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But his fingers dig into mine with force that I’m shocked he can possess given his injury. ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Steve. He’s up there.’ Rupert shuts his eyes tight.
I put my hand over his. ‘He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you any more.’
Boones has a lot to answer for. Steve sits right in the centre of this star map that connects us, the constellation of pain. I stare at Adrienne’s back, her slow shuffle towards the finish. If there’s anything I know about her, it’s that if there’s a wrong to right, she’ll be on the frontline. She’s as stubborn as all hell. As strong and fierce as a Saharan sandstorm.
Against the vastness of the desert, she appears like an ant marching to some unknown destination. Like something insignificant and small.
Easy to be confused out here. She is anything but.
54
Adrienne
‘Hi, camel.’
I glance over my shoulder. The beast is right behind me, so close I feel some of its spittle on the back of my neck as it shakes its head. The steps it takes are slow. Ponderous. The man leading it along gives me a sympathetic smile.
I am still one step ahead. I just need to keep it that way.
I’m not really running now. I’m doing the Sahara shuffle. My feet are barely picking up off the ground; my arm is a useless lump on my side. The last of my water dried up about half an hour ago when I used it to wash some of the dust – and blood – from my face.
Soon I can get more.
Soon I’ll cross the finishing line.
Or maybe this damn camel will catch me, and then my race will really be over.
‘Not today,’ I say to it. Shuffle, shuffle.
I look up and I think I must be hallucinating again. Not about approaching the finishing line. That, I know, is real. If it isn’t, I’ve truly lost the plot. I’ve been seeing it for close to an hour. The flags on top of the tents, signifying the bivouac, fluttering in the hot wind. The inflatable pillars of the finishing zone growing ever larger in my line of sight. People – at first just ones and twos, but then larger groups, standing along the route near their vehicles,watching me. Some of them wearing their race numbers. Others in volunteer vests. Most of them staring. One of them points a camera my way, and it takes everything in my power not to flinch.
That part is real.
But I think I’m hallucinating because of the face I see as I make my final approach. Jumping up and down in a bright yellow T-shirt.
Through the ringing in my ears I think I hear cheering. Maybe? I can’t turn my head to look; it’s too painful. The only movement I can manage is one foot in front of the other. The entrance to the pain cave is a distant landmark – the whole world is pain for me now.
Ethan.
Ethan is there on the other side of the line.
I’ve probably dreamed him. Conjured the only image in the world that could keep me sane.
I blink and rub my eyes, but he doesn’t go away. What’s he doing here? There’s a flare of fear but it dissipates almost instantly. I don’t care. I’ve dealt with the threat. I’m glad he’s here. So glad. But he can’t be real.
Can he?
His dad is holding him back, but then Pete kneels and whispers something in Ethan’s ear and releases him. He runs towards me, sprinting as fast as he can.
I scoop him up with my good arm, burying my face into his neck. ‘Mum!’ he says.
It’s that word that breaks me. I want to cry and collapse right there, but I haven’t crossed the line yet. I kiss his head, bringing him close. For once he lets me without wincing or cringing, like he’s three years old again and I amthe centre of his universe. He interlaces his fingers with mine and I clutch at them.
‘Ready?’ I ask him.
‘Let’s do it!’ he says.