Just Deserts (5 page)

I slipped the orange into my pocket. Maybe later.

I shuffled my way to the side, off the runway. The position of the sun, high in the sky, was such that there was virtually no shade anywhere. The best I could do was just slump against the sand dune. At least it would be soft.

I started to settle into the sand and then had an interesting thought. What if I just went over the dune? If there
was
a resort, it might be right on the other side, or if it wasn't, maybe I could see it from up there. And if my transport should happen to come while I was off exploring, it would only make it more believable that I was scared to death, so scared that I practically ran off into the desert to my almost certain death. That would make everyone feel even worse.

I scrambled up the side of the dune, and sand avalanched down. It seemed like half of it was going into my leather loafers. Certainly my school shoes were not the best for a day at the beach or the desert.
Of course if it had been old McWilliams, he would have been in his tweed jacket and school tie, perfectly knotted. What was that saying, only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun?

I crested the hill. From that elevation, I could see farther. The problem was, there really wasn't much more to see. Just sand dunes leading to more sand dunes. Everything looked the same. This desert was obviously designed by somebody with no imagination or access to palettes of colour.

I slid back down the dune to the flat that formed the runway. At the bottom was a small, faded, stunted bush, somehow clinging to life against all odds. If it had been bigger, it might have provided some shade.

Sitting down, I opened up the zipper at the top of the backpack. First lucky score: a beige baseball hat just inside. I pulled it out. Hanging from the back was a sort of curtain, designed to protect the sides and back of the neck. Not particularly fashionable, but since I'd just stepped off another type of runway, I was going with function over fashion. I slipped it on, and my head and neck and eyes immediately felt some relief from the sun.

Next up was … what was it? It had mesh and harnesses and snaps and a hose. It looked like some sort of strange bra or— No, I'd seen one of these before. Long-distance runners used them to carry
water, that's what it was. Now if it was filled with water, I'd have something I could really use.

I pulled it out. The weight and the sloshing sound signalled that I'd hit pay dirt, or at least pay water. I fiddled with the little valve at the end of the hose, which was really like a long straw leading into the little compartment in the back. I put the end in my mouth and started to suck, but there was no flow. I pulled the valve and water surged into my mouth. It was warmish, but wonderful! I really wasn't much of a fan of water—it had no sugar, no caffeine and no alcohol—but this might have been the best water I'd drunk in my entire life.

I pulled the hose out of my mouth and put the whole thing down beside the pack.

Next up was a pair of running shoes. I checked. My size. Tucked inside were socks, and when I pulled them out, I realized that they were strange socks, sort of like foot gloves, with each toe having a separate little pocket to slip into. They were funny, but white and clean and certainly a better choice than my black dress socks. I slipped off my shoes and socks and put on the ones provided. They didn't feel bad at all.

Farther down was a sleeping bag. I had to give them full credit—they were playing out each little detail as if I were actually going to be spending the night in the desert. Or were they really planning to leave me out here that long … or longer?

That thought hit me square between the eyes. Maybe this wasn't just a bad joke or a warning or a threat. Maybe I
was
being left here in the desert. If only I could talk to my father, or— Wait, Captain Evans had said there was a letter in here somewhere!

I dug down even more, pulling out a couple of shirts and two more pairs of stupid socks—and then I saw it. An envelope taped to the flap of the pack. I ripped it out and pulled out the letter. I recognized my father's handwriting.

Dear Ethan,

I know you must be terribly confused, a little scared and thinking, hoping, praying, that the plane will return. It will not. This is not an attempt to scare you straight and then swoop in to rescue you. I've done too much rescuing in the past.

There is only one way out for you now, and that's across the desert. Two hundred kilometres from where you sit is the city of Tunis. You have in this backpack the necessary tools to start your journey. But you will not be alone—I would never completely abandon you in that way.

I have been told that at the south end of the runway is a road, really not much more than a goat path. You need to follow that. Stay on the track, and do not stray. Waiting for you down
that path is a man who knows the desert better than almost any man alive. He will be your guide and give you assistance to journey the rest of the way. But before you get to him, you'll have to complete the first part of the trip. You must take the first steps on your own.

I know you must think I'm a terrible person right now. Perhaps you've already thought that for a long time. I have to apologize for what I've done, and what I didn't do, over the past years. I thought that I was providing you with all the advantages, that I was giving you the best. I think it was partly my sense of guilt—for spending so much time on business and so much time away—and partly the promise I made to your mother on her deathbed that you would lack for nothing, that have caused so many of my mistakes. Not that I'm blaming her in any way. If she'd been here, by our side, none of this would have happened. She would have shown me my mistakes, helped you to understand yours, and kept us all on the right path.

In the end, all those things I gave you only became a burden that weighed you down. Your lack of disadvantage became, in fact, your biggest disadvantage. It's a lesson I've been slow to learn, but I've come to realize that in my feeble attempts to do the best for you, I've done
the worst. In my attempt to give you everything, I've given you nothing. At least nothing that matters or lasts. By smoothing the road and taking out all the bumps, I have deprived you of the ability to make your own way. You need to take your own road, as we all do.

You now have two options.

You can sit there on the runway, waiting for something or someone to return, waiting for a miracle, waiting for me to somehow arrange for you to be rescued. I will not be coming. No one will be coming. If you sit and do nothing, you will die. As I write these words, I realize how cruel they sound. They are not meant to be cruel. They are meant to spur you on to go forward, to change the direction you have been on in the last few years. The path you are now on is like a slow suicide. This is my attempt to change that path.

The second option you have—the one I pray you will pursue—is to get up, put on the backpack and travel those first steps, to meet the guide and complete the journey toward your new life.

When you arrive in Tunis, the guide will take you to a law office. There, waiting for you, are documents drawn up by our lawyer. These documents provide you with a trust fund. Each
year, for the next five years, you will be given a lump sum of money. This trust is sufficient to fully pay your tuition at an excellent school of your choice, plus all your living expenses.

The amount of money you will receive is dependent upon the time it takes you to reach Tunis. You have one week—seven days—if you wish to gain the maximum financial return. Each day after that will bring a ten percent reduction—the amount I deduct from my employees when they fail to make a deadline. If it takes you seventeen days, you will receive nothing. This clause was put in place to let you know that the future is now, that delaying and wasting time is what caused a great many of your problems to begin with. You must seize the day and go forward.

Along with the trust fund information, there is a plane voucher. It is an open-ended ticket that can be redeemed for whatever city you choose. I hope you will use it to come home, but I will have to accept it if you choose to go somewhere else. I have to accept it because I cannot change it. Maybe you don't even feel that you have a home to return to—but you do.

I am also aware that with this money, you could make the choice to simply finance a decadent lifestyle. It is certainly enough money to
allow you to spend the next five years doing nothing but drinking, partying and wasting your time with questionable people, doing questionable things. That will be your decision.

As you can imagine, I hope you will choose the right route, but I have come to understand, belatedly and sadly, that I have limited control over the decisions you make. I have made the terrible mistake of thinking that since I control so much—so many people, so many companies and so much money—I could also control you. I cannot.

I know that what I'm doing will cause you pain, and you might want to give me pain in return—not so much for what I'm doing now, but for what I have or haven't done for so long. I already feel so much pain. I just pray that you will come back to me because you've already been gone so long.

I know you are capable of making the right choice. I only ask that you don't make a decision simply for the sake of proving me right or wrong, to make me proud, or pissed off, or sorry. This is all about you and has nothing to do with me. That was maybe the hardest lesson I had to learn. This is about you and your life.

I am so sorry for the harm I have done. None of it was ever deliberate or for lack of love. This
is going to be the hardest thing you have ever done. I know it's been the hardest thing I've ever done. I know you can do it.

All my love,

Dad

I dropped the letter to the sand. This was all real. Far too real.

CHAPTER SIX

I WAS TOO STUNNED
to even think straight. I desperately wanted to believe that this was just a further extension of the lesson—okay, you made your point, I get it, won't happen again—and
now
the plane would come flying back into sight. I really wanted to believe that, but I knew better. My father may not have always been a big part of my life, but when he was there, he was always truthful—at least with me. Business, of course, was a different thing, because subterfuge, misinformation and outright lying were all part of the game, but he was always truthful with the people he cared for. I guess the saying “Like father, like son” didn't always hold true.

Then I thought that maybe I'd misread the letter. Had he actually said those things? I glanced down to the ground, but the letter wasn't there anymore. I looked all around and just caught sight of the white sheet of paper flying up and over the sand dune and disappearing from sight. I could have chased it, but I doubted I could catch it, and there wasn't much
point anyway. No matter how much I wished I'd misread it, I hadn't.

The letter said I had two options—although really, was dying an option?

Okay, so there was supposed to be a road at the south end of the runway, but which way was south? I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing it right, but that also meant a fifty-fifty chance of taking a long, hot walk in a northerly direction.

Wait, my father had written that I had everything I needed. What I needed was a compass. He wouldn't have asked me to go south if I didn't have a way to know which direction was south. My father would have taken care of that detail … but he probably wasn't the person who'd packed this bag. Please, let there be a compass.

I dug deeper into the bag and started pulling everything out. Soon I had a yard-sale collection of clothing, another drinking container, a flashlight that would strap to my head and a string of some sort of flashing lights that would hang on me, a pair of sandals, some granola bars and some packages of flash-dried food—I'm sure those would taste just wonderful—and then, there it was!

I picked up the compass, and the little arrow spun around wildly before settling down and pointing in one direction: north. The clearing wasn't exactly aligned straight north to south, but it was obvious
which direction I had to go. Quickly I stuffed everything back into the pack, leaving out one item—the water-filled bladder bra thing. I pulled it over my shoulder and then tried to close the clasps without success. I didn't have any experience with taking off or putting on brassieres. I guess that was one of the secondary effects of being educated in boys' schools.

I put the straw end of the hose into my mouth, released the valve and took a long sip. I didn't usually drink water that wasn't imported and sparkling and cold, but again, it was nothing short of spectacular.

I started walking down the runway, following the tracks of the plane until I got to the spot where it had lifted off and left me behind. I was now treading on virgin ground, no tracks. I looked back and noticed that my feet were barely leaving an imprint.

Up ahead a path was clearly visible. It led off from the runway and cut away through the dunes. I took a few steps and then stopped. There was a certain finality to all of this. While I was here—and here really was no place—it was as if there was still a chance they'd come back and get me. Once I left, I was clearly accepting that I had officially been abandoned and that I'd officially given up hope.

I took a deep breath and started walking ahead. There was no point in fantasizing. Staying was taking the option of dying. There'd been more than a few times in my life when I'd thought about killing
somebody, but it had never been in my head to harm myself. Suicide … now that made no sense.

The path leading away was much softer underfoot than the runway, and I was leaving tracks behind me in the sand. That had a calming effect. I could always find my way back if I needed to, like Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of bread crumbs on their way through the forest to the gingerbread house. Right then, I'd have been very happy to see a house, or some gingerbread, or even the witch from that story.