Desert Prisoner. Andrea Abbott
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empty place? I’ll die of thirst before that happens. He was desperate for a drink, his tongue swollen and his throat as dry as the sand around him. The craving grew until it was all he could think of. Nothing else mattered right then.
Dreams of shade gave way to a fantasy of water: sparkling water; glasses of water, ice blocks chinking; crystal clear rivers gurgling over rocks; waterfalls cascading down mountains; lakes of water, cool and blue and deep; rain drenching everything; fresh water filling his mouth, running down his throat, cooling him, quenching that terrible thirst.
A slight noise, like someone breathing, interrupted his daydream. He looked up.
A dog was standing nearby. A thin, rangy mongrel stared at Leo, panting.
Leo blinked. I’m hallucinating.
But the dog was no illusion. He was as real as the heat. His sparse, sandy-brown coat looked corrugated where his ribs stuck out, and the tips of his ears were ragged and fly-bitten. He had a powerful head though, with a broad forehead and a black muzzle. Standing tall, on tight-muscled legs, he held his tail straight out behind him.
The dog was shabby and rather ugly, and Leo didn’t want him to come any closer. He was probably a stray, turned wild and vicious. One wrong move from Leo and the dog might attack. That’s all he needed now!
“What do you want?” he said. His voice quivered, betraying his fear.
The dog kept up his steely stare.
“Shoo! Go away.” Leo gathered up a handful of sand and threw it at the creature.
It backed away, but not in a tail-between-the-legs, hangdog way. Carrying himself tall and straight, he was neither nervous nor menacing but confident, judging from the way he gazed at Leo. Unblinking, and holding his head to one side, he could have been quizzing him. He was certainly not the cur he’d seemed at first. Nor did he appear to mean any harm.
Cautiously, Leo stretched out his hand. “Are you lost too?”
The dog trotted off, stopped, turned, and looked back at him with that same curious expression.
Leo got up and went toward him.
Again, the dog darted off, stopping just beyond Leo’s reach, like he was playing a game.
Leo wasn’t in the mood for games. “Forget it,” he said, and flopped down on the sand once more.
The dog stared at him.
“What do you want?” Leo said.
The dog trotted away, glancing back over his shoulder. When Leo didn’t follow, he returned. This time, he stopped so close that Leo could smell his canine odour and feel his hot breath on his neck. He waited to see what he would do next.
For a while, neither of them moved. But it was the dog who eventually broke that stalemate, repeating the same behaviour as before. He moved off, stopped after a few metres, turned, and came back, this time giving a short bark too.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Leo said. “Like you want me to go with you?”
The dog loped away. Leo got up and followed. He kept glancing back, in case someone pitched up. “Where are we going?” he said, more to himself than to the dog. There seemed nowhere to go. As far as the eye could see, the desert was a hot, dry sea of red. Its waves were the horizontal waves of heat. Cruel mirages, they tricked thirsty desert travellers into thinking there was water ahead. But, like shadows, they were always moving away. No one ever got close to them.
Trudging behind the dog, Leo knew he was taking a risk. Stay put, came that advice from long ago. But that was if you didn’t have a dog to lead the way. Without ever pausing to sniff the ground or scent the air or even look about, the dog ran on. There was a purpose about his movements that made Leo think he knew exactly where he was going.
So after checking behind one last time, Leo decided once and for all to throw in his lot with the mongrel. Like any living being, a dog couldn’t survive for long without water. And for this one to be alive in this parched place, he must know where to find some. Even better, he seemed almost tame. He had to belong to someone. He could even be on his way home now.
It’s been hours since the others drove off, Leo reasoned. His shadow gave him a sense of time. It was so much longer than when he’d climbed that hill at lunchtime. And the only one who has come along is this dog. At this rate, I could wait for the rest of the day, and all night, and still not be rescued. And then I’d die of thirst.
Weighing all things up, he decided that following the dog was his best chance of being rescued. He’d have to trust him.
* * *
“Eish!” said Victor, pressing an ice-cold can against his cheek. “Just what I need.” He snapped the ring on the lid. There was a hiss as the froth of sweet, black liquid fizzed out and ran down the sides. He slurped it up. “That’s sooo good,” he said and drained the can in one long gulp.
* * *
Leo would have given anything for a single drop of liquid. The desert air was a drought in his mouth and throat. He was dizzy, and the zinnnggg in his ears so loud, it nearly drowned out the sound of his own breathing and the thud, thud, thud of his pounding heart. His head throbbed, and his eyes burned so much that he could hardly see the dog. The animal was as blurry as the heat mirages in the distance.
He knew now he’d made a terrible mistake. The mongrel was no hero, no Lassie on an incredible journey home through wild and hostile country; he was no St Bernard on a daring search-and-rescue mission, or a tracker dog trailing scent tracks. A stray, that’s all he was, roaming through the desert with about as much purpose as any creature that lived there.
Leo couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid! I should have waited. I bet the others came back after all.
There was no going back though. He and the dog had been walking for ages, probably in circles. He’d never find his way back to that inselberg.
* * *
“Where’s Leo?” asked Treasure, when she noticed he wasn’t outside with the rest of them. She stood on tiptoes and peered into Eva’s Land Rover, thinking he was probably asleep on the back seat.
“He’s with you,” said Eva. “Isn’t he?”
Treasure dropped her cold drink. The can clattered on the tar. “No!” she gasped, clutching her face with both hands.
“Hau!” exclaimed Humphrey. “We’ve left him behind.”
* * *
Stumbling after the dog, Leo tripped on something, his own feet perhaps, and fell face down.
Spread-eagled on the desert floor, he felt his strength ebb away. He tried to get up, but couldn’t move a muscle. It’s the end. No one will find me. I’m going to die.
A peculiar feeling came over him, like he was drifting off, beyond himself, away from the thirst, the heat, and fear. The red-hot world around him drifted away until everything went bright white, like a star exploding. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand the brightness any longer, blackness flooded in and extinguished it.
Oblivion.
Or was it? The nothingness gave way then and he began to see his life flash before him. First, he saw himself as a small boy splashing about in a paddling pond with another young boy who seemed vaguely familiar. An old man came into view, and Leo thought he recognised him: his long-dead grandfather, perhaps?
Like the next scene in a movie, the picture changed suddenly to a vision of his home in the village of Salt Rock on the east coast of South Africa. As clearly as if he was standing in front of it, Leo saw the white cottage perched on the cliff high above the Indian Ocean. Seagulls wheeled above the roof in air so salty you could smell it and taste it on your skin.
Sounds came to him along with the pictures, ones he’d known his whole life: the shrill call of gulls, the pounding of waves on the rocky shore below the cliffs,