A terrific blast fought its way through the double flaps over the portal, blew out all the lamps, lifted up a great fistful of coals from the central fire, and flung them haphazardly about the room.

  The tent went berserk.

  Screams and shrieks competed against the wind’s overpowering noise. The cramped space was instantly filled with jumping, whirling bodies, tumbling onto one another, tripping and falling onto yet more coals. Jake struggled out from under one writhing body, only to see the robe of a man next to him shoot up in flames. He tackled the man, tore up a carpet, and flung it together with his own body over the flames. Only when the fire was out and he raised to his knees did he realize the man he had saved was Omar.

  Before the tribal chieftain could speak, another blast of wind split the night. In its midst came another sound, an explosive ripping followed by animal screams. Omar’s eyes opened wide in the dim light and he shouted words Jake did not need to understand. The animals’ tent had collapsed.

  Somehow he managed to struggle across the mass of teeming bodies behind Omar and push himself through the tent’s portals. Immediately the wind grappled with him, searching with harsh gritty fingers to pluck him up and hurl him against the cliffside. There was neither night nor day nor left nor right, only the golden-brown swirling mass that flung itself at him with such force that it threatened to rip the skin from his face.

  Out of nowhere appeared a great looming shadow, one dusty brown shade darker than the storm itself. The shadow passed, to be followed immediately by another, and yet a third. When the fourth shadow appeared, Jake did not hesitate or think. He reached and found himself grasping at the sand-sodden hairs of a camel’s neck. Somehow a string of camels had broken free of both their hobbles and their stakes.

  The pelt ran through his fingers until he came to the thick harness guide rope. He grabbed hold and allowed himself to be flung from a standing start to a pace so fast that his feet scarcely touched the ground. With his free hand he reached blindly and felt a second rope trailing down from the camel’s hump, the leader used to lash down the loads. Without thinking of the risk, he took two further great strides and flung himself up onto the camel’s back.

  The panicked beast was too busy running blind to bother with him. Jake struggled and managed to raise himself up and into the lumpy fold between the beast’s double humps. He struggled against the jouncing gait that slammed him up and down and threatened to dislodge him with every step. Working his feet through the ropes running around and under the camel, he pulled his cape down far over his face and hung on for dear life.

  Chapter Three

  Although he did not ever really sleep, still Jake had a sense of awakening to the hush and the heat.

  The wind and the camel’s bruising gait had buffeted him to an aching numbness. Jake had been unable to unmask his face or hold his eyes open against the storm’s blistering force. He had ridden scrunched over, his face pressed close to the camel’s hide so that his hood was kept in place, blind to all but his growing pain. The jouncing, panic-stricken race to nowhere had bruised him from head to toe. Jake had hung on with the grim determination of one who knew his only hope of safety lay in not being tossed off. The enforced blindness and the relentless wind and the jolting ride had gradually melded together, until time had lost all meaning and Jake had been swallowed by a welcome nothingness.

  Then he opened his eyes to a brilliant desert sun.

  After three days of howling storm, the stillness was frighteningly alien. Jake struggled upright, wiped his eyelids with an inner sleeve, blinked, squinted, and laughed a hoarse croak.

  The seven camels all wore remnants of their hobbles around their ankles. They were linked by halters, and dragged the uprooted staves as they cropped at meager desert shrub. The scene was so calm and normal it was funny, despite the fact that the cliffs were a distant smudge line on the horizon.

  The camel upon which Jake sat was the only one with two humps. All the others had the more common single hump. Jake inspected them, doubted if he would have been able to keep his hold upon one of those.

  He ran his hand tentatively down his camel’s neck, fearful that at any moment the animal would recognize him for the novice he was and attack him with those great yellow teeth it was using on the shrub. But the camel paid him no mind. Jake snagged the rope attached to one of the staves, pulled it toward him, and grasped the wood. He leaned back as far as he could and tapped behind the camel’s rear leg while trying to copy the “tch-tch” sound he had heard from the drovers.

  Obediently the camel lowered itself in the slow rocking motion of a boat on high seas. When it was fully down on its knees, he croaked another laugh. Jake Burnes, camel driver.

  With the motions of an old man, Jake half clambered, half slid down onto the ground. Keeping a very firm hold on the guide rope, he struggled up from his knees. Every muscle, every bone, every joint groaned in protest. His first few steps were little shuffling motions. His throat was too dry to permit much sound, so he had to make do with little ahs of agony.

  Had the camels decided to desert him then, there would have been nothing he could do about it. But they remained motionless, save for the constant scrunch-scrunching of those grinding jaws on the dry scrub.

  Jake shuffled up to the next camel, touched the back of its leg, tch-tched a second time, and marveled as the great beast obediently buckled down to its knees. Now that the storm was over and they had run through their panic, they seemed almost to welcome a semblance of their normal routine. He moved to a third camel and was met with the same dutiful response.

  With the line now anchored by three settled camels, Jake began reshaping the line. First he untied the remaining staves so that they could not tangle about the camels’ legs. Then he unleashed one halter at a time, leading the camels back and retying them so that the double-humped camel was placed in front.

  After moving the three still-standing animals, he approached the center kneeling beast. Tou
ching the stave to its side as he had seen the herders do, he gave a sharp “hup, hup,” then jumped back as the neck swiveled around and the animal let out a deep, yellow-toothed groan. His heart in his mouth, Jake stepped forward, touched the side a second time, and hupped as loud as his dry throat could manage. The camel groaned another loud protest, but this time it lurched upright. Jake led it around and tied it in line, then did the same with the second kneeling animal. By then all six standing beasts were groaning in unison and stamping their pie-shaped flat hooves on the dusty earth.

  Even though the lead camel still knelt in patient watchfulness, Jake had to use both hands to lift his leg up and over the animal’s broad back. He too groaned as aching muscles fitted themselves back into the uncomfortable position. He tapped his camel’s side, hupped a sharp command, then hung on and groaned again as the camel rose, its pitching motions reeling him back and forth.

  But then he was up, high off the desert surface, with seven great animals groaning and stamping and waiting his command. He tapped his camel’s side, hupped as loud as he could, and watched as the animal lumbered forward. He felt the line tug taut and begin moving behind him. Jake pulled his dry, cracked lips into a grin and raised the stave over his head with the sheer joy of getting it right.

  By the time the sun began its rapid descent from late afternoon into night, the thrill had long since faded. Jake’s entire body was one great thirsty ache. He had stopped trying to peer through the dimming light at the cliffs. Despite hour after hour of jouncing pain, they did not appear to have come any closer. Jake kept his head down, piloting his string of animals by their lengthening shadows.

  Even with his eyes focused downward, they were almost through the patch of meager green before Jake’s mind lifted from its fog of fatigue and thirst. He pulled on the bridle rope with what strength he had left and managed a single tched croak from a throat almost swollen shut. Thankfully, the camels appeared as ready to stop as Jake. At his tap the lead camel swung down in a motion so abrupt that Jake almost tumbled over. Once down, he found himself without the strength to lift his leg free. Jake gripped the camel’s hide with both hands and slithered groaning to the cool desert floor.

  Only the fear of the string pulling free and leaving him lost and alone in the desert vastness kept him from giving in to his fatigue. Jake scrambled to his feet, found himself unable to straighten up. Gripping the stave and hobbling forward like an old man, he walked to each camel in turn and touched them behind the knees. Three welcomed the invitation to kneel, three growled and snapped in his direction with their great yellow teeth. Jake was too tired to jump away. He responded with a raised stave and a hoarse growl of his own. The camels grumbled and turned away. Jake was more than willing to call it a draw and leave them standing.

  The sandy earth revealed nothing large nor solid enough with which to pound in the staves. Jake was not sure it mattered, as he doubted he had strength left to drive them home. In desperation he noosed a second line around the lead camel’s neck, then tied both ropes to his ankles. In the last light of a dying day, Jake checked the knots, then groaned his way down to the sandy earth and gave in to his exhaustion.

  * * *

  It would go down as the worst night in living memory.

  In what seemed like only seconds after he had closed his eyes, Jake was jerked awake by the lead camel lumbering to its feet, grumbling its great guttural roar, then swinging about and trotting away. Dragging Jake along as though he was not even there. The rest of the string following as though a midnight stroll was the most natural thing on earth. Jake scrambled upright only to be tossed back with a thud. He gripped one of the ankle ropes, shouted hoarsely for the camel to stop, endured having his backside scraped across plants and rocks and sand and twigs, growing angrier by the second.

  As abruptly as it had started, the camel stopped, dropped its great head, and began cropping on a bit of wild scrub. Jake scrambled upright, his chest heaving. He raised the stave, decided crowning an animal five times his size was not in his own best interests, dropped it, looked around, and wondered what was so doggone special about that particular scrub. The other camels were contentedly cropping away, paying him no mind whatsoever. Jake gave a single dry chuckle of defeat, lowered himself back to the desert floor.

  And realized he was freezing.

  With the sun’s descent the temperature had plummeted. The flickers of night breeze drifted through his clothes like iced daggers. Jake drew his legs up, wrapped his arms around himself, and wished for fire. And thick desert tea. And blankets. And day.

  The night was endless. Every time he drifted off he was jerked awake by the camel moving to another shrub. Jake slipped further and further into a dull half-awake state, suspended in a freezing netherworld of sand and fitful dreams and fatigue and aches.

  When dawn finally arrived, Jake peered at the lightening horizon through grit-encrusted eyelids, scarcely able to accept that the night had finally come to an end. He used both hands to push himself to his feet, then shuffled over and tapped the lead camel behind its knee. The camel was as displeased with the night as Jake, for it rounded on him with a roar of complaint. Jake stood unmoving and watched the great teeth open in his face, too far beyond caring to be afraid. Clearly the camel realized this, for it retreated, grumbled, and sank obediently to its knees. The camel then endured a full ten minutes of Jake slithering and sliding and groaning until he managed to right himself on its back.

  Hours into the day, the heat and his thirst and the unrelenting jouncing ride began to play tricks with his mind. Jake had an image of himself standing at attention before General Clarke’s desk, pointing at a map and trying to explain just exactly where he was. Which was impossible, because the entire stretch of area through which he passed was blank. Across the empty yellow expanse was printed, “Demarcation Uncertain, Reliable Data Unavailable.”

  Next to the map stood a glass of sparkling ice water. Jake could not take his eyes off the glass, with the cold condensation rolling down the sides in tantalizing slow motion. Every once in a while the general would raise the glass and sip. But he never offered any to Jake, even though he could see Jake’s mouth and throat were so dry he could not even swallow. Jake knew if he could just pinpoint his location, the General would reward him with a sip. But he could not find any way of telling where he was on that blank map. And the heat beating down on his head made it harder and harder to think.

  The sun had passed overhead and was drawing a second set of afternoon shadows when the cliffs finally rose high above them. Jake bounced up and down, each step agony, and prayed with all the might his exhausted mind had left that he would not be forced to spend another night out in the open. Each breath rasped noisily through a throat almost closed by dust and dryness. His eyes were squinted down to sandy slits against the reflected glare. His legs and back burned as if branded. His arms were too tired to hold upright. His fingers were coiled loosely to the guide ropes. It was all he could do to keep from sliding from the beast’s back and plunging in defeat to the desert floor.

  A distant rifleshot crackled like lightning across the empty reaches. Jake jerked upright, then reached forward to pat the camel’s neck as it snorted and faltered. Not another panic. Not now. He did not have the strength left to hold on. He searched the distance and saw five figures moving through the wavering heat lines, seeming almost to float toward him.

  Another rifle crackled. This time the camel remained steady under Jake’s hand. An instant of clarity granted Jake the chance to see that the figures were in fact sitting astride galloping camels and headed his way, rifles held up high over their heads. Another few moments, and he could hear their shouting and excited laughter. A sudden flood of relief washed through him. Tiredly he waved his own stave overhead.

  He was safe.

  Chapter Four

  The tribe rewarded his return with great shouts of joy. Jake was pulled from the camel by a dozen eager hands, his back pummeled so hard his legs gave way. A
bladder of water was thrust into his hands. After five days of resting in the distended animal skin, the water smelled foul and tasted brackish. Jake squirted a flood of warm liquid into his parched mouth, and thought he was feasting on nectar.

  They ignored his protests and herded him up into one of the dark tents fashioned upon a larger camel’s back, where the infirm and elderly normally rode. Omar came to see that he was settled in well and explained through Jasmyn that they must make all haste for the next oasis, as the waterskins were almost dry and the animals were growing too parched. Another day of walking in the heat would doom the weaker beasts. Omar knew exactly where they were, he said; the oasis was a five-hour march due north. They could follow the cliffs and the stars and would arrive near dawn.

  The tribal chieftain then looked up at Jake’s resting-place and said, “The tribe is most grateful for your acts of courage. For myself, I will hold my thanks until later.”

  Jake dozed much of the journey. The ocean beast rocked as gently as a ship riding over great rollers, and Jake’s berth was made soft by layers of carpet. Overhead, the tent’s cloth sides flapped with each swaying step, like sails set to snare the stars and power them through the dark reaches. The desert floor was transformed by moonlight into a frozen silver sea. The loudest sound he heard as he drifted in and out of sleep was the bleating of the animals.

  The sky had not yet gathered enough light to banish the stars when they arrived at the oasis. Long before the camp came into view, however, the sheep and camels smelled the water. Their cries and increasing pace awoke Jake from his deepest slumber of the night. He pushed aside the tent flaps to breathe the crisp night air and watch as silhouettes of palms appeared on the horizon.

  The sun was well over the horizon by the time the animals had drunk their fill and the paddocks and tents had been erected. Once the chores were finished and most of the tribe vanished into the shade for much-needed sleep, Jake reveled in a long bath. The oasis lake was shallow and sandy-bottomed and lukewarm. Yet the waters were clearly replenished by an underground spring, because now and then he would pass through unseen ribbons so cold they raised gooseflesh. Jake swam the few strokes from one bank to the other, feeling his parched skin drink in the liquid. He floated for a long time, his only company the ravens that populated the oasis.