by Grant Price
‘Where’s the water?’
‘There are a few mouthfuls left in the can. That’s it.’
‘You’re sure there’s nothing else?’
‘There’s nothing back there except the medicine.’
‘I have to drink. I can’t swallow.’
‘Do what you have to do.’
He shook the canteen. He’d be able to finish it in a second if he wanted to. He unscrewed the cap and held the rim to his lips. When a few drops wet his tongue, he took it away. It did little to relieve the pain.
‘Did we reach the crossroad at least?’ asked Ghazi.
‘Yes. Eastern fork. I went until dawn. The engine died before the sun came up. I wanted to wake you. But I must have passed out.’ He stared at the dials and the needles that sat at zero. ‘Christ. I’m sorry.’
‘Forget it. It isn’t going to help us now. Look at the juice meter. The battery’s fine.’
‘Could be the controller then. Or the potentiometers. Dust and sand clogging up everything.’
‘I’m going to check.’
‘It’s over 45 degrees out there.’
‘Not much different to in here.’
‘We need to get under the rig. Wait it out.’
‘No. We need to do this while we still have the strength. Understand?’
The wound on his head itched. His vision was clouded. He wanted to lie down and let the darkness wash over him once more. But Ghazi spoke the truth. ‘Okay.’
The mechanic adjusted his keffiyeh and goggles. Cassady slid between the seats to the cargo bed. Every movement was an effort. The crates of medicine were still strapped down, utterly useless to them. The storage compartments were mostly bare. He stripped off the sodden rag covering the gash and found another semi-clean piece of fabric that he wound around his head. He used another length to cover his face. The cab door slammed shut and the hood creaked open. He strapped on his goggles and climbed over the tailgate. Despite the protection, the sun hit him so hard he thought he might fall to the floor. There was nothing to see in any direction. Just sand and sky and the heat haze. He tried not to retch. On weak legs, he dragged himself to the front of the rig, taking care not to come into contact with the boiling metal.
Ghazi leaned into the engine. ‘Connections are corroded,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘We’ll start there. Pass me a screwdriver.’
He’d forgotten the tool kit. He returned to the cargo bed and untied the bungees that held the kit in place. Back outside, he cracked the box and handed the screwdriver over. The air was a battering ram that pummelled them with every breath and sucked the moisture from their bodies. Ghazi forced the tip of the screwdriver under the caps on the controller and pulled out the three yellow wires on top. He spent minutes inspecting, cleaning and reattaching them to the housing. Cassady handed him tools as he asked for them. When he was finished, Ghazi closed the hood and retreated to the cab. Cassady stood back from the engine and watched while he readied himself in the driver’s seat. He pushed the button. Nothing happened.
The sun rose higher while they worked. Ghazi remained bent under the hood, his face obscured from view, stopping occasionally to rub his temples and rest on the bumper. The pressure grew under Cassady’s skin and the wound itched until it became torturous. Each time he looked at the body under the hood, it took his eyes a few seconds to focus. The sound of his own breathing rattled through the crevices of his skull until he thought he might start to scream. The cloth around his head rustled with every movement. At some point, he lost all sensation in his hands and dropped the tool box. He wiped his fingers across the back of his arm, entranced by the movement. His body had stopped sweating. He balled his fist and pressed it into his stomach. Nausea wouldn’t leave him alone. Part of him registered that he had heatstroke. His mind and his limbs were trapped in quicksand, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to free himself. He glanced at the horizon again and breathed in another mouthful of burning air. The ground was inviting. He could lay himself out on the floor, take off the keffiyeh and wait for the sun to fry the few circuits that were still working. It would be easy. Instead, he reached into the box and handed Ghazi another tool.
In the early evening, Ghazi straightened up.
‘You called it,’ he whispered. ‘The potentiometers.’
Cassady leaned against the body of the pantech, no longer able to hold himself upright without support. Ghazi ran a rag across the metal cylinder, bent the terminals back into place and made sure the shafts lined up. He reattached them to the cable that emerged from the accelerator pedal and closed the hood gently. If it didn’t work he wouldn’t open it again.
He climbed into the cab. The door hung open. Cassady pushed himself away from the truck and fell onto the hot sand. Behind the glass, Ghazi looked up at the roof of the cab and said something. He ran his hands over the wheel and pushed the starter.
Warspite shook itself into life. A faint whirr drifted out from under the hood and was swallowed by the desert.
Ghazi switched off the engine and sat without moving for several minutes. When he was ready, he slowly climbed out of the vehicle and walked around to where Cassady sat. Tears cut through the grime on his cheeks.
‘I’ll make sure everything’s in place. Then we can go. Hang on, Cass.’ He turned, lifted the cover and dipped his head into the engine again.
A dot shimmered on the horizon in the east. A mirage. Cassady closed his eyes and found the energy to open them again. It was still there. The dot became larger, black, moving at speed, surrounded by deformed air and puffs of sand. Cassady tried to work up enough saliva in his throat to call out, but it was impossible. He dragged himself across the sand and his shaking hand wrapped itself around Ghazi’s leg. His partner croaked something, but didn’t emerge from the engine. He looked to the east once more. The dot had turned and was moving towards them. He was sure of it. With his remaining strength he raised his fist and hammered it against the radiator grille. The Old Lady shook. Ghazi lifted his head out of the engine and was about to speak when he, too, spotted the blur of movement on the desert plains.
‘Look,’ he whispered.
Cassady nodded. He rested his head against the bumper. It was hot.
‘It’s coming towards us, Cass.’
There was the sand, the sky, and a vehicle that rode the line between the two. The wheels were as large as Warspite. A rounded body hovered above them.
‘We need to get back inside the truck.’ He could hear Ghazi’s voice coming from somewhere. The bumper continued to burn through the cloth covering his head. He made an effort to move his legs, but they were too heavy.
‘Get up, Cass.’
He saw the others. Hearst, alone, abandoned and mortally wounded at the bottom of a valley. Brandt and Wyler charging at death, the sound of a lit fuse in their ears. Tagawa and Victor clearing the skies. Now it was his turn. Not with a bang but a whimper, surrounded by nothing, with not even enough energy to get to his feet. His blurry gaze settled on the endless sand. What had the world looked like before this?
Rough hands grabbed him underneath the armpits. His head rolled from one shoulder to the other. He was being dragged backwards. The heels of his boots left twin trails in the sand. The hands let go of him and he fell onto his back. He closed his eyes. A banging sound filled the air and an inner voice told him it was the tailgate being dropped. He forced his eyelids open. Ghazi stood over him.
‘Stay awake.’
He made to nod, but Ghazi was already bending down to grab his arm. He felt a shoulder being wedged into his chest and Ghazi heaved as he tried to lift him up. He pushed with his legs and he left the ground. All he could see was the floor and the backs of Ghazi’s trousers. Then he felt himself being lowered again. The back of his head hit the cargo bed with a soft thud. Walls of heat collapsed all around him. There was no air left to breathe. A final shove brought him level with a wooden box. He couldn’t remember what was inside. The tailgate slammed shut. He was alone. This was hi
s coffin. He’d run as far as he ever would. And it was okay, he told himself. It was okay.
10
The foreign vehicle sailed over the sand as a ship on a yellow ocean. There was no whirr, no whine, no creaking. The wheels were easily three times the size of Warspite’s. Perched atop them was a cockroach-like metal shell lined with PV cells. The windows were tinted.
Ghazi stood with his back to Warspite and unravelled his keffiyeh. Sand billowed around his feet. The day hadn’t been real. Time had stopped. He’d been tested to breaking point. His body shook with fatigue, his thoughts were scattered, but he still stood, and now he waited for what would come next.
The vehicle stopped. Rope ladders dropped down from either side of the cockroach shell and slapped against the sand. Two figures in dark jumpsuits and headscarves emerged and climbed down. Long-barrelled firearms were visible against their backs. They approached the immobile truck with caution.
Ghazi held his arms above his head, palms out, and made a full revolution to show he was unarmed. Then he lifted his goggles from his eyes. His vision swam. He couldn’t see their faces.
A female voice called out to him in a language he didn’t understand. He shook his head.
‘Identify,’ said a male voice. His accent was strong.
‘Supply run.’ His vocal cords shuddered with the effort of speaking. ‘Sent by Giacomo Lupo to La Talpa base.’
The pair glanced at one another. They took a few steps closer.
‘You are here,’ said the female voice disbelievingly.
His arms fell to his sides and he closed his eyes. It wasn’t a dream any longer. It was real. His thin legs wavered and blood rushed to his head. Before he went down, he felt a strong grip against his arm. His eyelids fluttered open. The two strangers in the dark jumpsuits were beside him, and they held him upright.
‘Easy. Take it easy.’
They guided him to their vehicle and sat him down in the hollow of one of the great wheels.
‘Drink this.’ The woman unclipped a long, thin bottle from her belt and handed it to him. He put it to his lips. ‘Slow.’ She took off her headscarf to reveal a pale young face with a patchwork of scars on her left cheek and temple. Her gaze never left him as he drank. The liquid inside was sweet.
‘What is it?’
‘Electrolyte solution.’
‘My partner’s in the back. He’s in a bad way.’
‘I’ll see to him,’ said the man, heading over to Warspite. The woman spoke again.
‘How long did you drive?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Medicine?’
‘It’s there.’ He took another drink and set the bottle down beside him. The dizziness receded, but his body was still ready to shut down. ‘Is there anybody left?’
Even with his blurred vision, he could see a muscle twitch by her jaw when he asked the question.
‘There have been deaths.’
‘How many?’
‘Enough.’ She crouched down so they were eye to eye. ‘But please. We did not expect you to come. You have done a great thing. We take you now to La Talpa. Use the medicine. Then we rebuild.’
Time slowed once more as he processed what she had said. His heartbeat rose. Though she tried to disguise it, he heard the resignation in her voice, as though all the energy that had once driven her had been wrung out until there was not a drop left. He wanted to get back on the road and drive away. He didn’t care where. His head dropped.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘What is your name?’
He looked up. ‘Ghazi.’
‘We owe you.’ She struggled to find the correct term. ‘We owe you a debt.’
He shook his head. ‘No, there are no debts in this world,’ he whispered.
‘How many with you?’
‘There were nine of us. We are the last two.’
Warspite’s tailgate clanged shut and the man returned and exchanged a look with the woman. ‘We have to get you to the base. Your friend needs a doctor. I’ve done what I can for him.’
Ghazi nodded. He collected his energy and forced himself to stand. His legs quivered. ‘I’ll follow you.’ He felt nauseous with every movement, but the pressure in his head had eased off.
‘Are you sure?’ said the man. ‘I can take your vehicle.’
‘I brought her this far. I’m not handing her over now.’
‘Okay. The drive is thirty minutes. We’ll follow the tracks. Your vehicle will sink if we return the same way.’
‘Take this,’ said the woman, handing him another bottle. ‘Use the horn if you must stop.’
Dusk had fallen while they had been talking. Ghazi focused on keeping his legs steady as he walked back to the truck. Thirty minutes. He could make it. He had to. With a supreme effort, he pulled himself into the driver’s seat and took a few seconds to get his breath back. There had been casualties. That’s what she’d said. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. There would be enough time later. He looked between the seats. Cassady lay on the bed, skin shiny and unreal, eyes rolling in his head. He was muttering to himself. The huge desert truck spun in the sand and joined the barely visible trail. Ghazi twisted the key and pushed the button. She started first time. He put the Old Lady into gear, eased the accelerator down, felt the vibrations in his body and pulled away from the spot where he’d been so sure they would die.
He kept as close to the other vehicle as he could. Before long the track entered a cluster of dead single-storey structures and broke right. They left the tracks behind. There were no markings to follow, no vegetation, no islands of rock to disturb the landscape. He wound down the window and listened to the sand being kicked up by the tyres. He took another drink of solution from the bottle. Cassady whimpered in the back.
‘Hang on, dostem,’ he said. ‘We’re almost there.’
When a set of lamps on top of the desert truck flicked on, he reached for the switch next to the steering column. The left-hand lamp sputtered and died. He patted the dashboard and asked the Old Lady to hold on. She was keeping it together just for them.
Dusk turned to night and still they drove. The thirty-minute mark passed without the other vehicle showing any signs of stopping. Ghazi kept his eyes on the two red lamps floating ahead of him. He rolled the window up. It was becoming cool. He finished the last of the solution. He hadn’t eaten for nearly two days, but he wasn’t hungry.
A shout came from the cargo bed. ‘All of them!’
‘Just hold on,’ he said. There was a murmur and a scraping noise. He turned to see what was happening.
The ghost of Cassady’s face hovered between the seats. He stared at Ghazi with an expression of complete lucidity.
‘The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men, and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity.’
A grin slashed Cassady’s face in half and a high-pitched laugh filled the cab. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Fear caught Ghazi by the throat and threatened to throttle him.
‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Lie down. Please, Edward. Lie down.’
The pitch rose and the sick howling rang in his ears.
‘Please,’ he shouted. He balled his fist, ready to bring it down on Cassady’s skull.
The laughter ceased. The face disappeared. Another groan rattled around the cargo bed and then the only sound was the hum of the transmission. Ghazi breathed deeply and released his grip on the wheel. Ahead, the desert truck slowed down. He shifted into second.
A wall of sheer rock appeared without warning. The sea of sand crashed against it. The vehicle stopped, and Ghazi pulled up behind it. A rope ladder fell to the ground once more and the driver climbed down, rounded the tyres and disappeared for a few moments. When he returned, he waved to Ghazi and pointed over his shoulder before shimmying back up the ladder. As Ghazi watched, the vehicle moved off and was swallowed by darkness.
/> Part of the rock had given way. Beyond it was the mouth of a tunnel that sloped sharply down into the earth. Ghazi didn’t waste time admiring it. As Warspite passed beyond the rock face into the tunnel, his attention was drawn to a complex series of cogwheels spinning on both sides of the opening. Once the truck was safely inside, the wall swung closed again with a thud.
A smooth concrete track led the two vehicles down into the earth. Spotlights overhead illuminated rough stone walls and a metal lattice that held the ceiling in place. The deeper they went, the wider and higher the tunnel became. Ghazi kept the Old Lady going at a steady pace, following the desert truck further and further into the subterranean gloom. They passed a checkpoint of some kind, manned by figures wearing the same dark jumpsuits as the vehicle crew. Pillboxes on either side of the track bristled with automatic weapons, all aiming at Warspite’s tyres. The number of lights beaming down increased and the concrete gave way to metal slats that groaned under the weight of the ancient pantech. After a few minutes, the incline evened out and the tunnel opened into a large chamber with smaller passageways leading away from it in multiple directions. The desert truck rolled to a halt without making a noise. Warspite rattled and sighed as Ghazi shut her down. His hand was a dead weight on top of the gear stick. He stared dully at the vacant, floodlit chamber. He’d made it. And now he would find out if it had been worth it.
11
The crew climbed down from the shell of the gigantic vehicle and beckoned for Ghazi to join them. After looping the key around his neck, he squeezed through the seats into the back and rested a hand on the unconscious Cassady’s brow. It was sticky with sweat and blood.
‘We’re here, dostem,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll get you some help now.’
He eased himself over the tailgate. The air was warm underground, but the temperature was far from the hell that had brought him to the brink in the desert. His boots rang against the metal planks as he rounded the front of the Old Lady. Each of the smaller passageways was blocked by a heavy metal door, and each one was too narrow for anything larger than a quad. He joined the crew standing in the shadow of one of the tyres.