Sentimental Journey (35 page)

“Lean forward,” he told her. “It’s easier.”

He was right.

The air was growing cooler pretty fast. “It’s getting dark, isn’t it?”

“The best time to walk in the desert.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“I know dying here isn’t an option.”

“Where are we?”

“Lost in the desert on the continent of
Africa
.”

“Wait.” She stopped. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“If we know how long we were in the air, couldn’t we calculate the time and airspeed and get some idea of the possible locations? A certain radius on the map?”

“With the storm and our fluctuating airspeed, I can’t even come close to making a guess.”

“So we walk?”

“Yeah, we walk north. The coast is north.”

“How far is it to those mountains we’re walking toward?”

“A couple of days, if we stay at a steady walk.”

“Oh.” A couple of
days?
“How much water do we have?”

“The canteen holds a liter. Are you thirsty?”

“Not thirsty enough to take a drink. I’ll wait and save it for later.”

She didn’t say anything else but concentrated on walking, and walking. First up, then, after she fell twice, they slid down the sand dune, which sounded easy. She found out it wasn’t.

Sand got into everything. Clothes, nails, eyes, and nose. It stuck to the skin. You couldn’t wipe it off, you just moved it around. She walked until she was getting winded and then walked more.

Cassidy didn’t talk much. He just kept going, like some robot.

The night air helped motivate her. It was cold, very cold, so she didn’t want to stop moving.

They didn’t hurry, didn’t change pace, but stayed at a constant speed, resting a few minutes every hour, when they would talk a little about home, sip lightly on the water and split the last six dates as if each one were a full meal.

By sunrise, she was exhausted and bloated from the salt tablets. She could feel the twinges deep in her abdomen and realized she might have her period again. Stress, she thought.

Ducky . . . Just ducky.

He stopped finally. “Let’s take a rest.”

“Thank God.” She fell back down into the sand.

“Here’s the canteen. And one more salt tablet.”

“I don’t want another salt pill.”

“Take it.”

“No.”

“Look. It’s going to be hot today. Feel that sun? It’s barely up and you can already feel it on your skin.”

“It feels good. I’ve been cold all night.”

“Remember that in two hours.”

“Okay, okay. Give me the damned pill.” She washed it down with a swig of the canteen and corked it. “Here. That’s enough.” She held it out to him. “I’d rather have more later.”

He didn’t take it.

She waited.

“Cassidy? Take the canteen.”

“Wait. I want you to hold real still.”

“Why?”

“Don’t argue with me. Give me your other hand, but do it slowly. No quick motions.”

“Oh. God . . . ” She slowly raised her hand.

His hands slid over hers to her wrist. He jerked her forward so violently he almost pulled her arm from its socket.

She screamed and they fell backwards. Again. Rolling down the opposite side of the dune like they had before. Grunts and groans. They lay there tangled together. Again.

She pulled the hard canteen out from between them, sat up, coughed, and spit the sand from her mouth.

“You shouldn’t scream when you’re rolling in the sand.”

“Thank you for that advice.” She picked the sand from her tongue, then asked, “What was it? A scorpion? I already know every desert insect on a first-name basis.”

“No. A snake.”

“A snake?” She got up quickly.

“Don’t worry. It was on the other side of the dune. Damned thing came side-winding over the hill right behind you.”

She moaned and rubbed the sudden chills on her arms.

“Look. You wait here. I’m going to go get it.”

“Get it? What on earth for?”

He was already climbing back up the sand dune. “We have no food. We need something to eat. A snake is fresh meat.”

“I’d rather have fried chicken, thank you.”

“One of the first things you learn about survival, Kincaid, is to forget about those things that make life worth living, and concentrate on the things that make life possible.”

There was nothing she could say to that; it made perfect sense. She turned toward his voice. “I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“Are you certain that snake is still up there? What if it comes slithering around the other side? I can’t see anything, remember?” She waited.

No answer.

“Hey! Am I safe here?”

“It can’t come toward you without me seeing it.”

“Oh. Good.” She listened to the shh-shh of his feet walking farther and farther away. “Cassidy?”

“Now what?”

“What if it bites you?”

“Then bury me deep, so the vultures can’t pick at me!” he called back down at her.

“You are such a comedian,” she muttered, and plopped back down onto the hillside. She rubbed her feet as she waited. After a minute, she turned her face to the sun. It was hot and going to get hotter. She pulled her slip out of her belt and tied it on her head again, fanning the lace hem over her face.

She got a good whiff of herself. Soap and water would be really nice. She sat there, daydreaming about a hot bath with a huge bar of hand-milled soap, big fluffy white towels and starched sheets, clean underwear and cleaner hair.

Cassidy slid down the dune. “I’m back.”

“With or without the snake?”

“What do you think?”

“Just keep it away from me.”

“I cut the head off. It can’t hurt you.”

“How are you going to cook it? Drag it behind us and let the sunshine bake the heck out of it?”

“Not a bad idea, Kincaid.”

“I was kidding.”

“I know. Look, I think we can make it to harder ground if we go on for a few more hours. I could see scrub and flatland through the binoculars. Scrub burns pretty well. We’ll rest there, make a fire, cook and eat this thing. We need food. We’ve got to get over those mountains.”

She got up. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

Three hours later he was true to his word. They’d made it to harder ground, and when he finally stopped, she sat down and picked the fleas off of her. Her legs were raw from scratching at bites and as if that weren’t enough, flies swarmed everywhere. They buzzed at her mouth and nose and lit on her face. They were relentless. She was miserable and tired and hot. And Cassidy said he was pulling up bushes to burn.

“I can’t believe we’re building a fire when it must be one hundred and ten degrees. Where was the scrub brush last night when we needed it?”

He was whistling and stopped. “You want to eat the snake raw, we can.”

“Good grief, no.” She drove a hand through her knotted hair and winced, scratching her scalp. “These fleas are everywhere.”

“Fleas in the day. Mosquitoes at night. Flies all the time.”

“You’d think it would be too blasted hot for them.” She took a deep breath and almost swallowed a fly. She wiped her lips. “I always knew insects were stupid.”

“The smoke from the fire should help repel ’
em
.”

A few minutes later she heard the crackle of burning brush. The smoke came at her, so she moved to her right. Before long she heard a sizzle. She could smell the snake cooking. She tried to decide if she was hungry enough to eat a snake. She was awfully hungry. It actually smelled like food.

He came over to her and squatted down in front of her, “Here. Take it.” He placed something crispy in her palm. “That’s the skin on the bottom.”

She winced.

“Pretend it’s fish skin.”

Snake was snake. Dead, cooked, or alive.

“It tastes like chicken. Try it.”

“That’s what my brother told me when he ordered frog legs for me one night at the Brown Derby.” She picked at the cooked meat. It was stringy and warm. She raised it to her nose and smelled it. Not too bad.

“You didn’t like the frog legs?”

“They didn’t taste like chicken any more than the escargot he made me eat tasted like steak. Dessert was great, though. Baked
Alaska
. It tasted nothing like an igloo.”

He laughed.

“Do you like frog legs?” She finally took a bite.

“Sure, and escargot. It’s food. Good food. You have to think of it as the meal, not what it was when it was alive.”

She ate some more. “I couldn’t catch a fish and then eat it. Used to drive my family nuts.”

“What’s your favorite breakfast?”

“Hmmm. Scrambled eggs and a thick slice of ham.”

“Chicken fetus and a pig leg.”

“Oh. That’s awful!” She groaned. “I’ll never be able to eat breakfast again. Why did you do that?”

“Just trying to put things into perspective. Your problem is that you’re a picky eater.”

“I’m eating your snake, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. You are. So, what’s it taste like?”

“Burnt snake.”

He laughed. “You know, Kincaid. You’re a real doozy.”

“I don’t quite know how I should take that.”

“It’s a compliment, sweetheart.” He got up again and walked a few feet away; then she heard the fire crackle from fresh bushes he’d tossed on it. He stood there and he was whistling again. Amazingly, he sounded wide awake, and after they had been walking all night and half of the morning

“Don’t you ever get tired ?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you ever get scared? On a mission like this?”

“Everyone gets scared. Fear keeps you alive. It’s fear of the unknown that gets to you.” A moment later he asked, “You want some more to eat?”

She shook her head. “No. Right now, all I want to do is sleep.”

“Hand me the rest of that meat; then we’ll fix you up a bed here in a minute.”