Zara had focused so much on befriending the camel that her ears, normally highly attuned to the sounds of the desert, hadn’t noticed the three riders and their camels descend the sand dune into the oasis behind her, until they were no more than twenty yards away.
She turned to run, and was met face to face with the rider of a fourth camel.
Chapter Seventeen
Zara felt the man’s hands grip her arms before she could do anything. She took one look at the three men who were approaching. They must have tricked her. They rode camels, but had left the three camels waiting at the oasis to fool her into thinking she might have a chance to escape. She struggled for a moment to get free, but the sight of the other three riders approaching was enough to stop any further movement. She relaxed, her intelligent hazel eyes taking in the entire scene, searching for solutions where none existed. Her run was over. She’d failed. And now all was lost.
There were three men approaching plus the one who held her roughly and a total of seven camels. The oasis was filled with still water. There were no signs of other nomads. These must have been the fastest of her attackers. The rest of her enemies were probably still moving towards her, trying to survive the hostile environment of the Sahara. She grinned as she recalled how fatigued the three camels she’d examined were and wondered how many of her attackers had died in their attempt to catch up with her. If she could break free she might still outrun them in the desert. She was willing to bet her ability to survive in the desert against any of these men.
But first she still needed to free herself.
“Where’s the book, darling?” the man holding her asked. His breath smelled bad, and what teeth he had left were rotten. He twisted her arms painfully behind her back.
“What book?” she replied.
The man tightened the pressure on her arms until she was forced to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming. “Do I need to ask again?”
“Oh, that book?” Zara replied. Her voice was casual without any indication of fear.
“I thought that’d jog your memory,” the man snickered. “Well, you’re not going to make me ask again, are you?”
“It’s over there,” she said, pointing towards the camels. “Do you like the camels I found? They looked pretty exhausted. You must have run them pretty hard to get here — I packed it in the bag with the camels.”
The man ignored her. Instead spoke to his companion. “Check her camels. See if you can find it!”
Her camels? She thought about the three worn out camels she’d found, lamely drinking at the oasis. If they’re not his, then whose are they? She remained focused, taking in her situation and concentrating on her options instead of letting fear get in the way.
There were four men against her. Each of them was armed with an AK-47. She had a flick knife in a pocket she couldn’t reach. They were all bigger and stronger than she was. All four of them were deathly tired from the hard desert crossing. So was she, but she could probably outlast any one of them in the desert if the camels disappeared — but she would still be trapped.
Zara felt them bind her ankles and wrists with narrow strands of rope which cut deep into the soft tissue of her wrists.
“My men tell me you’ve been dubbed the Queen of Sahara because you have searched all her sandy Ergs, traveling freely without concern for harm from the harsh elements or bandits.”
Zara remained silent while trying to slip her hands free from their bindings. It was impossible. The bandits had tied the rope so tight it cut into her wrists. She kept searching, calmly looking for her next move. There was always an option. She just couldn’t see one.
“All that walking…” her captor said sympathetically. “…must have made you thirsty. Would you like a drink?”
Zara stared at the oasis. Although not very wide, she’d heard it was quite deep. She shook her head, realization striking her like the bite of a death adder. “No. You don’t want to do this. You still need me. Only I can interpret the book.”
“Only you can interpret the book?” he asked.
“Yes. It tells the future, but not in a logical method. Only I can make sense out of Nostradamus’s riddles.”
“That’s not what Adebowale said. He said you don’t have a clue what to make of the damned riddles, so that makes you worthless to our master.” Her captor laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it? The Queen of Sahara can travel throughout all the deserts with impunity from the blistering heat, but drowns in a waterhole. Don’t you think?”
“No. You’re making a big mistake. You need me!”
“I don’t need anyone. Least of all you.”
Zara felt his boot dig into her back and a moment later she was falling face down. She took a deep breath and plummeted into the water. The water felt cool and refreshing on her tortured skin. Zara, true to her word, focused on her next priority. Somehow, she had to keep her head above water. She lifted her knees up to her chest and kicked. It propelled her forwards, but not to the surface where she needed to get.
It’s working — I just need to position myself so that I move in the right direction!
She rotated her shoulders until she was facing the surface and tried to kick again. She tried a third and a fourth time without any success. The jolting spasms caused her body to move towards the surface, but never quite there. Her lungs were burning and her chest begged her to open her mouth and take a breath.
Just a few more goes, that’s all I ask!
On the seventh attempt her head broke the surface. She instantly took a deep breath. The air tasted heavenly — sweet and divine. Zara opened her mouth, eager to take a second breath, but her head was already below the water again.
She quickly tried her kicking movement again. A sense of panic raced through her as she realized she was sinking. With each kick, the surface appeared further away. She’d swallowed a large amount of water, and her body had taken a naturally negative buoyancy.
Her rational mind fought for another solution. Nostradamus had told her she would survive and it was her existence that paved the way to set in motion a series of events which would prevent the inevitable extinction of the human race. She didn’t remember him saying anything about drowning in the Saharan desert?
The thought made her smile. Her oxygen starved mind didn’t miss the irony, despite the suffering. Her body stopped fighting. She no longer kicked or tried to reach the surface. That chance had already left. Her only option for survival was a miracle. The world above her went dark. Her ears ached from the increased pressure.
Who would have thought the oasis was so deep?
This wasn’t how I was supposed to die.
I was supposed to save the world.
It was the last thought she had before losing her voluntary control over the muscles of the diaphragm. She drifted closer towards an unconscious state and her mouth opened up, giving way to an involuntary urge to take in a deep breath.
It was time to die. She’d tried her best and failed. Her mind had racked itself trying to analyze the situation, somehow make sense of it, and come up with a solution. There weren’t any. She’d done the best and lost. It made her happy. It wasn’t her fault. She had nothing to feel bad about.
Zara breathed in deeply.
The cold water was a relief to her burning lungs. It felt good. Tasted good. Cold and refreshing. She breathed again. Somehow, the second breath felt even better. Her body relaxed. The sense of adrenaline fueled panic finally subsided.
This must be what it’s like to drown.
Who knew it would be so peaceful?
The darkness seemed to fade away. She breathed again and opened her eyes. A new light formed in front of her. A face followed the light and she wondered what she was supposed to do now — was she supposed to move into the light or run away from it? Her first instinct was to run from the light. Never enter the tunnel of death. Her rational mind argued against her philosophy. Arguing that she would be dead even if she tried to avoid the light.
She decided not to run from the light, but nor did she feel inclined to race towards it, either. Zara breathed in again and saw the face began taking shape.
It was a man’s face.
And it seemed to be smiling at her.
The face was getting closer. Although she couldn’t quite tell if she was moving towards it, or it was moving towards her. She could see more of it now. The face wasn’t quite smiling at her. The mouth was hideously distorted.
She could hear the sound of the strange creature breathing. She wanted to breathe, herself, but something was stopping her. The face changed again and it was smiling at her. Somehow, in this dream — if that was what she was calling her in-between life and death state — she was now suddenly able to breathe again. It felt so good. She’d always assumed that in death, you could feel nothing. Instead, she felt every sensation, intensified.
She felt her hands and ankles break free from their restraints. Once again she was looking into a man’s face. She’d never seen the man before. She quizzed her memory, but failed to find any recollection of him. If this was her transition to the afterlife, surely the last face she saw would have some sort of meaning, or importance to her.
She stared at him. There was little she could recognize. There wasn’t even a hint of him being someone she once knew, even for a passing moment. He wore something over his face, but his eyes were visible.
They were the most intense blue she’d ever seen.