Sahara Dawn

by David F. Berens

  “Indeed.”

  As Ned once again contemplated death in the desert, he was offered a pipe. He put the nozzle tip to his mouth. Suddenly, he felt like an adventurer. Here he was in a Cairo cafe surrounded by exotic characters, toking on a hookah pipe and planning his Saharan trek. He would slip out of Cairo unnoticed and take on whatever the desert could throw at him.

  The acrid smoke entered his lungs. A lot of it. He tried to keep it in. He couldn’t.

  The coughing fit that ensued made Baniti look like the picture of health. The hacking was so loud that Abe had to shuffle away along the bench to protect his ear drums. Ned reached for the glass of water in front of him. He managed one gulp, but that just emerged in the next monstrous round of coughing. His eyes were streaming and his stomach muscles ached.

  Pretty much the whole cafe was now staring at the foreigner. So much for slipping out unnoticed.

  “Sir, do you think you are ready to take on the desert?” Abe asked with a frown on his brow.

  “No, sir. I do not. But I’m going there anyway.”

  “Okay. I must tell you it will not be easy. For the first part, we shall follow the great and mighty Nile. We shall pass close to Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. At the town of Wadi Haifa, just over the Sudanese border, we shall resupply. Then, things get...difficult.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Following the Nile after this point would mean a 300-mile detour to navigate the Great Bend, a U-shaped formation going west to east. Aside, from the detour, there is a second problem. An important dam is under construction in the area, and both governments are worried about terrorist sabotage. If we go anywhere near it, we may be shot to death.”

  “I would have put that as the first problem.”

  “The only solution is to cross the dry and bare Sahara through the Bayuda volcanic field. Here, craters and small black rocks keep the sand company. Temperatures in this location can reach 122 Fahrenheit.”

  Ned was sweating just at the thought of it. But he was determined, and he wanted to get to his sister as soon as possible.

  “My friend,” he told Abrax. “I am ready.”

  21 Blood Of The Earth

  Ned and his guide were heading south out of Cairo on large motorbikes with a huge amount of noise and far less power. But they were making good progress, having slowly picked their way through the city’s relentlessly packed and haphazard traffic. They were now making their way through suburbs with uniform apartment blocks that seemed increasingly to be picking up a yellow-gray coloring thanks to sand from the desert.

  The scent of the Sahara was on the air. Despite the awful reason for his visit to Africa, Ned felt exhilarated for a moment as his bike roared along the dusty highway. He might have made a fool of himself with the hookah pipe, but he knew how to handle one of these things. He made sure that Abe knew it. He didn’t want to seem like a burden or even a child who needed the guide to hold his hand. He tried to power ahead as often as possible, knowing there was only one straight road to the desert. Right now, he needed no directions.

  To Ned’s delight, the old timer was struggling with his bike. It seemed to be like an errant horse beneath him, pulling in strange directions and making jerking movements, especially after braking and trying to pick up speed again. Ned ignored the fact he might have got lucky with the bike and chalked it down to his own superior riding skills.

  Just before 8pm, Ned looked in his mirror to see Abe waving his arm frantically behind Ned’s bike. He thought the guy must be in trouble. Ned slowed down and Abe pulled up alongside him.

  “We need to stop at this cafe!” he shouted, pointing to a roadside stop that was nothing more than red plastic stools placed in the dirt, with some thin sheeting strung out between sticks to provide a little shelter from the sun. A huge pot was boiling on a wood fire.

  They parked their bikes and joined the men who were gathered in the makeshift cafe. A wonderful aroma of barbecued meat suddenly replaced the smell of gasoline. Ned took a look around and saw kebabs being cooked on a grill over an oil drum.

  “You want tea?” Abe asked after they had taken a seat.

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Or beer?”

  “That sounds even more wonderful.”

  Abe gave instructions to a guy in a filthy apron, who went to the fridge and pulled out an ice cold beer. It wasn’t clear where electricity for the fridge was coming from, nor for the TV that was blaring out from a stand under the cover sheet. Ned took a sip of the crisp Amstel beer, all the way from the Netherlands...or all the way from a local brewery that stuck other brand’s labels on the bottles, judging from the taste. But still, it was clearly alcoholic. And his kebab had just arrived. Just as contentment kicked in, he thought again of his sister.

  And if he hadn’t checked himself, he was about to get a reminder. He heard the word “Okapi” blasting out from the TV. The Egyptian newsreader was speaking over images from a Western TV channel whose English banners were still visible.

  Another hostage taken in Okapi.

  Ned managed to ascertain that this was the sixth person to have disappeared in Okapi in recent days. Three of them were Americans, one of whom was his poor sister. Haley had been one of the first to be taken, but now the rate of kidnappings seemed to be picking up steam. Today, the newsreader announced, a French girl had been snatched from a hotel on the outskirts of Buja.

  His first thought was to call Chris, to get his take on what this might mean for Haley. But Chris’s phone had been completely dead when Ned had tried before he left Cairo. He had cursed his friend for not being in touch, but as he held his phone to his ear and heard another dead tone, fear began to set in. The Butcher’s network, or more broadly Landsdowne’s network, might have hunted Chris down already. Ned knew that if that was true, they would be looking to do the same to him.

  Ned and Abe spent the night sleeping in the dirt at the side of the road, using their backpacks as pillows. The next day, they would reach the edge of the desert. But there was a stop to make first. Abe had insisted that Ned be seen and examined by his friend, a doctor who had recently retired. Ned had wondered if it was his weight, his generally sweaty appearance, or his embarrassing performance in the hookah bar that had prompted his guide’s concern. But whatever the reason, he thought it wasn’t a bad idea to check his health before embarking on a Sahara trek, and he agreed.

  It was late afternoon when the two men reached the doctor’s modest, one-story home in a small, sand-swept settlement. Abe opened the unlocked door uninvited and Ned ducked through the arched doorway and into the cramped home, where he was hit with a powerful musty smell. There was a woman sitting cross-legged in the corner weaving something. She completely ignored him.

  Dr. Joshua, Abe announced, pointing at a man who emerged through the half light. Dr. Joshua was an old guy, but broad shouldered.

  “Mr. Ned,” he said. I have run for you a bath.

  Ned frowned, confused.

  “Okay. Thank you….”

  “A bath of oil.”

  Ned imagined a bath of lavender herbal bath oil. He was starting to like Dr. Joshua already. He imagined wrong.

  He was led into a bathroom, where he was shown a tub full of thick, black sludge. It looked like crude oil. Because it was. Ned frowned, but Dr. Joshua smiled and gestured for him to climb in.

  “The blood of the earth!” the doctor announced.

  Ned had heard about this practice many years ago. Some people believed it was extremely good for health. He was not one of those people. Nevertheless, unwilling to offend his host, he decided to go for it. He glanced at the door, indicating he was about to undress.

  The doctor nodded and left. There was no way to pretend he had bathed, because the oil would be stuck to him for hours. He slowly climbed into the appalling sludge. The scent was overwhelming, but the gloopy texture was by the far the worst part. He waited for the shortest possible time then slopped his way out. What he did not know was that
Dr. Joshua’s next plan was to ‘massage’ him by beating him with branches, removing most of the oil at the same time. Ned was sure the man was taking out the anger of marital frustrations with each blow.

  When this ‘healthy’ ordeal was finally over, Ned was offered steaming hot tea in Dr. Joshua’s small living room. There was a TV on in the corner. The news reported yet another kidnapping in Okapi. A young couple from Wisconsin who had been trekking in Africa.

  Ned stepped out of the hut and took out his phone. This was probably the last outpost of civilization where he would get any reception. He called Frank and quickly heard a big chuckle.

  “Still alive, then?”

  “I haven’t really started yet, Frank.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Some doctor’s home on the edge of the desert. He just smeared me with oil then hit me with sticks. It was weird.”

  “Some people pay a lot of money for that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah? Then he described death by dehydration to me in extreme detail. I’m now thinking about taking a flight.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. The closer you get to Okapi by standard means, the more likely it is that someone you do not want to meet will be waiting for you. I would have advised against a plane to Cairo to tell you the truth, but it’s a little too far for any other mode of transport.”

  “I thought you’d say that. Frank, listen…before you go. What do you know about the latest kidnapping? The couple?”

  “Honeymooners went to Africa wildlife spotting. Now they’re in hell.”

  “Aren’t we all, buddy. Aren’t we all.”

  22 A Walk In The Woods

  Chris opened his eyes. He looked up to see a thick layer of greenery revealing only a few small patches of extremely bright blue sky. He heard birds singing loudly. But between their calls, he heard something else. Somebody struggling desperately to catch their breath. He rolled his head to the right. Close to his face was the bottom of Tsu’s boot. He leapt to his feet. Immediately, he slumped back down, landing heavily on his left shoulder. His legs had no strength at all. But right now, he wasn’t thinking about his own ailments. Across ground covered with insects and thick natural debris, he crawled towards where the painfully difficult breathing was coming from.

  He saw Tsu’s eyes dart quickly towards him as he loomed over her. It was the only part of her that moved except for her chest, which heaved heavily up and down while somehow her lungs provided her with barely enough oxygen.

  Chris looked for signs of injury. Strangely, he couldn’t see any serious wounds. Nothing like the red, bloodied canyon that had been hacked into his own leg, ripping away the pants around the knee. He was trying to ignore that.

  And then he spotted it. The unmistakable fang marks on Tsu’s left cheek. Chris’s eyes darted around the area. There was no snake to be seen, but in this area of dense, completely untamed jungle, he and Tsu were at the mercy of all kinds of deadly creatures, all the time. It was one of many worries that had suddenly been forced upon them.

  Chris interlocked his fingers and placed the ball of one hand on Tsu’s chest. He began CPR.

  He could tell that she was still alive, but barely. Despite the CPR, she seemed to be getting weaker. Chris realized that he was sweating profusely, with droplets from his forehead falling onto Tsu’s increasingly pale face. It was overwhelmingly hot and the stench of vegetation was everywhere. It was like the jungle was consuming them.

  In desperation, Chris put his mouth to Tsu’s cheek and began to suck at the wound. He knew that this method of treating a snakebite hadn't been proven to be effective, but it was all he had. Delirious from the heat, exhaustion, and no doubt a massive blow to the head when he crash landed, his turbulent mind made him feel as if he were a vampire trying to suck her blood.

  The foulest taste he had ever experienced entered his mouth and hit the back of his throat like acid. His head began to spin. If he was struggling to maintain contact with reality before, it was now impossible since the venom had hit. One of the dangers of anyone trying to suck out snake venom is that they risk taking it into their own body. The risk is high if somebody has a cut inside the mouth, and Chris had cuts everywhere. Just as he thought he was about to vomit, he blacked out.

  When he regained consciousness, he felt a hand resting softly on his cheek. He opened his eyes. He looked up to see Tsu staring at him with the same fear and desperation he’d experienced as he had watched her lying on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was more gentle than it had ever been. Chris opened his mouth to say, “never been better”. But all he could manage was a croak. He couldn’t even manage a moment of sarcastic optimism. He just had to nod his head.

  He cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Are you?”

  Tsu nodded. Then she clasped his face in her hands and kissed him.

  “You were bitten by a snake,” he told her after a breathless moment.

  “I know. I saw it coming at me. I watched it open its mouth. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. I couldn’t move, there was nothing I could do about it. I even had time to identify the species. Not that it did me any good.”

  “Rattlesnake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Nauseous. Numb around my cheek.”

  “Your symptoms will likely get worse over the next few days.”

  “Well, there’s no emergency room around here so I’ll have to take whatever comes.”

  Chris decided he had been lying on his back for long enough. He thrust his torso forward, put the palm of his right hand onto the floor of the Amazon jungle and heaved himself up. He and Tsu embraced. It was a moment of relief. But realizing they had survived the crash, and the snakes, was a relief of the most momentary kind.

  They could see nothing but trees, vines, and thick vegetation other than the wreckage of the plane. It seemed to be widely scattered, given that the only part they could see right now was the detached cockpit.

  Tsu’s phone had been destroyed in the crash. Chris’s was still in his pocket, somehow, but completely without battery.

  They had to search the wreckage. They knew they had to look for the tiniest thing that might make their lives a little easier or even save them. What they saw as they approached was nothing that was in anyway encouraging. In fact, it was appalling. The pilot's severed torso was lying in two separate pieces on either side of the mangled cockpit. It had been sliced almost diagonally.

  Chris and Tsu stood in silence for a moment. Then Chris said:

  “A meter to the right and that could have been me.”

  He surveyed the wreckage one more time then moved towards it, stepping over scattered rows of seats, some of which were still intact. This had not been a plummet from 30,000 feet. Chris had managed to keep the plane in flight just about to the treeline. All that he knew about landing a plane he had managed to employ, but landing on a runway of dense trees was sure to do damage to any plane. Particularly one that was falling apart anyway.

  Diverting their eyes from the horrific mess that the pilot had become, Chris and Tsu began to search the wreckage. They found some evidence of what appeared to have been the galley. There was broken glass; thousands of pieces and a few larger shards with labeling still attached. The labels suggested that every drinkable thing that had been destroyed was alcoholic. The man who had tried to kill Chris and Tsu may have stocked up in the hope that getting the intended victims drunk might make their sordid task easier. In the end, one of those bottles contributed to their literal downfall.

  Whether the alcohol was kept to make victims groggy or to keep the attackers satiated, it seemed that was pretty much the only drinkable liquid kept on board. They were already desperate for water.

  Tsu looked to the skies. What little that could be seen through the thick foliage was pure, bright blue. Chris joined her in looking up
wards.

  “Well, they do call it the rainforest. Maybe we’ll get lucky soon,” Tsu said.

  “Let’s try to find some kind of receptacle to collect the water when it rains,” Chris replied.

  They scanned around for something bucket-shaped. Chris walked a few steps past what had been the galley. He knew the bathroom had been behind it.

  Shaking his head at what he was about to do, he made his way towards what remained of the toilet and in particular its cistern. Disgusting though it was, it was bowl-shaped and, on a plane, was most likely made from sturdy plastic. Moving twisted pieces of metal aside with his boots, he laid eyes on what he hoped might be the cistern.

  There it was.

  Tsu spotted it too. She noticed Chris staring at it intently.

  “I think you can probably just go anywhere,” she said. “Public indecency fines are unlikely around here.”

  Chris smiled. “I can assure you I won’t be using that thing in the normal way anytime soon. It could keep us alive.”

  Tsu now twigged what Chris was thinking.

  “So, hang on a minute. Do you want us to drag that thing all the way around the Amazon?”

  “Well, I wasn’t really planning on going all the way around, but yeah. We will be dragging it wherever we go.”

  “This is one for the memoirs.”

  Chris turned his head and saw that Tsu was leaning over the severed corpse of the pilot. She seemed completely undisturbed as she made the joke.

  Chris knew that everyone in their business had to have a hard edge, but hers was harder than most. Tsu slipped her hand into the pocket of the pants that were still attached to what was left of the pilot’s bottom half. She pulled out a knife.

  “I was pretty sure he would have one of those on him,” she said.

  “Anything else useful?”

  “Looks like he’s got a bit of meat on his bones…”

  “I think I’d rather die eating poisonous mushrooms. Or hope a couple of dead toads end up in our cistern.”