The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 2

by Christopher Cartwright

  By two p.m. she drank the last of the water. She cursed herself for not being more frugal with her rations. She felt frustrated and confused. Had she misjudged the distance to the oasis, or worse yet – missed it completely? Even as she struggled to go on in the worst heat of the day she wondered if the oasis had lain hidden just beyond the next sand dune?

  She checked her compass and stayed true to her course. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Teasing her and tormenting her that water was nearby. She wanted to build a makeshift camp to protect her from the sun’s heat and wait until dusk before going again, but by then it would be too late. Instead, she forced herself to keep going. She’d never made the mistake of becoming dehydrated in a desert before – and she had crossed this particular desert more times than she could remember. Of course, normally, she waited for the right weather, rode a camel – and wasn’t running for her life.

  Sometime after four p.m. she began having hallucinations like conscious dreams, and she struggled to differentiate between her past and her present. She remembered things about her mother and her father that she hadn’t thought about for nearly two decades, when she was still a child. At first the hallucinations frightened her, and then she welcomed them. They brought her to a place filled with peace and happiness. Zara fought to maintain focus on reality. She was conscious that if she let herself go and succumbed to the enjoyment and peace of the dreams they would be the last she ever had.

  Her mind wandered to her past. To the skipped childhood spent following her father on his obsession to locate the book of Nostradamus. Even as a child she was certain the prophecy was nothing more than a foolish dream, thought up by one of her great ancestors who needed to make themselves feel more important than they were.

  Zara’s father was an archeologist. Only he cared little about ancient history. He was driven by an unshakeable belief in the prophecy and that together the two of them would locate the final resting place of Nostradamus’s book. Unlike her father, who was close to madness with obsession and almost religious fervor, Zara had never really believed the stories.

  His obsession drove her mother, Darius, to death. Darius followed Zara’s father throughout his travels. On the year Zara’s mother died, her strong-willed mother had decided to take Zara to Cairo after deciding it had become a ridiculous notion to have a young girl and wife wandering the desert in search of a fabled prophecy.

  On that trip, the winds were particularly strong through the night. Her mother climbed out of their tent to strengthen its lines and keep it from being blown away. At the very same time, an unusually large, yellow Leiurus Quinquestriatus, known colloquially as a Deathstalker scorpion climbed out of its burrow to investigate the strange vibrations coming from the heavy wind.

  The scorpion, having recently given birth to its own offspring, was particularly aggressive. It stung Zara’s mother several times. With each sting, the scorpion injected its venom with the dangerous neurotoxins agitoxin and scyllatoxin.

  Her mother died within minutes.

  Zara’s male guides had decided the best solution was to return her to her father. She often thought her father should have sent her away. Made her study abroad, but instead he took her in and decided it was a sign that the prophecy was fast approaching. She traveled with him throughout the Saharan desert searching for an Erg that matched a description of a story, passed on from father to son for generations. She loved that time she spent with her father, but at the same time hated herself, because she felt she had been responsible for her own mother’s death. In time, she focused this guilt into anger at her father, who had become more and more focused on the prophecy. It was his obsession, and in the end – he died without ever finding the book of Nostradamus.

  Zara wandered in and out of consciousness. Her mind focused hard on one fact. The prophecy, the riches, the end of the human race – it was all bullshit! And now she was going to die in the desert because she’d let herself become a part of it. Her mind drifted like the sand which rolled down the dune beside her.

  Only it wasn’t bullshit – her father had been right all along. The book of Nostradamus proved the existence of the prophecy. She had been wrong and her father had been right. And now she was going to die of thirst in the middle of the Sahara desert and she didn’t even know who had attacked her camp and killed everyone who had supported her quest for the past two years – two hundred men and women who had followed her faithfully, trusting her to bring them to the glory of Nostradamus’s prophecy.

  At the bottom of the steep dune, sand rolled into the still water making the smallest of ripples. The palm trees formed shade and the entire place looked like some sort of utopia out of Eden. The oasis looked so real she wanted to delve into its cold water and immerse herself in its mythical and rejuvenating powers. Zara tried to lick her lips. All she tasted was the dry salt and it burned at her tongue so much it hurt. She could no longer balance and found herself freefalling down the steep sand dune. She lost track of the amount of times she rolled.

  At the bottom of the sand dune she entered the cold water with a splash.

  This must be it. I’m getting close. I’m starting to hallucinate – I’m really going to die.

  I failed the prophecy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took Zara a few minutes to realize where she was. Her core body temperature retreated as she felt the cool water cover her to her neck. She let the cold water enter her mouth. She swished it around until her mouth and lips were soothed and then spat it out. She then carefully swallowed a small amount of water. She’d heard of men dying after stumbling upon an oasis in the middle of a great desert and drinking themselves to death.

  She took a second small mouthful of the fresh water, submerged her head and then slowly reappeared. Her giant hazel eyes stared out from just above the waterline, like an alligator – waiting for its prey.

  It was the first time she noticed she was not alone.

  A camp had been set up at the far side of the waterhole. A small fire lit, and the rich aroma of the nomadic Tuareg people’s tea brewed. Nearby three camels drank, sheltered by the five palm trees surrounding the edge of the small oasis. Her eyes scanned the area for a sign of their riders, but couldn’t find any. She’d passed the edge of the Bilma oasis. Not the main one in which the town was built, but a smaller one on the outer edge of Bilma. That put her a further forty miles east than she expected. That was good, it might give her a little more time to add some distance between herself and her attackers. Her eyes searched for the nomads to whom the camels belonged.

  Zara slowly stepped out of the water and quietly climbed the bank of the sand dune to retrieve her pack. She carefully opened the bag, ignoring the wooden case which housed the book of Nostradamus. Instead she unzipped an inside compartment and withdrew a small knife. It was a razor sharp butterfly knife. She slipped it into her trouser pockets and crouched down to carefully approach the camels. Her instincts telling her not to trust strangers in a desert.

  “Hello,” she called out. “Anyone here?”

  No answer.

  “I’m going to steal your camels if someone doesn’t answer me.”

  Still no response.

  Zara looked for somewhere the owners could be sleeping. There were five trees, approximately fifty square yards of water – and sand. The place was otherwise empty.

  She patted the camel closest to her on its neck. “Where are your masters?”

  The camel snorted and then continued drinking. The beast looked tired, and worn. Its owner had ridden him hard. There was no way she could entice such an animal to ride again today.

  “You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” she said, kindly. The camels were intimate to the nomadic people of the Sahara, who needed them for everything they did. It was inconceivable someone had been careless enough to lose all three. “I’ve had a pretty shitty day, too,” she confided.

  Zara quickly filled up her water canteen and began loading the camel with supplies. “I’m go
ing to need your help,” she said.

  The camel backed away.

  It was the first sign it had shown of being frightened.

  Zara put her hands out. “Hey, it’s okay. I know an even better waterhole nearby.”

  The camel knelt down with its front legs stretched out and its hind legs resting buried in the sand. It gave a loud snort and then rested its head on the sand beside the oasis. The beast closed its eyes, and Zara watched its breathing become slow and relaxed. There was no way she was going to be able to coax the beast into carrying her straight away. Her best bet was to give it a few hours rest and then attempt to rouse it into moving.

  She patted the camel on its neck. “It’s all right. Have a break. In a few hours I’ll take you to an even nicer place.”

  Zara had focused so much on befriending the camel that her ears, normally highly attuned to the sounds of the desert, hadn’t noticed the three riders and their camels descend the sand dune into the oasis behind her, until they were no more than twenty yards away.

  She turned to run, and was met face to face with the rider of a fourth camel.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zara felt the man’s hands grip her arms before she could do anything. She took one look at the three men who were approaching. They must have tricked her. They rode camels, but had left the three camels waiting at the oasis to fool her into thinking she might have a chance to escape. She struggled for a moment to get free, but the sight of the other three riders approaching was enough to stop any further movement. She relaxed, her intelligent hazel eyes taking in the entire scene, searching for solutions where none existed. Her run was over. She’d failed. And now all was lost.

  There were three men approaching plus the one who held her roughly and a total of seven camels. The oasis was filled with still water. There were no signs of other nomads. These must have been the fastest of her attackers. The rest of her enemies were probably still moving towards her, trying to survive the hostile environment of the Sahara. She grinned as she recalled how fatigued the three camels she’d examined were and wondered how many of her attackers had died in their attempt to catch up with her. If she could break free she might still outrun them in the desert. She was willing to bet her ability to survive in the desert against any of these men.

  But first she still needed to free herself.

  “Where’s the book, darling?” the man holding her asked. His breath smelled bad, and what teeth he had left were rotten. He twisted her arms painfully behind her back.

  “What book?” she replied.

  The man tightened the pressure on her arms until she was forced to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming. “Do I need to ask again?”

  “Oh, that book?” Zara replied. Her voice was casual without any indication of fear.

  “I thought that’d jog your memory,” the man snickered. “Well, you’re not going to make me ask again, are you?”

  “It’s over there,” she said, pointing towards the camels. “Do you like the camels I found? They looked pretty exhausted. You must have run them pretty hard to get here – I packed it in the bag with the camels.”

  The man ignored her. Instead spoke to his companion. “Check her camels. See if you can find it!”

  Her camels? She thought about the three worn out camels she’d found, lamely drinking at the oasis. If they’re not his, then whose are they? She remained focused, taking in her situation and concentrating on her options instead of letting fear get in the way.

  There were four men against her. Each of them was armed with an AK-47. She had a flick knife in a pocket she couldn’t reach. They were all bigger and stronger than she was. All four of them were deathly tired from the hard desert crossing. So was she, but she could probably outlast any one of them in the desert if the camels disappeared – but she would still be trapped.

  Zara felt them bind her ankles and wrists with narrow strands of rope which cut deep into the soft tissue of her wrists.

  “My men tell me you’ve been dubbed the Queen of Sahara because you have searched all her sandy Ergs, traveling freely without concern for harm from the harsh elements or bandits.”

  Zara remained silent while trying to slip her hands free from their bindings. It was impossible. The bandits had tied the rope so tight it cut into her wrists. She kept searching, calmly looking for her next move. There was always an option. She just couldn’t see one.

  “All that walking…” her captor said sympathetically. “…must have made you thirsty. Would you like a drink?”

  Zara stared at the oasis. Although not very wide, she’d heard it was quite deep. She shook her head, realization striking her like the bite of death adder. “No. You don’t want to do this. You still need me. Only I can interpret the book.”

  “Only you can interpret the book?” he asked.

  “Yes. It tells the future, but not in a logical method. Only I can make sense out of Nostradamus’s riddles.”

  “That’s not what Adebowale said. He said you don’t have a clue what to make of the damned riddles, so that makes you worthless to our master.” Her captor laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it? The Queen of Sahara can travel throughout all the deserts with impunity from the blistering heat, but drowns in a waterhole. Don’t you think?”

  “No. You’re making a big mistake. You need me!”

  “I don’t need anyone. Least of all you.”

  Zara felt his boot dig into her back and a moment later she was falling face down. She took a deep breath and plummeted into the water. The water felt cool and refreshing on her tortured skin. Zara, true to her word, focused on her next priority. Somehow, she had to keep her head above water. She lifted her knees up to her chest and kicked. It propelled her forwards, but not to the surface where she needed to get.

  It’s working – I just need to position myself so that I move in the right direction!

  She rotated her shoulders until she was facing the surface and tried to kick again. She tried a third and a fourth time without any success. The jolting spasms caused her body to move towards the surface, but never quite there. Her lungs were burning and her chest begged her to open her mouth and take a breath.

  Just a few more goes, that’s all I ask!

  On the seventh attempt her head broke the surface. She instantly took a deep breath. The air tasted heavenly – sweet and divine. Zara opened her mouth, eager to take a second breath, but her head was already below the water again.

  She quickly tried her kicking movement again. A sense of panic raced through her as she realized she was sinking. With each kick, the surface appeared further away. She’d swallowed a large amount of water, and her body had taken a naturally negative buoyancy.

  Her rational mind fought for another solution. Nostradamus had told her she would survive and it was her existence that paved the way to set in motion a series of events which would prevent the inevitable extinction of the human race. She didn’t remember him saying anything about drowning in the Saharan desert?

  The thought made her smile. Her oxygen starved mind didn’t miss the irony, despite the suffering. Her body stopped fighting. She no longer kicked or tried to reach the surface. That chance had already left. Her only option for survival was a miracle. The world above her went dark. Her ears ached from the increased pressure.

  Who would have thought the oasis was so deep?

  This wasn’t how I was supposed to die.

  I was supposed to save the world.

  It was the last thought she had before losing her voluntary control over the muscles of the diaphragm. She drifted closer towards an unconscious state and her mouth opened up, giving way to an involuntary urge to take in a deep breath.

  It was time to die. She’d tried her best and failed. Her mind had racked itself trying to analyze the situation, somehow make sense of it, and come up with a solution. There weren’t any. She’d done the best and lost. It made her happy. It wasn’t her fault. She had nothing to feel bad about.

 
Zara breathed in deeply.

  The cold water was a relief to her burning lungs. It felt good. Tasted good. Cold and refreshing. She breathed again. Somehow, the second breath felt even better. Her body relaxed. The sense of adrenaline fueled panic finally subsided.

  This must be what it’s like to drown.

  Who knew it would be so peaceful?

  The darkness seemed to fade away. She breathed again and opened her eyes. A new light formed in front of her. A face followed the light and she wondered what she was supposed to do now – was she supposed to move into the light or run away from it? Her first instinct was to run from the light. Never enter the tunnel of death. Her rational mind argued against her philosophy. Arguing that she would be dead even if she tried to avoid the light.

  She decided not to run from the light, but nor did she feel inclined to race towards it, either. Zara breathed in again and saw the face began taking shape.

  It was a man’s face.

  And it seemed to be smiling at her.

  The face was getting closer. Although she couldn’t quite tell if she was moving towards it, or it was moving towards her. She could see more of it now. The face wasn’t quite smiling at her. The mouth was hideously distorted.

  She could hear the sound of the strange creature breathing. She wanted to breathe, herself, but something was stopping her. The face changed again and it was smiling at her. Somehow, in this dream – if that was what she was calling her in-between life and death state – she was now suddenly able to breathe again. It felt so good. She’d always assumed that in death, you could feel nothing. Instead, she felt every sensation, intensified.

  She felt her hands and ankles break free from their restraints. Once again she was looking into a man’s face. She’d never seen the man before. She quizzed her memory, but failed to find any recollection of him. If this was her transition to the afterlife, surely the last face she saw would have some sort of meaning, or importance to her.