by Prue Mason
But I don’t recognise any of the cars in this convoy, and they’ve nearly all got tinted windows. Men in traditional clothing – dishdash – get out of the cars and talk to each other. Locals. I step back into the toilet and lock the door again. What am I going to do? I try to think. Do I go out and ask for their help? What if they don’t speak English? And would they care anyway?
Luckily no one in this convoy seems to need to use the toilet, but I know I can’t keep myself locked up here forever. And I can’t just appear out of nowhere, either. The service-station attendants will see me and want to know what’s going on. I mean, I’m a Westerner and over here that means you’re somebody.
But what am I going to do? Wait for the next group of Westerners to come along? When I catch up with the Hartlisses, I’ll get a super blasting for getting myself left behind again. And what about Tara? I still have to save her. But I can’t just march back down the road. I’ll never get over the border again without a passport. The soldiers have got guns. This time they’ll probably just shoot me so they don’t have to bother about me. I think they’re pretty ruthless out here.
My mind is racing with thoughts, each getting more dramatic than the one before. Of course, I don’t really believe they’ll kill me, but you never know.
It’s getting hotter by the minute. I glance at my watch and I’m surprised. It’s only just after 7.00 am. But it feels much later.
I finally realise there’s only one thing to do. I’ll have to head off into the mountains and work out the way back to Abudai from there, because I have to go back and rescue Tara now, no matter what. Whichever way I look at it, I’m in big trouble, so I may as well make it worthwhile.
I wait until the cars have left and there’s silence again. The attendants have all disappeared back into the airconditioned shop. I don’t blame them for that.
As I step out with my water bottle under my arm and backpack slung over my back, I pull my cap down so the peak covers my face. I keep close to the wall. The heat from the ground reflects up at me. The sun is well above the surrounding peaks and it’s already white hot. I quickly look around to work out which way to go.
A high concrete wall runs around three sides of the service station. Once I can get down behind that, I’ll be safe from being seen. Then it’s not far to a goat track I can see that winds up between the mountains. It’s sort of going at right angles to the road, but that’s okay. When I get far enough in, I’ll turn towards Abudai again.
There are dried-up wadis winding through the mountains; the Bedu drive along them and use them as roads. I can follow one of them. Hey! That’s it! There’ll be Bedu out there I can hitch a ride with. They might not want to drive into Abudai with the invasion on, but for two hundred dirhams they’ll get me to the camel camps near the outskirts of the town at least.
Of course, my Arabic is not too good. We had to learn it for a year at school so I know greetings and numbers and a few words, but it was never my favourite class. The thing is, you don’t have to speak the language to live here because everyone seems to speak English. And, anyway, money talks. I’m pleased I was smart enough to put that emergency money in my pocket now. This could be a real adventure.
Now I’ve got a plan, I feel great again. And besides if it all gets too much or I can’t hitch a ride I’ll just come back here and ask the attendants for help. They’ll look after me until somebody in the convoy figures out I’ve been left behind.
But I’ve got to give this plan a go. For Tara’s sake.
Just as I prepare to rush across the few metres of open space between the toilet and the wall, a man in the red uniform of the service station walks around the corner of the shop. He’s carrying a bucket of dirty water. He stops.
For what seems like forever, we just stare at each other. Then the man grunts as he turns and throws the water away. It’s like I’m not even there. I watch him as he walks back around the corner. Westerner or not – he doesn’t want to know. I’m on my own.
Still in shock, I sprint towards the wall and clamber over it. It’s about a two-metre drop down the other side and I skin my knee as I jump to the ground.
The scrape stings like crazy, but there’s not much blood. I half wish I’d hurt myself a bit more so I’d have a good excuse not to keep going; when I look up at the bare, rocky peaks of the mountains I feel a cold shiver run through me, despite the heat from the sun hammering down on the baked hard land.
PART TWO_DESERT
CHAPTER EIGHT
EARLY AFTERNOON, DAY ONE
I’m dripping. I drag my eyelids up like I’m lifting a heavy weight, but the glare of the sun is like a laser beam drilling holes in my head. It makes me blink and close my eyes again straight away. Suddenly the ground is rising up to hit me.
It hits me hard enough to wake me. But I don’t wake up.
That must mean I am asleep and this is a dream. Soon Mum will call me to get up and then Tara will put her cold, wet nose in my face. I can hear the thumping of her tail. No. The thumping is in my head. This isn’t a dream, is it?
No. It’s a nightmare. It must be, because otherwise I’m lost in the middle of a baked world of bare, rocky peaks with the white-hot sun crawling like a glowing snail across a sky that looks like it’s made of tin.
But all those awful things couldn’t really have happened. There can’t have been an invasion with bombings and soldiers shooting. And I wouldn’t have been so stupid that I deliberately got myself left behind at a service station in the middle of nowhere. That service station’s just vanished now. Like it was only a mirage.
I’ve walked back for kilometres, but it’s not there any more. I guess it’s because I’m so confused with all these valleys and dried-up wadis going in all directions.
I have to drag myself up and try to pull myself together or I’ll never get out of here. I look at my watch. It’s after midday. I’ve been walking for hours. If only I could find my way back to the service station. Or if only somebody would come along and rescue me. But there’s nobody here. It’s silent. And hot. Too hot even for the birds.
I need to talk to somebody. Anybody. I’ve tried every number I’ve got punched into my mobile, but all I’m getting is either ‘the mobile phone you are calling is switched off or out of range’ or a message telling me to leave a message. I do. I’ve even tried to ring Mum, but she’ll still be in the air somewhere. It’s the only time she has it switched off. Not like my dad. He never turns his on.
I know I’m running out of credit and the battery indicator on my mobile is getting lower. I have to switch it off before it dies. I feel like parts of me are switching off too. My legs aren’t moving too well any more, and my head feels as if it’s become swollen and too heavy for my body to carry.
I take my hat off to fan myself. The hat’s stiff with sweat and sunscreen, it’s probably kept most of the sun off my face. And it was lucky I put in the tube of sunscreen. It’s all gone now, though. I keep sweating it off.
I need another drink. But I’ve drunk the three bottles of water and I’ve finished off the Coke, which was horrible because it was sticky and warm. I know I should have been more careful with the water, but I had to drink it otherwise I’m sure I’d be dead by now. I even tipped the last of the cold water over my head when it felt like it was going to split if I didn’t wet it.
I really need a drink. But the weird part is, I feel like I’m looking at the world through water. Everything’s moving, swaying like the weeds in our fish tank. Am I in a fish tank?
No, I can’t be because then I would be cool and wet. I know! The world is in the fish tank and I’m the only thing outside it. Looking in. I’m the only living being in this hot, waterless world. Outside everything. Really on my own. Forever.
Thinking makes me feel dizzy. I sit down before I fall again, and I lean back against the steep slope of a ridge. In a few hours, the sun will be behind it and at least there’ll be some shade here. I just can’t move any more. I close my eyes, listenin
g to the silence. Then I hear the sound of small stones rolling down the side of the slope.
There must be an animal up there. I’m not on my own after all.
I squint as I look up because all the rocks are reflecting the heat and glare of the sun. Then, I can hardly believe my luck. I’m sure I see someone peering down at me. Yes! He’s squatting underneath some overhanging rocks. He must be a Bedouin. Probably looking after goats. Actually, I don’t care what he’s doing up there. I’m just so glad to see him. For sure, he’ll have spare water and then he can take me home to Abudai. This nightmare is about to end. I wave madly at him.
‘Hello!’ My voice is croaky because my throat is so dry. ‘I need help.’
This red-faced one must be a devil. It is as Old Goat said, after all.
‘Go away, you devil! I will kill you if you come up here!’
He yells back at me. I wish he’d speak English. He doesn’t seem to want to leave the shade of the rocks. Not that I blame him. I need to get out of the sun as well. It’s too hot. I can feel how red my face is.
There’s a track that goes along the ridge to where he’s crouching, but I’m desperate to get there quickly so I go straight up even though it’s fairly steep. More little rocks slip beneath my feet, and I have to cling on to clumps of dried grass to pull myself up. It’s amazing how the thought of drinking cool water has given me that extra strength I need.
‘Give me a hand!’ I croak, as I’m almost there. This last bit’s so steep! I peer up.
I can see the person is a boy, but he looks more Indian than Arabic. I can’t tell how old he is. Now he’s lying on his stomach peering over the edge at me. He’s got the dirtiest face and biggest eyes I’ve ever seen. His face is small and thin. For a minute, I’m so disappointed I feel like crying. Then I realise that where there’s a kid there must be an adult close by who can drive me to Abudai. Instead of helping me, though, he just stares at me.
‘Come on,’ I say. I feel dizzy again. I hold out my hand. I wish I knew the Arabic for ‘help me up’. But surely he must understand what I want. Maybe he’s a sandwich short of a picnic or something and I’m stuck up this slope with a dumbo. He’s staring at me like I’m going to eat him or something.
‘Looks like I have to do this the hard way then,’ I mutter to myself.
As I start to pull myself up, the boy wriggles forwards. He sort of half rises, and I see he’s got a rock clutched in his hands and a crazy look in his eyes.
‘Allah Akbar! Have mercy on my soul!’
He screams something at me about Allah, but it doesn’t sound like a nice prayer to me.
‘What are you trying to do? Kill me?’ I yell, as he launches himself at me. He’s not a dumbo. He’s nuts!
I’ve got no hope of hanging on. All I can do is fend him off with one arm and, with the other, grab him as he falls down on top of me. I’m totally off balance, and so’s he, but I’m not letting him go or he’ll kill me, for sure.
It’s like I’m hugging him tightly as we tumble and roll, bouncing off rocks all the way back down the slope. I’m all scraped and scratched when we finally stop. The pain makes me even more angry at this mad kid who keeps screeching at me. This kid who doesn’t even know me, but just tried to kill me.
He hisses and I see he’s got no front teeth.
‘I’m gonna smash your face in,’ I yell, as I put my face close to his. ‘Just like you wanted to smash my head with that rock!’
He’s panting like I am. But even though I’m dehydrated and feeling weak, I’m bigger than he is. I can hold him down. As long as it takes.
Because I’m holding him so close, I can’t help but look right into his eyes. They’re so big – too big for his face, and he’s got eyelashes as long as a girl’s. He’s just a kid. Why did he try to kill me? Why does he hate me? I can see he’s scared stiff now; he must know I’m stronger and I can do whatever I like to him.
‘I could kill you right now,’ I say. ‘But I don’t like blood. The problem is, if I let you go you’ll either try to kill me again or run away, and I don’t have the energy to fight or run after you.’
And I need him to take me to his father.
What’s the Arabic for father? I try to remember, but my head hurts.
Allah the Merciful! Now I see this one is not a devil after all he is a foreign boy. I am thinking for sure he is going to kill me, but there is a softness in his eyes. Old Goat says all foreigners with their pink skin are soft and weak and cowards. Like girls.
I don’t trust him, but we can’t stay like this forever. Slowly, but still keeping a hold of him, I get up and pull him to his feet. He stumbles and trips and falls over. The filthy dishdash that he’s wearing is shucked up to his shins. It’s then I see his dirty, bare feet. They’re tied together. God! Now I see that his hands, which are no longer clutching the rock, are tied up as well. He’s tied up like an animal.
CHAPTER NINE
MIDAFTERNOON, DAY ONE
Just my luck! Here I am, thinking I’m going to be rescued, and it ends up being me doing the rescuing. But what am I going to do now? I try to kid myself that he’s been tied up for a joke or something by other kids, but I know that can’t be the truth. He looks half starved. And he’s filthy, like no one cares about him. But he couldn’t have just been dumped. Could he?
I finally remember the word for father. ‘Babu?’ I ask hopefully. He must have a father somewhere. Even if his father’s cruel and horrible and treats his kid like this, I’m sure he’ll still be happy to take my two hundred dirhams and get me to Abudai.
The kid’s whole expression suddenly changes. I’m not sure if he understands.
‘I want you to take me to your babu,’ I say loudly. It seems to work, but he speaks too fast for me to understand. I do pick up the words ‘babu’ and ‘mayyet’. And I know ‘mayyet’ means ‘dead’. There’s an archeaological dig not far from Abudai where an ancient town has been found. The locals call it Madeenah Mayyet – the Dead City.
So I guess he’s saying his father is dead. That figures. Well, where’s his mother? She obviously doesn’t give a toss about him. Maybe she was forced to marry again, and he’s got a cruel stepfather or something. I don’t really care. Anyone will do as long as they can give me water and get me back to Abudai.
‘Mama?’ I ask him, and my heart drops when I hear him say something about Abudai, and he suddenly looks at me in a hopeful way. I guess that’s where he’s from, as well. It’s true then. He has been dumped. Somebody just wanted to get rid of him for some reason and figured the mountains would be the best spot. He’s as lost out here as I am and wants me to help him.
What am I going to do now? I can’t leave him tied up; he’ll die. But if I let him go, he might try to kill me again. I don’t trust him one bit. I half want to just run away and pretend I never saw him.
For some reason, my gran’s face, pops into my head. Barby would know what to do. Then, like a coin has dropped into a slot in my head, I have a brilliant idea. I can call her and ask. Get her to send help. She’s always home. And even if the money runs out she can ring me back. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
I pull out the phone and my hands are trembling. Please let this plan work. Please have enough battery power.
The battery indicator bar flickers as I key in the number. I can hardly breathe. It rings three times and then there’s a click. I hear Barby speaking in a tinny voice and asking me to leave a message. It seems like forever, waiting for the beep.
‘Barby, it’s me,’ I yell. ‘I’m lost in the mountains and I need to talk to you. I need help.’
Is he begging his father to forgive him? What terrible deed did this one do to suffer this punishment also? Allah! It seems his father has no mercy.
I hear the kid praying. I am, too. I’m praying that Barby picks up. Sometimes she doesn’t get to the phone for a while. The battery bar flickers. Then I get this sinking feeling like there’s a rock dropping to the bottom of my st
omach. I remember that because we were all meant to be in Melbourne, Barby was going to the city to meet us. We were all going to see Sarah speak on her school’s debating team. Barby won’t be back at the farm for at least three days so she won’t get my message until then.
The screen goes blank. The battery has died. I shake it, but it’s no good. It’s dead.
Just like I’ll be shortly.
Oh God. Everything’s turned out to be such a mess. ‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’ Everyone says I’m really brainy because I can think fast and I have good ideas, but my mum always says I would be smarter if I slowed down and thought about the consequences. Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.
But how can I think straight when I get mad, like I did this morning? It’s like my head’s being banged against a wall. And now, here I am, lost in the middle of the mountains with a flat mobile and a charger, but nothing to plug it into.
I know there’s nobody else to blame but me. I was so mad at Mr Hartliss. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him for anything. I can almost hear my mum. ‘Look where that temper’s got you now,’ she’d say.
Lost in the mountains without any water, with some crazy kid who’s been tied up like an animal and who tried to kill me. That’s where it’s got me. And if anybody ever comes looking for us, all they’ll find are bleached bones. Maybe they won’t even know which one of us is which.
I drop the phone into my backpack alongside my totally useless charger. I guess I can’t leave the kid like this, though – all tied up. I pull my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket and open out the blade.
Ah, Allah! Now since this one’s father is not showing any mercy, no mercy is he showing me. For sure he is going to slit my throat.