The Will Slater Series Books 1-3

by Matt Rogers

Slater shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’

  Abu crossed to the bench and sat down across from Slater. Together they stared out at the Hadhramaut Valley, soaking in the sights. Despite knowing almost nothing about each other, neither man felt it necessary to speak. The setting was too tranquil. Too calm.

  Finally, Abu piped up.

  ‘Some people in these parts believe that the wadis in this valley were created by an ancient tribe of great beings known as the Ad. Allah removed the giants from the valley after they infuriated him, and all that is left of them is these valleys. They are the footprints of the Ad.’

  Slater paused, soaking in the story. ‘Do you believe it?’

  ‘That’s quite a personal question.’

  ‘Sorry. May I ask how you know English so well?’

  ‘I think you have some explaining to do first, my friend.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘An American out here is a little rarer than my ability to speak a second language. If you don’t mind, I’d like to know a little more about you.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  Abu shrugged. ‘I like to know things. Otherwise — why bother?’

  ‘Why is it so strange to see an American in these parts?’ Slater said.

  Abu looked across at Slater, staring at him like he was foolish. ‘You cannot be serious.’

  ‘I’m curious as to why everyone I make eye contact with looks like they’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘You do not come here unless you were born here,’ Abu said. ‘Not by choice. Especially not now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘I know partially why. Lay it out for me.’

  ‘The oversupply of weapons. The civil war. The corruption. It is the poorest and most tribal state in the Middle East, my friend. You do not come here for leisure.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Which is why I’d like you to enlighten me as to your reasons.’

  ‘Do I need a reason?’

  ‘I think you do.’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you.’

  Abu bowed his head. ‘I mean no disrespect. I am always curious about these things.’

  Slater paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘I was in a routine. My life was a hard one, but I was used to luxury. My job put me up in the most lavish hotels, the most opulent corners of the earth. I got stagnant. Then shit hit the fan at my workplace, which I won’t go into detail about, and I found myself out of a job. I was already in Oman, so I decided to shake things up a bit.’

  ‘You are not scared of what might happen? Some people in these parts do not like outsiders. Many are pleasant, but there are always a certain few.’

  ‘I’ve already run into a couple.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They don’t bother me.’

  ‘What is it you used to do?’ Abu said, perhaps wising up to the fact that Slater wasn’t troubled by confrontation.

  ‘A lot of things,’ Slater said.

  ‘Any of them pleasant?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure if you do.’

  ‘I’ve met men like you. You don’t say much, but what you do say speaks volumes. You are haunted by your past.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Well, I can’t speak for you. Most are.’

  Slater paused. ‘I don’t think that kind of stuff has hit me yet. Maybe it will now that I have nothing to do.’

  ‘When’s the last time you had nothing to do?’

  ‘Childhood.’

  Abu paused and nodded solemnly. ‘You think that what you’ve done might catch up to you?’

  ‘Who knows, Abu,’ Slater said. ‘Who knows.’

  Abu reached into the pocket of his futa and came out with a small metal canister covered with nicks and scratches of varying sizes. He popped open the top and plucked out a thick ball of khat. The man rolled the weed between two fingertips, using his fingers like pincers to prepare the drug. Then he pressed the khat into his mouth, slotting it on the inside of his right cheek. He sucked rhythmically at the ball, staring peacefully out at the plateau as he did so.

  ‘Care to partake?’ he said.

  Slater shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I thought it might take your mind off the past.’

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ Slater said, making his stance clear. ‘I’m not riddled with trauma. I’m fine. I’m just curious to try it.’

  Abu shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  He passed across a large wad of khat, the green leaves bundled together to provide maximum ease of use, and Slater slotted the substance against the wall of his own cheek. He chewed on the leaves, letting the residue build up in his mouth, noting the bitter taste of the bush. He took his time, not in a rush to be anywhere or do anything. When the build-up of residue became too much he spat a glob of the gunk into the empty tin that Abu rested between them and took a swig from the water bottle in his back pocket.

  ‘Doesn’t do much,’ he admitted after a long pause.

  ‘It’s not supposed to,’ Abu said. ‘Do you notice that slight euphoria? That gentle pleasant feeling on the back of your neck?’

  Slater nodded. ‘It’s nice.’

  ‘That’s why three-quarters of the population consumes this stuff. It’s also why I’m employed.’

  Slater cocked his head. ‘You don’t look like a farmer.’

  ‘That’s good. Because I’m not a farmer. I’m a programmer.’

  ‘A programmer?’ Slater said. ‘Wasn’t expecting to run into a tech guy out here.’

  ‘Not many do,’ Abu admitted, smiling. ‘But the government relies on me. I keep the mechanical drills and pumps running across all the khat farms in the region. I fuel the entire country’s addiction. My services are in high demand, as you can imagine.’

  ‘The drills and pumps?’ Slater said.

  ‘They are important. Khat is responsible for a fifth of Yemen’s water consumption, my friend. Without me, the plantations would die of thirst, and there would be a fair few unhappy residents.’

  ‘So you float around this region?’

  ‘Somewhat. Usually I am escorted. It’s dangerous out here, you see.’

  ‘Why the lack of protection this time?’

  ‘Lack of available units,’ Abu said, shrugging. ‘It’s fine. I can handle myself. I just keep my head down. But I don’t like this area much anyway.’

  Slater cocked his head. ‘Why’s that?’

  Abu hesitated, as if he were about to touch on a subject he would much rather keep quiet about. He shook his head and broke eye contact, staring vacantly out at the valley. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Tell me. Maybe I can help.’

  Abu smirked and shook his head. ‘No, my friend. It is not like that. It it just a hunch.’

  ‘What kind of hunch?’

  ‘The tribes are not acting how they are supposed to.’

  ‘The tribes?’

  Abu jerked a thumb back towards the sweeping, barren mountains behind them. ‘Up there. The northern highland tribes. They’re fairly common in this region.’

  ‘How are they supposed to act?’

  ‘Like idiots,’ Abu admitted. ‘It’s half the reason there’s such turmoil in the region. They fight amongst themselves. They have no particular devotion to any one cause. Usually they just receive orders and instructions from the highest bidder. It creates chaos, you see. If there was infighting and quarrelling amongst them, you would have never made it into Qasam in one piece. They would have shook you down on the outskirts of the town. They would be extorting the locals.’

  ‘So it’s a good thing that they seem to have died down in their activity, then? I don’t see the issue.’

  ‘It’s odd, that’s all. I don’t like when things are odd. I haven’t been here in months, but things are almost too peaceful. Especially given the nature of the rest of Hadhramaut.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re all worked up ab
out nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps, my friend. Perhaps.’

  ‘You’re sharing an awful lot with a stranger you just met.’

  ‘I like to think I am a good reader of people,’ Abu said.

  ‘And what did you read about me?’

  ‘That I can tell you what is on my mind, and trust you with that information. As you can imagine, I don’t get much of a chance to speak of these matters to many people. I am always on the move, you see. Always darting from place to place.’

  Slater smiled wryly. ‘Same here, Abu. Same here.’

  ‘Where are you staying tonight?’

  ‘I hadn’t quite worked that out yet.’

  ‘I have a room,’ the man said, bowing his head again. ‘It’s only a temporary shelter, organised at the last minute. It’s not much. But it’s a roof over your head, if you need it.’

  Slater waited a beat to let the offer settle over him. He regarded the man before him inquisitively, and came away satisfied with what he found in his initial assessment. ‘I’d be grateful for that.’

  ‘Of course.’ Abu flashed a glance at the old-fashioned wristwatch above his left hand and pursed his lips accordingly. ‘I’m afraid business calls. I’m due for a visit to one of the plantations in thirty minutes, to make sure their systems are running okay. It was great to meet you, Will. I’ll be back in the evening. If you get tired before then, the home is just up the road from here. It’s a blue wooden door — only one of its kind on the street. You can’t miss it.’

  Slater nodded his understanding. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your day.’

  Abu left as quickly as he had arrived. The man packed up his bundles of khat and scurried away into the streets of Qasam, integrating with the bustling town life.

  Slater stayed where he was, pausing to have a moment to himself.

  It meant that — five minutes later — when he had soaked in as much of the view as he possibly could, he chose exactly the right time to leave the lookout.

  It meant that he strode out into the laneway at the same exact second as the boy came running past.

  It meant that the two bumped into each other.

  And then everything changed.

  7

  The boy thudded into Slater’s thigh and ricocheted off, sprawling into the dirt with a distinct ‘oof’ of surprise. He had been sprinting full-pelt when he passed across the entrance to the laneway, meeting Slater just as he exited into the steep mountain street.

  Slater’s senses heightened all at once, sensing trouble. It had been ingrained into his subconscious over a decade ago to treat any unannounced situation with alertness and readiness. He was ready for a fight to the death by the time he realised the boy posed no significant threat.

  The kid sat up, eyes scrunched shut as he laughed with glee. A mop of curly hair sat atop his head. He evidently spent much of his life outdoors — his skin was sun-drenched and deeply tanned. Slater couldn’t help but share the kid’s happiness. His smile was infectious.

  The boy got his feet under him and sprung up, utilising his wiry athletic frame. He couldn’t have been much older than eight.

  ‘English?’ Slater said softly.

  The kid stared back at him blankly.

  What were you expecting? he thought, scolding himself for his stupidity.

  Slater clasped his palms together in front of his chest and bowed his head — an apologetic gesture. He didn’t want the kid to think that he’d deliberately hurt him.

  The kid smiled, shook his head, and pointed to himself.

  My bad.

  Slater smirked. He wiggled two fingers back and forth, signifying legs moving at a crazy speed.

  You’re fast.

  The boy chuckled and pointed up the steep laneway, towards the top of Qasam and the towering rocky mountains beyond. He beckoned to Slater.

  Come with me.

  Slater looked left, and he looked right. There was no-one around, and it seemed that by now he had experienced everything the town had to offer, save chewing a truckload more khat. Perhaps it was the euphoric nature of the leaves he’d consumed back at the lookout, but he felt at peace in the presence of the kid.

  He nodded, smiled and thrust a hand forward, palm facing outward.

  Lead the way.

  The boy set off at a cracking pace up the slope, tearing past groups of locals sitting outside small mud buildings and rundown shopfronts. Everyone was splayed out on frayed carpets and rusting car seats, each positioned so that the groups could face one another and shoot the shit while munching on khat in obscene quantities.

  Wasting the afternoon away with small talk.

  Slater could see the appeal in such a life.

  But he was afraid he couldn’t live it himself.

  Before long the town centre faded away, replaced by a barren track that weaved between two towering cliffs. He found himself dwarfed by his surroundings, broad rock formations spearing into the sky on either side. The two mountainous chunks of land shrouded the trail itself in shadow, protecting it from the dazzling glare of the Yemeni sunshine. The boy hurried away from Qasam’s outer limits.

  Slater paused at the foot of the trail.

  He peered up at the dusty, sand-coated track, twisting into the hot mountains above them. The land out here seemed barren, just a few dozen feet from the outskirts of the town. Slater watched the boy hurry up the trail, beckoning him on with every step.

  He stayed put.

  Something about the trail tickled him the wrong way. He thought of Abu’s stark observations regarding the highland tribes. He wondered if they were close enough to Qasam to pose any problems to locals. He didn’t doubt his ability to protect himself should the opportunity be presented, but his limbs were acutely heavy after the altercation with the three security checkpoint guards earlier that day.

  Besides, if he spent the rest of the day antagonising thuggish northern highlanders, he doubted it would bode well for getting a restful night’s sleep. He didn’t want anyone to come hunting for his head.

  He’d experienced enough of that recently.

  Halfway up the trail, the boy turned and froze on the spot, pouting at Slater’s inactivity.

  Slater shook his head solemnly, repeating the apologetic gesture.

  ‘Not today, kid,’ he called out. ‘Just being cautious.’

  The boy shrugged — likely unable to understand a word that Slater said — and continued his mad dash up the trail. Probably off to a remote village tucked away in the mountains. Maybe he lived there. Maybe he had family there.

  It wasn’t Slater’s business.

  The encounter had been brief, but heart-warming.

  It had been some time since he’d seen such innocent joy in the eyes of another human being.

  His life didn’t often involve itself with people like that.

  He remained milling on the spot until the sight of the kid had vanished into a tiny blip on the mountainside, forgotten in the span of seconds. Slater let the sweat flow free from his pores, kicked back into perspiring by the short walk up the hillside. In heat as intense as Hadhramaut’s, it didn’t take much to kickstart the process.

  Then he turned on his heel and made his way back down into Qasam, taking care not to bother any of the clusters of locals he’d passed on the way up. They eyeballed him just as viciously as they had when he’d encountered them the first time. It seemed like he was welcome enough — the men were not hostile in their mannerisms, and no-one approached him to shepherd him out of the mountain town.

  They simply studied him like he was a touring circus.

  He didn’t blame them.

  He didn’t think that many incidents appeared to disrupt their routine very often.

  Still slightly affected by the khat, he called it a day as the sun fell quickly towards the opposite horizon. It was only late afternoon, but the trek from Fughmah to Qasam had been long and arduous, despite his best efforts to shut the physical exertion out of his
mind. The long day — coupled with the act of subduing the three checkpoint guards — had tired him considerably.

  He decided to go looking for the blue wooden door that Abu had spoken of earlier that afternoon.

  It didn’t take long to find it.

  The man hadn’t been lying when he’d told Slater that it couldn’t be missed. Set deep into a niche in the wall of a rundown block of quaint Yemeni homes, the blue door was lit dimly by a paraffin lamp hanging off the wall at head-height. Slater strode up to the door with purpose, worried that if he approached it tentatively his actions would arouse suspicion.

  The door was unlocked.

  He pushed it open and went inside.

  He found himself in a sparsely-furnished, low-ceilinged space that housed both a living area and a kitchen-dining quarters. There were no couches or chairs — instead, the shoddily-carpeted floor in the living room was dotted with broad cushions to sit on. All the seating was floor-level, a sight that created an air of homeliness and comfort in the space.

  Several paraffin lamps identical to the light in the entranceway were dotted around the space, each glowing softly, gently illuminating the room. Slater peeled off the long-sleeved shirt he’d been wearing to protect his bare skin from the sun over the course of the day and dropped onto one of the cushions, welcoming the relief. The sheen of sweat across his bare skin only served to accentuate his musculature.

  He rested his back against the wall and closed his eyes, sinking softly into a doze as he waited for Abu to return from his business venture.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered to himself as he dropped off. ‘Why are you here?’

  Every now and again he questioned himself. He had enough money in anonymous offshore accounts to live out the rest of his days in unbridled luxury. Instead he was bare-chested, sweating his bodyweight away in a humid room atop a rocky promontory in war-torn Yemen.

  But, time and time again, he came back to the same conclusion.

  Discomfort made him feel alive.

  He fell into unconsciousness.

  8

  The noise of the front door shifting gently open caused him to stir.

  He heard the noise and shot upright off the cushion, beads of sweat flying uncontrollably off his forehead. Adrenalin flooded his senses, lending him an exhilarating burst of energy. He flew toward the entranceway with his fists balled and his teeth bared.