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‘I’m not letting you go alone,’ says Pete.
Emilio shakes his head. ‘There’s not enough room for everyone – we need space in the car for the patient. If you must, you can follow us.’
Pete glances at Mac and Rachid, who immediately jump up.
‘I’ll stay back and organize the chopper,’ says Mac. ‘Henry’s a mate – he sponsors our podcast. I’m sure he’ll listen to me. I’ll contact you on the radio if we find anything.’
‘Let’s go then,’ says Emilio.
Emilio gives coordinates to Ali once we’re in the four-by-four. Pete follows in the car behind with Rachid. We swing out of the bivouac just as Henry is gathering the fun runners to start their race. Watching them getting ready to start their third stage as if everything is normal, I feel like I’m having cognitive dissonance. But I can’t blame them. They don’t know any different. They have no cell phones, no social media, no radio. They’re a bubble, cut off from the outside world. They don’t know what’s going on in their own race even. That Boones has stolen away the elites.
Word will spread. Rumours have a way of flying even in the most remote places. But I have a feeling it will only generate excitement. Our small group is the only one worrying – because of what we know. But for the rest of the world this is the pinnacle of running. This is the ultimate display of human endurance and suffering and triumph over adversity. Boones is enemy and friend, god and devil, trickster and saviour. Father and stranger.
The car bounces as we speed across the dunes, but I’m used to it now. In fact, I urge Ali to go faster. Rachid and Pete can keep up. We need to get to Alex as quickly as possible. Obviously I hope he is all right. But more importantly, I hope he can lead us to my dad.
Dust flies up behind the vehicle as we speed along a dried riverbed – at least here, on hard, compacted earth, it’s possible to drive quickly. Ali takes advantage. Until Emilio taps him on the shoulder for him to slow down. He’s staring at his phone, at the GPS dot blinking on his screen. ‘Somewhere here.’
We slow to a crawl, scouring the riverbank, until we spot footprints in the sand, veering off and away from the path of the ancient river.
Ali swings the car round and we mount the riverbank. On this softer sand it’s hard to travel with the same haste. Shards of rock threaten to damage the tyres and Ali needs to carefully navigate round stumpy bushes – like everything in this damn place they’re even tougher than they look and can do serious damage.
‘Over there,’ Ali says, suddenly pulling the steering wheel down to the left, hard.
I brace myself against his headrest, unsure what he has seen. When the car stabilizes, I stare out of the window, scanning the bleak desert landscape. Everything is a shade of brown. Monochrome. It’s hard to make anything out. Ali is far more used to it than we are. We have to rely on his instincts.
‘There,’ he says again, this time pointing. I follow the line of his finger. It takes me a moment – and some movement – to realize what he’s pointing at. Someone is sitting on the ground in the meagre shade offered by a shrub. He’s weakly waving in our direction.
‘My God, how did you see him?’ Emilio says. ‘That’s lucky. A helicopter would have no chance,’ he adds.
It’s far luckier for him than us. He looks half dead – dehydrated, fatigued – and probably suffering from heatstroke. His race number is dirty, smeared with something that looks like blood.
Emilio is straight out of the car with his bag, water, phone. I follow, not even waiting for Pete in the other vehicle to catch up.
‘Alex? Do you know where Boones is?’ I ask, once he’s had a sip of water.
He looks up at me, but he barely looks human. His skin is grey, his eyes unfocused, and he’s staring at me like I’ve grown three heads. He makes a sound but it’s not words.
Emilio frowns. ‘I need to get him back to camp. He needs proper rehydration or he’s not going to make it.’
I spot a map beside Alex and pick it up. It’s hand-drawn, my dad’s neat illustrations pointing out the water caches, the jebel climb, the finishing line. It has Alex’s starting point marked. It looks roughly thirty miles away. With any luck we can work out where Boones might be.
I walk back towards Pete, who had caught us up, gesturing for him to follow me to the car. Ali is waiting in the driver’s seat. I show him the map. ‘Can you get us here?’ I point to the start. According to the map, it’s in front of some sort of rocky structure – another jebel, smaller than Tilelli, or else a cliff of some kind.
‘Sure.’
‘Pete, get in,’ I tell him.
‘How’s Alex?’ He frowns with concern, craning his neck to see.
‘Dehydrated. Woozy. Doesn’t look like the victim of an attack, though. Emilio can take him back to the bivouac in Rachid’s car. Either you come with me or go back with them.’
By way of an answer, he jumps in the car, but I can tell he’s agitated.
‘Drive,’ I say to Ali once I’m in the front seat. I don’t have time to coddle Pete right now.
Emilio is shouting at us, but it’s not like I’ve abandoned him high and dry. He can get back with Rachid. That was his job, as he was at such pains to point out.
‘I don’t get it, why are we going backwards?’ Pete asks me. ‘You saw the map. We should be heading out to the water caches to find Adri.’