I’m dripping. I drag my eyelids up like I’m lifting a heavy weight, but the glare of the sun is like a laser beam drilling holes in my head. It makes me blink and close my eyes again straight away. Suddenly the ground is rising up to hit me.
It hits me hard enough to wake me. But I don’t wake up.
That must mean I am asleep and this is a dream. Soon Mum will call me to get up and then Tara will put her cold, wet nose in my face. I can hear the thumping of her tail. No. The thumping is in my head. This isn’t a dream, is it?
No. It’s a nightmare. It must be, because otherwise I’m lost in the middle of a baked world of bare, rocky peaks with the white-hot sun crawling like a glowing snail across a sky that looks like it’s made of tin.
But all those awful things couldn’t really have happened. There can’t have been an invasion with bombings and soldiers shooting. And I wouldn’t have been so stupid that I deliberately got myself left behind at a service station in the middle of nowhere. That service station’s just vanished now. Like it was only a mirage.
I’ve walked back for kilometres, but it’s not there any more. I guess it’s because I’m so confused with all these valleys and dried-up wadis going in all directions.
I have to drag myself up and try to pull myself together or I’ll never get out of here. I look at my watch. It’s after midday. I’ve been walking for hours. If only I could find my way back to the service station. Or if only somebody would come along and rescue me. But there’s nobody here. It’s silent. And hot. Too hot even for the birds.
I need to talk to somebody. Anybody. I’ve tried every number I’ve got punched into my mobile, but all I’m getting is either ‘the mobile phone you are calling is switched off or out of range’ or a message telling me to leave a message. I do. I’ve even tried to ring Mum, but she’ll still be in the air somewhere. It’s the only time she has it switched off. Not like my dad. He never turns his on.
I know I’m running out of credit and the battery indicator on my mobile is getting lower. I have to switch it off before it dies. I feel like parts of me are switching off too. My legs aren’t moving too well any more, and my head feels as if it’s become swollen and too heavy for my body to carry.
I take my hat off to fan myself. The hat’s stiff with sweat and sunscreen, it’s probably kept most of the sun off my face. And it was lucky I put in the tube of sunscreen. It’s all gone now, though. I keep sweating it off.
I need another drink. But I’ve drunk the three bottles of water and I’ve finished off the Coke, which was horrible because it was sticky and warm. I know I should have been more careful with the water, but I had to drink it otherwise I’m sure I’d be dead by now. I even tipped the last of the cold water over my head when it felt like it was going to split if I didn’t wet it.
I really need a drink. But the weird part is, I feel like I’m looking at the world through water. Everything’s moving, swaying like the weeds in our fish tank. Am I in a fish tank?
No, I can’t be because then I would be cool and wet. I know! The world is in the fish tank and I’m the only thing outside it. Looking in. I’m the only living being in this hot, waterless world. Outside everything. Really on my own. Forever.
Thinking makes me feel dizzy. I sit down before I fall again, and I lean back against the steep slope of a ridge. In a few hours, the sun will be behind it and at least there’ll be some shade here. I just can’t move any more. I close my eyes, listening to the silence. Then I hear the sound of small stones rolling down the side of the slope.
There must be an animal up there. I’m not on my own after all.
I squint as I look up because all the rocks are reflecting the heat and glare of the sun. Then, I can hardly believe my luck. I’m sure I see someone peering down at me. Yes! He’s squatting underneath some overhanging rocks. He must be a Bedouin. Probably looking after goats. Actually, I don’t care what he’s doing up there. I’m just so glad to see him. For sure, he’ll have spare water and then he can take me home to Abudai. This nightmare is about to end. I wave madly at him.
‘Hello!’ My voice is croaky because my throat is so dry. ‘I need help.’
This red-faced one must be a devil. It is as Old Goat said, after all.
‘Go away, you devil! I will kill you if you come up here!’
He yells back at me. I wish he’d speak English. He doesn’t seem to want to leave the shade of the rocks. Not that I blame him. I need to get out of the sun as well. It’s too hot. I can feel how red my face is.
There’s a track that goes along the ridge to where he’s crouching, but I’m desperate to get there quickly so I go straight up even though it’s fairly steep. More little rocks slip beneath my feet, and I have to cling on to clumps of dried grass to pull myself up. It’s amazing how the thought of drinking cool water has given me that extra strength I need.
‘Give me a hand!’ I croak, as I’m almost there. This last bit’s so steep! I peer up.
I can see the person is a boy, but he looks more Indian than Arabic. I can’t tell how old he is. Now he’s lying on his stomach peering over the edge at me. He’s got the dirtiest face and biggest eyes I’ve ever seen. His face is small and thin. For a minute, I’m so disappointed I feel like crying. Then I realise that where there’s a kid there must be an adult close by who can drive me to Abudai. Instead of helping me, though, he just stares at me.
‘Come on,’ I say. I feel dizzy again. I hold out my hand. I wish I knew the Arabic for ‘help me up’. But surely he must understand what I want. Maybe he’s a sandwich short of a picnic or something and I’m stuck up this slope with a dumbo. He’s staring at me like I’m going to eat him or something.
‘Looks like I have to do this the hard way then,’ I mutter to myself.
As I start to pull myself up, the boy wriggles forwards. He sort of half rises, and I see he’s got a rock clutched in his hands and a crazy look in his eyes.
‘Allah Akbar! Have mercy on my soul!’
He screams something at me about Allah, but it doesn’t sound like a nice prayer to me.
‘What are you trying to do? Kill me?’ I yell, as he launches himself at me. He’s not a dumbo. He’s nuts!
I’ve got no hope of hanging on. All I can do is fend him off with one arm and, with the other, grab him as he falls down on top of me. I’m totally off balance, and so’s he, but I’m not letting him go or he’ll kill me, for sure.
It’s like I’m hugging him tightly as we tumble and roll, bouncing off rocks all the way back down the slope. I’m all scraped and scratched when we finally stop. The pain makes me even more angry at this mad kid who keeps screeching at me. This kid who doesn’t even know me, but just tried to kill me.
He hisses and I see he’s got no front teeth.
‘I’m gonna smash your face in,’ I yell, as I put my face close to his. ‘Just like you wanted to smash my head with that rock!’
He’s panting like I am. But even though I’m dehydrated and feeling weak, I’m bigger than he is. I can hold him down. As long as it takes.
Because I’m holding him so close, I can’t help but look right into his eyes. They’re so big – too big for his face, and he’s got eyelashes as long as a girl’s. He’s just a kid. Why did he try to kill me? Why does he hate me? I can see he’s scared stiff now; he must know I’m stronger and I can do whatever I like to him.
‘I could kill you right now,’ I say. ‘But I don’t like blood. The problem is, if I let you go you’ll either try to kill me again or run away, and I don’t have the energy to fight or run after you.’
And I need him to take me to his father.
What’s the Arabic for father? I try to remember, but my head hurts.
Allah the Merciful! Now I see this one is not a devil after all he is a foreign boy. I am thinking for sure he is going to kill me, but there is a softness in his eyes. Old Goat says all foreigners with their pink skin are soft and weak and cowards. Like girls.
I don’t trust him, but we can’t stay like this forever. Slowly, but still keeping a hold of him, I get up and pull him to his feet. He stumbles and trips and falls over. The filthy dishdash that he’s wearing is shucked up to his shins. It’s then I see his dirty, bare feet. They’re tied together. God! Now I see that his hands, which are no longer clutching the rock, are tied up as well. He’s tied up like an animal.