“Manuel, what exactly is your problem? Do you feel threatened by this woman because she’s so capable and intelligent? Think: if we leave her, she dies—and then we die, too. Because she obviously knows a hell of a lot more about this desert than we do.”
After a moment of silence, Garza spat out some sand. “We tell her nothing. We’ll make her wait at a mist oasis while we go on to the Phaistos location and then pick her up on the way back.”
“Agreed.”
They came back to find Imogen hauling a camel blanket out of the sand. “I guess you two wankers got it through your thick heads that we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not,” she said without glancing at them. “I’ve saved your hides twice now, and I expect I’ll have to do it again before this is over.”
23
USING THE CAMEL panniers and straps, Garza cleverly rigged up three backpacks. They decided to leave everything but food, water, and a few basic necessities for the overland journey. They started up the wadi, trying to keep to the main course as it branched, then branched again, as Gebel Umm rose above them like a black needle in the shimmering light. Even though the packs were light, hiking in the soft sand, with their feet sinking deep at every step, was brutally hard. Imogen had taken on the role of water-rationing. Every hour they would stop and she would pour half a cup for each person. As the day wore on, Gideon felt his thirst once again mount dreadfully.
The hills grew higher and the wadis narrower, and a dead heat settled over them like a wool blanket. The washes were endless, turn after turn, punctuated by an occasional dead thornbush. Finally, as they rounded yet another curve in the wash, they saw, not far ahead, the mouth of a cave.
No discussion was necessary. Imogen, in the lead, headed for the cave and the others followed. Gideon entered the shady mouth with relief. It was a surprisingly pretty cave, with a floor of pale-yellow sand and walls of smooth lava. Gideon heaved off his pack and collapsed to the ground, leaning his back against the rock wall. Once again he watched Imogen pour out half a cup for Garza with irritating exactness, then half a cup for him, and finally half a cup for herself. Gideon downed his in two gulps. She sipped the water like tea, which irritated him further.
“Let’s take a walk on the wild side,” Gideon said, “and have another round of that firewater.”
“No. Take a nap. We’re going to be hiking all night.”
“I can’t sleep with this thirst,” said Gideon.
Imogen looked at him. “Funny, I didn’t take you for a whiner.”
“Well, I am a whiner. An expert, in fact.” He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but against his will an image came into his head: the bubbling spring he drank from while fly fishing in the Jemez Mountains of New Mexico. The water gushed from a fissure at the side of a boulder and spilled over mossy rocks into a clear pool surrounded by ferns. It was ice-cold and delicious, with a fresh, clean taste. He opened his eyes and tried to think of something else. As he glanced about the cave in a desperate search for distraction, he saw, with a start, a strange thin red man standing on the opposite side of the cave, holding a tall spear. It took him a moment to realize it was a painting.
He pointed vaguely in its direction. “You see that?”
Imogen nodded, brushing a limp strand of hair out of her eyes. “They’re all over the walls.”
And now other images materialized: primitive figures, horned buffalo, camels, antelope, giraffes, and an elephant.
“Cave art,” Imogen said.
“Amazing that people once lived in this godforsaken place.”
“In Neolithic times it was a lot wetter. The Eastern Desert and the Sahara were grasslands until about ten thousand years ago.”
“Maybe that means there’s water around here somewhere,” said Gideon.
“The water’s long gone. Stop thinking about it.”
“Easier said than done.” He closed his eyes again and tried not to think of that spring, which of course only made him think of it more. His mouth tasted of copper. Eating was out of the question: he had no appetite and the idea of putting dry food into his already dry mouth was disgusting.
The afternoon wore on, the shadows outside the cave slowly getting longer. Gideon dozed fitfully, but woke up every time he dreamed of water. He glanced over at Garza, who had been resolutely silent. The man was sitting up, back propped against the rock, staring out the cave entrance with a grim expression. Imogen, on the other hand, had fallen asleep, her head on her pack, tangled blond hair spilling all over.
When the light became orange, she woke, rose, stretched. “Water, anyone?”
“Hell, yes.”
They each got a full cup this time, which did little to slake Gideon’s thirst. As the sun slipped below the horizon, they hoisted their packs and left the cave. They soon reached an area where half a dozen tiny washes came together. They picked one that seemed likely to take them in the direction of the mountain and started up it. The landscape began to change, the rocky foothills with their winding wadis giving way to rough slopes and pitches. They were climbing the flanks of the Gebel mountain range, following boulder-choked ravines leading into the secret fastnesses of Gebel Umm.
Imogen led the way, keeping a steady pace. She had been, Gideon thought, uncomplaining, resourceful—and mysterious. He watched her climb, picking out the route, sometimes through great boulderfalls, rimrock, and volcanic rubble. She had tied up her galabeya, exposing lean muscular legs. He couldn’t help but admire her steady resilience. Garza remained silent and stern.
For the first part of the night they had a crescent moon to see by, which cast a fine silvery light over the otherworldly landscape. It set after midnight, and the outline of Gebel Umm, which they had been able to see from time to time as they came over ridges and passes, disappeared into the darkness. But Imogen continued on, picking the way up one steep slope after another, or else working their way down terrifying inclines. Every two hours they rested a few minutes, downing half a cup of water.
When dawn broke in the east, red morning light touched the top of Gebel Umm, turning it into a spear of fire. This time when they stopped, they only got a quarter cup each. “We’re running out,” said Imogen.
“We’ve been going all night and the mountain doesn’t look any closer,” said Gideon.
“This landscape is more deceptive than I figured,” she replied. “For every mile forward, we’re going two up, down, or sideways.”
As the light rose, a lunar terrain of knuckles and talons of stone became visible around them. Looking eastward from where they had come, Gideon could see past layers of peaks and hills to where the flat desert vanished into the horizon. Ahead lay a maze of interconnected canyons, ravines, and needles of stone.
“We don’t have enough water to wait out the day,” said Imogen. “I think we’d better keep going.”
When there were no objections, she shouldered her pack and carried on. Now they were out of the sand entirely, picking their way over slopes of volcanic rock, which wound back and forth in endless switchbacks. As the sun climbed, the rock became so hot that Gideon could feel it through the soles of his boots. His thirst was intense and he could feel his legs growing shaky, his strength failing. He glanced back at Garza, who hadn’t spoken a word in twenty-four hours. The man looked like a walking corpse, his skin gray. Even Imogen appeared bedraggled and exhausted.
They came to the top of yet another stony ridge, which ended in a cliff. They were now high in the mountains. Gebel Umm finally seemed to be getting closer, its ramparts of basalt towering across the middle distance. But between them and the peak still lay a devil’s garden of slot canyons and rock formations.