Just Deserts (6 page)

The path curved and twisted, weaving its way between the dunes. The sun was consistently off to my right, the west. It was already slightly lower in the sky. I just didn't want it to set too soon … I didn't want to be out here in the dark. But really, it was still afternoon, and I couldn't imagine I'd have to travel too long by myself. What had the letter said about that? Had it mentioned a time or a distance? I didn't think so. I just wished I had it so that I could check. Should I go back and try to find it? Ridiculous … it was probably halfway across the desert by now.

I felt a sense of panic starting to rise again. I had to fight it. I told myself to calm down and be logical. I didn't have the letter, I didn't need the letter, and all that mattered was that I had to keep moving. I picked up the pace from a ramble to a march.

The path continued to cut back and forth between the dunes. I wished I could see farther ahead, but the
dunes were too high. The only solution was for me to climb up one and look around.

As soon as I started up, the sand under my feet started down, shifting and sifting as I pushed against it to climb. I was making some progress but it was very slow. I dropped down on all fours, using my hands and feet to propel myself upward, and finally got to the top of the dune.

I stood up and looked all around. What I could see was simply more of the same—windswept sand dunes, brown on brown, punctuated by the occasional faded green of a shrub somehow clinging to life. The view certainly wasn't worth the price I'd paid to get up there.

I slid back down the side of the dune, a wave of sand sweeping ahead of me. I started along the path again and then hesitated—I was going in the right direction, wasn't I? It was so easy to get disoriented, to get turned around, because everything was the same in all directions. It wasn't as if there were any landmarks or signs or … but maybe there were a few. I looked down in the sand and found my tracks showing the way I'd come, which of course showed the way I needed to go as well.

I started moving more confidently and picked up the pace.

As I marched along I tried my best to look around. If there was anything to see, I wanted to see it. I was
also starting to experience a creeping anxiety, a feeling that could almost be described as paranoia. I began to wonder if there was somebody watching me. Quickly I spun around. Nobody. Nothing. It was actually kind of disappointing.

I knew—well, at least I hoped I knew—that there was another human being close, the guide. But what if something had happened to him, or I'd made a wrong turn and I couldn't find him, or he couldn't find me? If the letter was right, I was a long way from anybody else. What a strange twist, from being worried that somebody was watching me to being worried that nobody was.

I tried to remember whether I'd ever been in a situation like this before. Had I ever been this isolated, this alone in such a desolate place, without people? Certainly we'd vacationed in some pretty exotic locations—islands in the Pacific, on safari in the wilds of Kenya—but I'd never been alone. My father was never more than a room or a tent away, and of course we were surrounded with other tourists or staff. Here, there were no other people stupid enough to think of this as a tourist destination. I was very, very alone. Or was I? I could use my phone to call my father!

I reached into my pocket for my cellphone—and it wasn't there. Had it fallen out when I was scrambling up the dune? I checked the other pocket, the place
where my wallet would usually be. It was empty, too. I couldn't imagine that they'd both fallen out. They must have been taken out of my pockets before I left the plane, probably while I was passed out … I mean, sleeping. That was annoying, to think that they'd been deliberately taken, but it did fit with the craziness of what was being done to me. And come to think of it, it wasn't like there'd be any cellphone reception out here anyway.

I couldn't call my father, but I started to rehearse in my head the conversation I'd eventually have with him. He had given me choices about what I could do with the money. I could think of some things I might do. If he thought this little lesson, this humiliation, was going to make me do what he wanted, he wasn't nearly as smart as he'd always thought he was. Ultimately there was going to be a lesson taught, but maybe I was the one who was going to teach it.

I SUCKED OUT
the last little bit of water from the contraption I was carrying. Whatever more I'd need would have to come from the guide. Where was he, anyway? I had been walking for almost four hours and the sun was now so low that some of the taller dunes cast long shadows. Whenever one of those fell across the path the temperature dropped dramatically, and it was tempting to just stay there out of the sun. So far that temptation hadn't been as strong as the urge to
keep moving, though. Shadows were good, but nightfall was a terrifying prospect, and I was guessing that I didn't have much more than about an hour of daylight left. I had to find this guide before dark.

Then I remembered that flashlight, the headlamp in my pack. I wouldn't be completely in the dark. Assuming it had batteries and it worked. I didn't even want to think about that. No, when the time came, I'd pull it out and it would work. I wasn't going to waste any more time worrying.

I shot a glance over to one side. Nothing but dune. What did I expect? A number of times over the past few hours, I'd have sworn I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, but there was never anybody there. Or I'd get the feeling I was walking beside something—a building or a car or a store—that turned out to be nothing more than the shadows of bushes and dunes. More paranoia, I guess. Then again, maybe I deserved to be a little paranoid, considering I'd been dropped off in the middle of a desert with night falling.

I began to wonder whether maybe the guide was secretly shadowing me. That made some sense. I started to think that my father wouldn't really have risked my life by putting me out here completely alone to stumble around out in the dunes, maybe making a wrong turn and ending up lost. I probably
was
being watched. I could just picture the guide peeking over a dune, keeping a watchful eye on me. How strange, to feel reassured that some random guy was stalking me.

 I stumbled, tried to regain my balance, but failed and fell face first into the sand. I started to get up, but stopped myself. This was the rest I needed. I pulled off the pack, set it down on the sand beside me and leaned against it.

There had been a stone in my shoe for the last ten or fifteen minutes. Sand I could handle, but the stone was getting annoying. I removed the shoe, dumped out the stone and sand … and I had that same sense that something was lurking just outside my view. This time I wasn't going to give in to the temptation, I wasn't going to look. It was hot, I was thirsty and out of water, but I wasn't out of my mind.

And then the object that wasn't there moved!

I jerked my head to the side. Standing in the pathway was a gigantic camel! Its head was turned to the side and it was staring at me with one large, watery eye, slowly working its jaw, chewing.

I did a quick inventory of my camel knowledge: can go without water for long periods of time, known as ships of the desert and, most important for me right now, definitely vegetarian. I wouldn't have to fear it unless I was a turnip. It was harmless—no, that was wrong, they could kick, I remembered that. And didn't they like to spit? Was he chewing to work up a big wad of gob and green to spit at me?

“Go away, camel,” I said in a low voice. I waved my hands in a little shooing motion, since he probably didn't understand English and I definitely didn't speak camel.

He didn't move, at least not his feet, but he did appear to be staring at me harder. Maybe he was trying to understand what I was saying. Maybe I was confusing him. Were confused animals more dangerous?

Slowly I got to my feet. “Go away,” I said again, and this time my voice was louder. I was trying to sound more, well, more confident.

The camel didn't seem to pick up on the subtle nuances of my voice. Either that or he realized that he was about seven times as big as me. And then I remembered what I'd remembered on the runway, that trick of holding my hands above my head around bears. This wasn't a bear, but it was an animal, and I did want to scare it.

I lifted my arms over my head so that I would appear bigger. Still, even with my hands up high, I was shorter than him. This just made it look like I was surrendering. If he'd have been willing to lead me to water, I'd have been more than willing to be his prisoner. Or what if I captured him? I could ride him to wherever I was going! On the other hand, I didn't have a lasso or a tranquilizer gun in my pack. It was probably more realistic to hope we could call this a draw, so that both of us could get going. Now I just
had to hope the camel felt the same.

“Okay, camel,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “You move, and I'll go by and get on my way.”

In response he shuffled a few feet forward until he was standing in the very middle of the path, directly in front of me. I wasn't leaving the path and climbing the dunes, so there was no way I could get past him now unless he moved.

Maybe if I threw something at him. But what? I felt the orange in my pocket. Not my weapon of choice, and I figured I might need it if that guide didn't show up soon.

I scanned the ground for a rock and saw nothing but sand. Perhaps I could throw a handful of that and get it in his eyes. Again, not an example of particularly bright thinking. If sand in his eyes was going to be a problem, he probably wouldn't have been living out here.

There was only one thing to do. Time to take charge. When in doubt, the best strategy was to act like you weren't afraid. Show no fear.

“Get out of my way, you stupid beast!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I jumped forward and— He charged toward me!

I scrambled backwards, tripping and landing face first again in the sand. I flipped over quickly, just in time to see the camel run past, up and then over the sand dune, disappearing from my view.

I guess I showed
him
who was boss.

Suddenly, right beside me, a hand reached toward me out of nowhere! I jerked over to one side, crawled on all fours and then turned back around. Standing there was a man in a flowing robe with a bright blue turban wrapped around his head and face.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MAN JUST STOOD THERE
, towering over me and my pack. He was staring right at me. Not that I could see his eyes directly. Just as his face was mostly hidden by that turban, his eyes were shielded behind a pair of darkly tinted sunglasses—Oakleys. How strange; they were very expensive, the latest fashion. Somehow that was reassuring—maybe because it was familiar, or maybe just because I could identify with somebody who had such style. On the other hand, maybe he'd
killed
somebody who had style and taken his sunglasses.

“Hello,” I called out tentatively.

He didn't answer but he did take a step toward me, his hand still extended. Was he offering to help me up or did he just want to grab me? I wasn't taking any chances. I quickly got up without his assistance and backed away a couple of steps.

“Are you my guide?” I asked.

By way of an answer, he turned and walked away.

“Hey, where are you going?” I yelled, but he kept walking.

Guide or no guide, he was a human being, somebody who drank water and had to live somewhere and might have both drink and shelter to spare. Even if he was dangerous and a stranger, how much more strange and dangerous could he be than the fact of my being out here alone?

I started after him, grabbing my pack as I ran by. He was moving slowly and I quickly caught up. He gave a sideways glance but continued walking.

“I'm looking for my guide,” I said. “I thought that was you.”

No answer. No change in pace. No response. Was he deaf?

“I figure it must be you because who else would be out here except my guide?”

No answer.

“Stupid Arab, can't speak English,” I muttered under my breath.

He suddenly stopped and turned to face me.
“Parlez-vous français?”

“What? Oh … French … Um,
parle un petite français
.”

He started speaking in mile-per-minute French, and I couldn't understand any of it. My French was pretty well limited to counting to ten and ordering food.

“No, no,
petite
French I
parle
.”

He stopped talking and nodded his head.
“Sprechen
Sie Deutsch?”

“What?”

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

“Oh, that's, that's German.”

“
Ja, ja, das ist
German,” he said.
“Sprechen Sie
Deutsch?”

“Nein,”
I said, offering one of the few German words I knew that didn't involve the names of auto-mobiles.

“
Pas français, nicht Deutsch
. Arabic?”

I shook my head. “I only speak
English,
” I said, saying the words slowly and loud. “Ah … English … interesting.”

For a split second I almost didn't realize that he'd used an English word. “What is
interesting
?” I said, emphasizing the one word we seemed to have in common.

“That I'm a stupid Arab but I speak four languages, and you seem to be stumbling along in the one you
do
speak,” he said.

“You speak English?” I gasped.

“Apparently with greater fluency than you do. Do you really think that by talking louder, more slowly and using hand gestures, you can transcend language?” he asked.

“But … but …”

“Concentrate. Think of the words and they'll come. You can do it.”

I felt a surge of anger. “Why didn't you answer me when I spoke English?”