She ignored him and walked back towards where the camels had been. She found her green headdress and wrapped it around her head and face, leaving just enough room to see out. She picked up a large plastic water container and placed it in her carry pack, and then headed south, further into the Erg of Bilma.
“Where the hell are you going?” Sam yelled.
She turned for a moment and looked to the north. A giant sand cloud was visible several miles back. Sam thought it was either a small sand storm or a legion of rebels on camelback. “I need to get away — before the rest of his men arrive.”
Sam turned to Tom who was already focusing his binoculars on the sand storm. “Tell me that’s not what she thinks it is!”
Tom’s jaw went rigid. “At a guess I’d say at least five hundred men on camel. Maybe five miles back. It could be closer to a thousand.”
“Ah, Christ…” Sam swore and then picked up the two remaining carry bags he’d taken off the camels earlier in the day to set up camp. He and Tom quickly donned their cooling suits, wrapping their nomadic robes over the top. Sam grabbed his full water bottle and sand goggles. He checked the remaining Uzi. Its chamber was empty. There were no bullets left in its magazine and the spares were kept in the remaining pack, which had still been attached to the camels that had run into the desert. The second Uzi had been thrown into the water by one of the soldiers. Tom handed him an AK-47 he’d stolen from one of the dead men. Sam checked — the magazine was full.
“I found five spare magazines for that, too,” Tom said.
“Thanks.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
Sam turned to face south, where two light footprints led deeper into the Erg of Bilma. “Now we follow the strangest woman I’ve met for a long time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adebowale heard the sound of roaring water fighting its way through the tunnel. The strength of the noise was getting louder. It was driven by the unimaginable pressures from above as the torrent charged through the narrow passages and warrens of the mine with the energy of a tsunami. Compared to the approaching onslaught, Adebowale’s massive and athletic structure appeared weak and fragile. There was nowhere to run. Given a ten minute head start, the water would reach him well before he could ever escape. There was nothing for it, and yet he tried to run.
He always did.
Every time it was exactly the same. He felt the burning sensation in his legs and arms as the release of adrenaline stimulated his fight or flight response. He’d played college football in the US as a quarterback and despite his massive frame was capable of moving quickly when he wanted. He felt the tendons of his calves, designed for short bursts and sprints, propel him like a racecar. It felt good. Like maybe this time he would make it.
The pitch of the churning water increased and he imagined his death at any moment. Despite his speed, he felt like he was running through mud. With each movement his legs were being slowed as though an invisible coil was restraining them.
Ahead, the passage split into two directions. Left and right. Adebowale chose left. Somehow it felt correct. The narrow tunnel had a distinct incline to it, which meant he was gaining elevation. He’d made the right choice! The only way to outrun the water, was to rise above it.
The tunnel appeared dark ahead. The dimly lit lights that lined the shaft looked like they’d suddenly been cut off. He continued running at full speed in a way that only an athlete could and then he stopped. Directly in front of him, a large cave-in had blocked his progression.
He’d run out of places to escape! He turned and watched as the water raced toward him with lethal finality. In an instant, and like last time, Adebowale realized he’d been here before. And like every other time before that, the water struck him with such force he lost consciousness before his mind could even register the sensation of the cold water on his skin.
He woke up, struggling to breathe. His chest pounding, and his lungs stung. Sweat dripped from his blood drained skin. Adebowale looked up at the sun. The pain lasted longer than usual this time. He still felt difficulty breathing, and his tongue felt dry and cracked. His right shoulder throbbed.
He’d had another dream.
It made Adebowale feel good. For once he was glad of the visions which had cursed him for as long as he could remember. It reassured him that he was going to die in a place very different to the one he was now trapped.
He tried to move his arms again, see if there was any more give than last time — before he’d passed out. The restraints had been well placed. Although the rope bound his wrists, and allowed him to move his hands, they were too far apart for him to reach with his fingers. He tried to bend his knees and adjust his position, but even they had been bound so well that he’d been forced to remain standing since his injury.
They had shot him three times in his chest. The bullets, he guessed, had pierced just above his right lung, narrowly avoiding killing him. The shots had been targeted there on purpose. It had never been his enemy’s intention to let him die a quick death. Instead, he’d been left to die beneath the heat of the sun — the Sahara’s most deadly weapon. If dehydration didn’t kill him today or tomorrow, his wound would fester and send him into a delirium filled with the nightmares of his future.
He looked at the sun and laughed. The heat was going to be particularly bad today. A person in good health would be lucky to survive until sunset, but someone with his injuries would certainly die. He wasn’t afraid. He’d seen his death and it wasn’t today. The laugh became louder. The insane rant of a man who’d discovered the benefit of knowing the precise circumstance of your death was that, until that time, he was immortal.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It took Sam nearly fifteen minutes to catch up with the woman whose life he’d just saved. He’d followed her tracks at a pace between a fast walk and a jog and then slowed to a pace just above a walk to match hers. She paid little attention to him. Tom trailed behind, like the tortoise and the hare.
Confident, slow and steady was going to be the only way to walk across the desert, Sam wondered how long she could keep up like this, knowing it would be a death sentence for her once the sun reached overhead. He and Tom still had their experimental DARPA cooling suits, but she had nothing but her robes. The town of Bilma was another forty miles south. They might actually reach it, but he doubted she would if she kept moving at such a high pace.
He said, “Hello. Let’s start again. My name’s Sam Reilly and my friend trailing behind is Tom Bower. What’s your name?”
“Zara Delacroix.” Her eyes never left the horizon. “Doctor Delacroix.”
“Medical, or of Philosophy?” Sam asked.
“Philosophy. Archeology. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” Sam smiled. “What’s your story?”
She kept walking and said nothing. Her face was barely visible because of the finely wrapped green headdress. From what he could see, her jaw was hardened with determination and her eyes fixed on the horizon.
“Hey, I just saved your life!” Sam persisted.
“No you didn’t!” Her eyes turned on him, without pausing in her stride. “You postponed my death by a day or so. Nothing more.”
“Why? Who’s coming for you?”
She remained silent, focused and intent.
“We can help defend you,” Sam said, holding out the AK-47 he’d stolen from one of the dead men. “Just tell me what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t bother wasting your energy carrying the AK-47.”