Chapter 5
Her call concluded, Nevada moved
on to tallying their resources with gung-ho efficiency. She quickly decided they had enough for the remainder of the trip, and with hours of daylight yet, she was equally enthusiastic to get moving again. Candice tried to defer to Usama’s health, but he was in high spirits and quickly swept along by Nevada’s fervor, so Candice found herself going along as well. She couldn’t think of any way to get Usama out of the expedition without precluding herself from it.
Back behind the wheel of the Land Cruiser, Nevada was like a bloodhound on a scent. As if in deference to her will, the desert sands had spread out into long, flat expanses, and Nevada pushed the gas pedal horizontal. The ground was still unpaved, though, and after the first two hours of bumpy driving, Candice wondered if internal organs could have migratory habits. Usama seemed to be enjoying himself, though. Candice supposed when you were used to riding a camel, any amount of suspension was an improvement.
The sun crept down, lighting up the landscape into a chiaroscuro of reaching shadows and burning golds. The fading light burnished the clouds, burnt the dunes, cast the shadows into strong relief until they could’ve been as deep as wells. Nevada flicked on the headlights, their incandescent white igniting the ground ahead in rude detail. Stirring sands drifted like a swarm of insects inside the headlights’ glare; Candice saw Nevada reach for the windshield wipers before realizing how pointless it was.
“Maybe we should call it quits for the night,” Candice suggested. On their left, the sun was kneeling, sucking its light down below the horizon. The desert gold became blue and black and maroon, pushing in oppressively on their burning headlights.
“Quit?” Nevada asked. “I don’t wanna quit. Usama, you wanna quit?”
“ Ma’alesh ,” he replied.
The dusk gave way to the glow of the moon, painting the dunes and clouds silver with the same brush. And as if the moon could exert as much of a pull on the sands as it did on the tides, the ground curled in a series of humps now. Pitching up and down with the headlights only able to expose a fraction of what was in front of them made the vast desert feel somehow claustrophobic.
Then Nevada hit the brakes, grinding the locked tires into the sand until a haze of yellow static pressed in on them on all sides. Ahead, the rolling hills were replaced by an almost sheer slope, a mountainous dune that plunged down from on high like a plummeting roller coaster track. It had to be a hundred feet high, at least, with the incline only a third as wide.
Nevada rolled down her window. A searchlight was mounted on the side mirror and she flared it. Its light made the headlights look anemic, shooting out like a pillar of fire. Nevada turned the light to the left and to the right. The wall they faced stretched on for miles in either direction.
“Now can we stop?” Candice asked. “We’ll find a way around it in the morning.”
Usama nodded agreement. “The desert is easily angered at night—”
“Yeah, I heard that one,” Nevada snapped. “It’s not that high. We can make it.”
She spun the searchlight around, searching behind them until she found a flat stretch of sand between two dunes. Bringing the Land Cruiser around, she sped them through that, then made a tight turn to face the slope again.
“Everyone belted in?” Nevada asked, revving the engine.
Candice self-consciously checked her seatbelt, then Usama’s. “Yeah.”
Nevada laughed. “Pussies.”
She gunned the engine. The tires slashed at the desert floor before catching, and then they were catapulted forward, the acceleration pressing Candice back in her seat. Her tongue thoughtlessly brushed over the bump in her mouth. She was surprised it hadn’t gone down yet. Probably cancer, she told herself.
They hit the slope, tires butting right into the sand before disintegrating it, slapping it down under them. The hood pitched upward—Nevada shifted gears with a grinding grunt. The engine roared, full-throated, and they slugged their way up the incline, engine chugging, the Cruiser nearly vertical.
“So Usama, hey, how are the kids?” Nevada asked, grinding the gears like a fiend.
“Pretty well. Five of them got together trying to sell solar panels, but I think it may be a scam.”
The Cruiser dropped back suddenly and Nevada stomped the brakes and twisted the steering wheel, popping the clutch before they trudged upward again.
“Wait, five of them? That’s not all? How many kids do you have?”
“Twenty-three,” Usama answered. “Counting all four wives.”
Nevada slammed the gearshift again. “Candice, you sure this guy is your grandfather? Maybe this is just how thirty-year-olds look when they have more than a dozen kids.”
Usama laughed, his eyes shifting around nervously. “What about you, Ms. Nevada? Any husbands?”
“Not a one,” Nevada replied. “I always worry that the moment I get into a committed relationship, the producers of The Bachelor are finally going to call me back. I don’t think I could take that kind of heartbreak.”
They were almost to the summit, Nevada nursing the Cruiser every step of the way. It was give and take, a tug of war with gravity, and Nevada was determined to chisel away every last foot of altitude standing in her way. Braking, shifting, working the gas to gain a few feet wherever she could. The engine sounded like it was dying a slow and painful death, but Nevada coaxed more out of it. Candice was beginning to think the woman could get blood from a stone.
“What about you, granddaughter?” Usama asked, breathing easier as the summit’s edge and the night sky beyond swept into view of the headlights. “We haven’t spoken about your personal life. Have you met anyone special?”
Candice was tight-lipped, but Nevada said, “I think I saw her kissing someone a little while ago.”
Candice’s lips pressed even tighter together as the wheels spun tirelessly on the incline, taking them nowhere. “Oh, that’s nothing,” she said after a moment. “Not really a good match.”
Usama spoke up. “Sometimes a match is as good as you make it.”
“You have a positive attitude, Usama,” Nevada said. “I respect that.” She worked the gearshift determinedly. “Although it’s hard to be positive when this Toyota crapola can’t get over a little speedbump. I don’t know how the Japanese kicked Detroit’s ass with cars like this. There had to be—”
The wheels suddenly caught something, some hardness under the sand they were sweeping at, and the Land Cruiser lurched into motion, bringing them up over the summit to see that there was nothing on the other side but the night sky and a sheer drop.
“Shit,” Nevada cursed, standing on the brakes, but the Cruiser had rolled over the spine of the dune and was now momentarily suspended on it, balanced on its undercarriage, both sets of wheels in the air as it tilted forward with the weight of the engine. “Shit!”
The sand compacted under the Cruiser, lowering it, and they sidled forward until the back wheels broke through the top of the dune. The front tires came down on the slope with an exhausted whuff . The sand instantly parted, locked tires slitting through it as they careened downhill. Nevada swerved, trying to break their momentum, but the slightest curve tipped the Land Cruiser onto two wheels, threatening to send them into a rollover. She straightened the wheel and they plummeted like an anchor, headlights showing the bottom of the dune approaching in harrowing detail. Candice swore she could’ve counted the grains of sand that waited to meet them.
The slope evened out, bringing them level in time for another sand dune to loom in their path. There was no chance of traveling up it at the speed they were going. They slammed into the sand, the Land Cruiser burying itself up to the windshield. Nevada’s head careened into the steering wheel while a toolbox detached from the cargo area and whistled by Candice’s ear before cracking the windshield.
Candice felt a tightness across her chest where the seatbelt had cut into it and knew it would absolutely bruise, but otherwise
she was unharmed. She looked around. Nevada pulled her head up from the steering wheel, a gash across the bridge of her bloody nose, while Usama looked like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster.
“Nice parking space you found us,” Candice said.
“Eh. Women drivers,” Nevada replied. “Is my nose broken?”
“Let me check,” Candice said, and flicked her in the nose. Nevada cringed. “No.”
At Candice’s insistence, they all submitted to be inspected for injuries. They couldn’t find anything more severe than a bruise. Candice chalked it up to luck, though a part of her she was too frustrated to give voice to insisted that Nevada’s skillful handling of the vehicle had prevented more severe injuries.
Nevada wanted to dig the Land Cruiser out and keep going, but Candice flatly refused and Usama backed her. With the air of a poker player with a bad hand, she agreed to bunk down for the night.
That was when Usama took his leave, explaining that while it was only natural for two young, unmarried women to share the same resting place, it would be improper for him to be there too. Taking his pack, he unrolled his sleeping bag and set up a small fire within walking distance.
After Candice had prepared for bed—another night spent camping in the Land Cruiser—she stared out the window at Usama’s fire, telling herself he must have roughed it the same way thousands of times in his life. She still felt delinquent, leaving the elderly man to the elements. But she doubted either he or Nevada would agree to him sleeping in the jeep while the women slept outside.
“I’m worried about him,” she said, only half aware that she’d spoken aloud. She slept on the floor, Nevada in the middle seat. They’d crammed the backseat with supplies until it was completely impassible.
In the darkness, the bandage across Nevada’s nose shone white. “What are you worried about? It’s a desert. Do you think Tusken Raiders are gonna get him?”
Candice scowled. Served her right for going to Easy Nevada for sympathy. “Just, he’s old! He should be in a retirement home.”
She heard Nevada turn, and her voice sounded closer. “Pretty sure these guys don’t believe in retirement homes. When it’s your time, they probably just put you on an iceberg, push it out to sea—Goodnight, Gracie.”
Sensing she was being watched, Candice turned onto her back to look up at Nevada. “Iceberg? What are you talking about?”
“You know, a thing, for old people. They gotta have a thing.”
“Like taking the Long Walk to bring law to the lawless.”
“Yeah. Whatever you said.”
Candice turned onto her side, facing away from Nevada again. “You’re right, I’m being silly. It’s probably the sleeping arrangements.”
“What, do I snore? I don’t snore.”
“You don’t snore. It’s just—”
“It’s just like before. You sleep there, I sleep here, you miss out on some top-notch oral, my nubile young body goes to waste in its sexual prime.”
The crack in the windshield was letting in little drips of sand with the breathing of the Earth. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’m sure you’ll be a perfect gentleman… woman… at least when it comes to this. It’s just weird that we’re doing this again.”
Nevada dropped her hand down to run a finger along the curve of Candice’s ear. “Worried you can’t resist temptation a second time?”
Candice turned over so that Nevada’s finger was hanging in front of her face. “Believe me, the more I get to know you, the less temptation there is. Take that finger away or I’m going to bite it.”
Nevada folded her arms back under her head. “I think we should agree on a safe word first.”
Candice ignored her. “My mother used to say that before you have sex with someone, you should sleep in the same bed as them. Just sleep. No funny business.”
“What possible reason could there be for that? To make sure they don’t turn into a dog at night or something?”
“To see if you’re compatible, if you can be intimate without sex.”
“God, that’s stupid.”
“My mother’s advice on love is stupid?” Candice rapped her knuckles against Nevada’s seat. “My mother who’s been married for forty years?”
“Oh, how hard was it to be married forty years ago? Didn’t the man basically own you? If you can fix a pot roast and work a laundry machine, boom, healthy relationship.”
Candice shook her head. “I really wanna meet your parents someday.”
“Me too. But that’s the problem with dating, everyone has a bunch of dumb tests and hoops to jump through because they have to find The One. Women acting like fucking Morpheus—‘Are you the One?’ Like it’s that hard to find someone who can hold down a job and eat pussy.”
“Just for the record, you are single, correct?”
“Yes, thanks for asking. Gay men, now they have the right idea. Fuck on the first date, and if the sex is good, let the other stuff work itself out. It’s like finding a roommate for them, just with condoms. And I would know. My cousin was gay. Well, he moisturized.”
Candice rolled her eyes. “I feel like someday there’s going to be a psychological test named after you.”
“He might’ve just sweated a lot… What?” Nevada asked, lolling her head over the side of the middle seat again, her hair hanging down.
Candice blew it away from her face. “Your approach works fine if you’re some charismatic, beautiful, somewhat slutty woman… who isn’t afraid of axe murderers…”
“That’s why God invented open-carry laws,” Nevada reasoned.
“But if you’re a little more introverted than that, you like the thought of someone getting to know you. Really appreciating you beyond just a warm body. Not giving up on you no matter how hard it gets, because they don’t want to give up on you. Not sex roommates, but friends.”
Nevada hummed in consideration. “Have you thought about how unfair your approach is compared to mine?”
“Oh?”
Nevada raked her hand through her dangling hair, suspending it behind her ear, and Candice felt a curious sense of loss. It had smelled nice. “Yeah, the more you get to know me, the more annoying I get. Meanwhile, you’re still sexy. I still want to fuck you. It’s totally unfair. Check your privilege.”
Candice rolled over again, staring back at the cracked windshield and its slowly penetrating sand. She had a feeling Nevada was about to get all smug again when she said, “You’re not that annoying.”
“Really?” Nevada asked smugly.
“Well, you are, but there are certain redeeming qualities.”
“Such as?”
“The way you never ever fish for compliments.”
Nevada chuckled. “I must be rubbing off on you—you’re actually starting to be funny.”
Candice rolled onto her back, staring out the window upside-down. The desert was beautiful at night, the arid wasteland a thin sheet suspended over a bottomless expanse of stars. All it took was a flip of perspective and what was once desolate became breathtaking.
In her dream, Candice flew over the desert. She was going as fast as a jet, but the desert stretched on and on endlessly. Still, she was flying.
She came awake slowly, becoming aware of her body, a sensation of warmth in her hand that wasn’t of her own flesh. Still half-asleep, it felt like a place to land somehow. She opened her eyes. Nevada’s arm was dangling from the middle seat to hold her hand. Candice looked at Nevada’s face, saw the eyes lazily closed, the expression slack. She was unconscious, her only motion rubbing her thumb against Candice’s hand like someone would rub a rabbit’s foot.
Candice gave her hand a squeeze and Nevada came awake. “What?” she mumbled blearily. “What, what, what?”
“You were holding my hand.”
“What?” Nevada asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her free hand. “No. Was I? Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Candice said. “It’s obvious you’re feeling a little
fragile at the moment and subconsciously you see me as a source of comfort.”
“No, I don’t,” Nevada said quickly.
“It’s flattering, really.”
“I’m not fragile. I’m a badass.” Nevada snatched her hand back. “How do we know you didn’t hold my hand? That seems like the kinda girly thing you’d be into.”
“I was sleeping on the floor! You think I reached up, in my sleep, and took your hand?”
“Yeah, you’re like a very needy person. Seems like a thing that you would do.” Nevada sat up, yawning and stretching. “Hey, wasn’t there a really old guy with us last night?”
Candice looked out the window. Usama’s little camp was still there, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.
“Bollocks,” she muttered.
“This is why you’re supposed to hang your old people up in a tree when you’re camping,” Nevada said. “Make sure a bear doesn’t get them.”
Candice threw a side door open. “Would you come on?”
Moments later, boots on and pulling on their outerwear, they walked up to the campsite. The fire had been reduced to sparking ashes; beside it, stones spelled out BRB.
“I’m not sure which we should be more worried about,” Nevada said. “That he’s missing or that apparently he used to be on AOL.”
Candice heaved a sigh. “I think he did something like this when I was thirteen. Just disappeared for a few hours. My dad didn’t think it was weird. I suppose it’s something of a thing.”
“More importantly, he left his campfire going, which is exactly how you get forest fires.”
Candice looked at her. “What is with you and the hiking jokes this morning?”
“I had a weird dream about a forest. Guess it put me in a mood.”
Candice shrugged. “I dreamt that I was flying.”
“Oh, I can’t beat that,” Nevada said sardonically. “C’mon. While Usama’s playing hooky, we can at least get the jeep dug out.”
That work took the better part of an hour, Nevada and Candice once more putting their shovels to work. The sun was a constant, nagging enemy, but it was tolerable. Candice knew that by the middle of the day, trying to do physical labor would be like subjecting themselves to a blast furnace.
Candice Cushing and the Lost Tomb of Cleopatra Page 14