The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  "About time. We're dying of thirst over here."

  "Are you ready to tell me where your companions are?"

  "No."

  "Then I regret I cannot waste water on your comfort."

  "Bashir's not going to be pleased if I...we...are in poor shape when you deliver us to him."

  "Who is this Bashir?"

  "Your boss, who else?"

  Ali Hafiz shook his head. "I have never heard of him."

  "Then who was that on the radio if you weren't reporting to him?"

  "Someone who instructed me to dispose of you and concentrate on finding the woman. You see, Dr Andrews, I now have no need of you if you will not help me. I can offer you either a swift death..." Ali Hafiz drew his pistol, "...or I can just leave you here in the desert to die of thirst."

  "There is another choice," Muammar said. "I will tell you where the woman is--but only if you take us with you to find her."

  "What the hell are you doing?" Marc demanded. "Shut up."

  "These infidels hired me to guide them across the desert," Muammar went on. "They did not pay me enough for me to risk my life. I will guide you to them."

  "In exchange for?"

  "My life."

  Ali Hafiz considered the young Libyan's words. "You will lead me to her?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I no longer need Dr Andrews." He cocked his pistol.

  "You must spare their lives too," Muammar said. "I have eaten their bread and taken their money. It would not be honourable to betray them."

  "But you are betraying them by taking me to the woman, aren't you?"

  Muammar shrugged. "You want to talk to her, I'll guide you; but I won't help you kill the woman or her companions. Dr Andrews comes with us, unharmed, or we stay here."

  "Very well, but if either of you give me any trouble I will kill you both."

  Ali Hafiz undid the bonds around their ankles and secured Marc in the back of the jeep, while allowing Muammar to sit up front with him--though with his wrists still bound.

  "All right then, where is she?"

  "Take us back to where you found us."

  "Traitor," Marc growled.

  "All the way back there?" Ali Hafiz complained. "That'll take hours."

  Sarraj's man ground the gears on the Jeep and sent the vehicle bouncing and lurching back down the rough road that traversed the wilderness of the western desert. The sun beat down on them, especially on Marc lying unprotected in the back, and he swore beneath his breath that he would get even with his captor.

  That bastard Muammar too, if I ever get my hands loose .

  They reached the main road lying just inland of Esna and turned away from the river, despite the presence of better roads there. Muammar said as much.

  "We'd get there sooner on the paved road down to Edfu."

  "And there are a lot more people closer to the river. I'm not risking anybody getting curious about a man tied up in the back."

  "You could untie his feet and let him sit up at least. He'll choke on the dust lying in the floor well."

  Ali Hafiz thought about it for a few miles before pulling over and sitting Marc upright. He loosened the ropes around his ankles but secured his wrists securely to the back of one of the rear seats.

  "You see, Dr Andrews? I am a humane person, but I must protect myself as well. That is why I cannot have you attempt something foolish like attacking me from behind."

  Marc glowered but said nothing and their journey resumed. The sun set in shades of orange and purple, the glow spreading over the desert vistas and prolonged by the dust in the air. As the last of the light leached from the sky, the vehicle hit a corrugated section of the dirt road and the steering wheel shuddered. Ali Hafiz wrestled with the bucking Jeep, and suddenly, Muammar reached over with his bound hands and tugged violently on the steering wheel. Hafiz yelled out and fought to control the vehicle as it skidded on the dusty road.

  The Jeep veered toward the edge of the road and the right wheels hit deep loose sand, digging in. Ali Hafiz and Marc in the back uttered loud cries as the vehicle tipped, skidded and rolled over onto its roof. For a few seconds the engine roared before coughing, catching and spluttering into silence.

  "Fuck me, Muammar," Marc muttered from the rear of the upturned Jeep. "Warn me next time you try something like that."

  Muammar groaned and shifted. "A warning, by its very nature, would have alerted our captor, Dr Andrews."

  "Is he still alive?"

  "I don't know. Please wait."

  There were more sounds from the front of the vehicle, then a grunt and a faint rhythmic sound.

  "What's happening?"

  "I have found a knife, Dr Andrews, but I cannot find his gun. Possibly it was thrown out when the vehicle rolled over. I am presently engaged in cutting my bonds...ah, there. Now, our captor is unconscious but without examining him I cannot tell if he is alive. I will pull him from the vehicle and..."

  "Fuck him. I'm hanging upside down and my bloody arms are killing me. Get me out of here."

  "Of course, Dr Andrews. Please wait a moment longer."

  Muammar crawled out of the front and stumbled round to the rear of the Jeep, peering in past a jumble of equipment and torn seating. He found Marc bent double with his arms still bound behind one of the rear seats. The young Englishman was muttering imprecations at all and sundry.

  "Are you ready, Dr Andrews?"

  "Stop talking and get me out of...whoa! Fuck me!"

  The cords parted and Marc tumbled out of his seat into the jumble of debris below him. He pushed his way out of the side of the wrecked vehicle and staggered to his feet, looking around in the dark.

  "That you, Muammar?" He raised his fists toward the dimly-seen figure near him. "I haven't forgotten you tried to betray us."

  "I rather thought I was saving your life."

  Marc considered this point of view. "Yes, well, I suppose there is that," he conceded. He scuffed the dirt of the road with one foot. "What do we do now?"

  "I suppose we'd better see how our driver is."

  Marc grunted. "That bastard? Leave him and let's get out of here."

  "We should make sure he is all right," Muammar replied quietly. "My action injured him; and though he threatened our lives, I don't desire his death." He walked around to the driver's side and knelt in the sand. Ali Hafiz lay in a crumpled heap around the steering wheel and pedals in the foot well, breath rasping noisily from his open mouth. Blood smeared the side of his head where he had evidently knocked it in the crash. Muammar eased the man out of the vehicle gently and, despite not being able to see very well in the darkness, cleaned him up as best he could with his handkerchief. While he ministered to the needs of the injured man, Marc went through his pockets and was rewarded by finding the man's gun in a jacket pocket.

  "Excellent. Now the shoe's on the other foot. You know how to use one of these things, Muammar?"

  "I have some training with firearms."

  "Good. All I know is point and pull the trigger." Marc lined the pistol up at the Jeep and mimicked firing it, making the gun buck realistically. "Pow! Gotcha."

  Muammar continued cleaning up Hafiz, and then sat back on his heels. "I think he'll live."

  "Who cares? What about us?"

  Muammar considered their position. "We're somewhere between Esna and Edfu, I think. Normally, in a situation like this, I'd say we should stay with the vehicle and wait for someone to find us. The road is used, though not regularly and sooner or later another vehicle will come by."

  "Sounds like a plan," Marc said. He stretched and uttered a yelp of pain. "Damn it, I think I hurt myself when you decided to crash us." He laid the gun down on the road and gently massaged his ribs.

  "Unfortunately, Dr Andrews, we entered Egypt illegally and should we be asked for our papers, will be unable to produce them. We could find ourselves imprisoned."

  "So what do we do?"

  "We continue on foot south along the road toward Edfu and where w
e left the others. I doubt they'll still be there, but the city is our best chance of finding them. We know they will head there, and they know we will too." Muammar straightened and took a few steps past the overturned Jeep.

  Marc looked into the darkness. "We've got to go out there? I can't see a damn thing."

  "The moon will be up soon. There'll be enough light to see the road."

  Ali Hafiz let out a groan and started to sit up. Muammar stepped over to him and squatted beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  "Take it easy," he said in Arabic. "You hit your head."

  "You...you did it," Ali Hafiz mumbled. "You grabbed the wheel." He fumbled urgently in his jacket pocket.

  "We took it," Muammar told him. "Marc, give me the gun. I think we need to ask this man a few questions."

  "It's right here somewhere." Marc turned quickly and his foot connected with the gun, sending it skittering over the hard road surface. He swore and bent to grab it.

  As it did so, Hafiz drew his right leg up and he snatched an additional small pistol from his boot. Muammar threw himself backward as the barrel wavered toward him and muzzle flash temporarily blinded him.

  "Run, Marc!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet and ducking behind the vehicle. He saw a figure disappearing into the dark and set off after him as another shot rang out.

  The two men pounded down the road until the night swallowed them and then a bit further. Muammar called a halt at last and they stood in the road, panting, while they listened for the sounds of pursuit.

  "Have you got the gun, Dr Andrews?"

  "Sorry. I kicked it away by accident and then just legged it when the shot went off."

  "He had another gun in his boot. I should have checked."

  "Bastard." Marc stared nervously into the darkness. "If he's got a gun and we don't, shouldn't we keep going?"

  "I don't think he's coming after us."

  Marc listened, but could hear no sounds of pursuit. "You called me Marc back there."

  "My apologies if I have become overly familiar. The urgency of the situation necessitated a succinct outcry."

  "Oh, don't apologise. We've been formally introduced. Please continue to call me Marc."

  "Very well--Marc. Judging by the position of the stars we seem to have run north, rather than south toward Edfu. We must go back."

  "He's still got a gun--maybe two if he's found the other one."

  "I know. We'll have to go around him. I suggest we move westward into the desert a few hundred paces and loop around him before returning to the road."

  Marc thought about this for a minute, and though he could not see any real flaw in the plan, felt he had to make a contribution. "Why not eastward?"

  "The land is more uneven and rocky to the east," Muammar replied. "I noticed this in the minutes before the crash."

  Marc shrugged, unseen in the darkness. "Lead on then."

  They left the road and walked westward, Muammar counting out the steps until he reached five hundred and stopped. He turned to the left and set off in a general southerly direction in what he hoped was a course that paralleled the road.

  "How far did we run?" Marc asked.

  "I don't know. Half a mile perhaps."

  "So a thousand paces, then a thousand more to take us past the crash site before we head back to the road?"

  "That's about right," Muammar agreed. "We should keep quiet though, sound carries for long distances in the desert at night."

  They stumbled on through the darkness, plotting their course by dead reckoning. A couple of times, Muammar stopped and adjusted their course slightly before setting off again. Once, they happened upon a large rocky outcrop and swung around it to the west, estimating when they had worked their way around half of it.

  "Are we going in the same direction?" Marc asked.

  "I think so."

  "I think we should go a little more to our right."

  Muammar stopped and looked around. "Maybe." They altered course slightly.

  Two thousand paces onward, they turned left and counted out their steps, hoping to find the road after five hundred. They did not, nor after five hundred more.

  "Where is the damn thing?" Marc asked querulously.

  "We must have overrun it."

  "How can we do that? It runs north and south doesn't it? If we headed east we should cross it."

  "Maybe there is a bend in the road."

  "Or maybe we got turned around and we're not even heading east. Damn it, Muammar, you're an Arab and a Bedouin, can't you tell directions?"

  "I am a city Libyan, Marc, though my family are Bedouin. Even so, I could probably navigate at night if I could see the stars. In case you hadn't noticed, it has become overcast."

  "So we're lost?"

  "Not at all. As soon as the moon rises we can be certain of our direction." Muammar looked around and pointed to some darker shadows in the lee of another rocky outcrop off to one side. "I suggest we rest there until it does."

  They made themselves as comfortable as they could, leaning against sun-cracked boulders and excavating out depressions in the sand. The silence of the desert surrounded them, broken only by occasional dry rustlings and the intermittent chirrup of a cricket. Lulled by the silence and giving in to their exhaustion, they dozed and, after a while fell into a deep sleep.

  Muammar woke first; his mind still befuddled, and regarded the pale silver light washing the desert sands for a minute before realising the moon was already high in the sky. He shook Marc awake.

  Marc yawned and stretched gingerly. "So that's east?" he asked, looking at the crescent moon.

  Muammar hesitated. "Well, it rose in the east but it should be swinging round to the south by now. We fell asleep and missed it rising, but I think we can still use it." He got to his feet and brushed the sand off his clothes. "Come on. No time to lose."

  Marc rose too and yawned again. "What's the hurry?"

  "I want to find the road before daylight. It's going to get very hot out here and we need to try and find someone to take us to Edfu."

  * * *

  Marc could not believe how hot the sun was. The disc of the sun glowed like a white hot iron ball suspended only feet above him and waves of heat beat up at him from the sand and rock, shimmering the air and seeming to create pools of water in the distance. His boots had tough, thick soles, but his feet felt as if they were naked, stepping gingerly across a summer's road. Figures of men and demons danced and capered mockingly in the distance, but as they drew close the forms resolved into spires and heaps of rock. Nothing moved except the over-heated air and the two humans trudging slowly under a cloudless sky.

  He turned and waited for Muammar to catch up, running the tip of a dry tongue over cracked lips. "We've..." he croaked. He shook his head and tried again. "We've got to find water."

  "There is no water out here," Muammar whispered.

  "Then we're dead."

  Muammar still had strength--his body was wiry from his military training but even he looked exhausted. Marc's strength was fading. His reserves were low and his body was overheating. He knew that unless they could find water, shelter and food--in that order--he would die and Muammar would not be far behind him.

  He turned back to their unplanned route across the trackless desert. They had wandered in what they thought was the east until the sun rose on their right hand, proving them wrong. They turned toward the rising sun, but had followed it in its course for several hours before realising it was swinging to the south and drawing them off course. It was difficult to follow a straight line on a desert plateau, where one direction looked the same as any other.

  Not quite...what's that ?

  Still in the distance, but just to the right of their present route was a mountain--a hill--a pile of rocks--an outcrop of the underlying strata, revealed where the sand had been blown away. Something gleamed in the sun, shone as if the hill was topped by a glittering crown, and they both stopped to gaze upon it.

  "Wha
t the hell?" Marc croaked.

  "It must...must be the road," Muammar muttered. "The sun is reflecting off a windshield."

  "It's on top of a hill."

  "It only looks that way. The road must go over a rise. Come on, it's our last chance."

  "Oh please God, let it be a road. What about your god, Muammar? Will he save us?" Marc staggered and straightened. "What about the ancient gods--Atum, Geb...who was the one you prayed to for water? Tefnut? Hope they help us..."

  They altered course slightly, and another hour or two brought them to a small shattered hill in the last light of the day. By then, Marc and Muammar were supporting each other, staggering with exhaustion, reeling from dehydration and sunstroke.

  * * *

  The loose jumbled rocks that covered the ground had evidently fallen from a central pillar of stone, and that pillar still remained, though truncated. Leaving Marc resting in the shelter of the fallen boulders, Muammar scrambled over the tumbled rocks and onto the solid stone, moving upward carefully in the fading light. Already, the temperature was falling, and he shivered despite the burning heat of his body. About half way up, some hundred or so feet above the desert floor, he emerged onto a broad ledge. Muammar stood and looked around before following it one way until it petered out. He returned and went the other direction, almost immediately coming across a dark patch in the rock wall behind the ledge. On dropping to his hands and knees he found a shallow cave about ten feet across and six deep, ending in rubble. It faced north, so would be shaded from the scorching heat of the day. He smiled wearily.

  "It will do," he murmured. "But we still need food and water if we are to survive."

  A rock fell, clattering in the stillness, further round the ledge. Muammar froze, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he considered the cause. After a few moments he relaxed--it was either an animal or rock cracking as the temperature dropped. He followed the ledge round to where the ground beneath his feet steepened and became treacherous with loose stones. His feet slid from under him and he put out a hand to steady himself, snatching it away from the rock face and almost falling in his shock. The stone beneath his hand was wet. Muammar touched his face and his lips, tasting the unbelievably sweet dampness on his fingertips, and then he was at the rock, pressing his face close and licking up the thin film that ran down it. He drank until the edge was removed from his thirst and guilt made him remember Marc waiting below.