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‘The cliff is useful for us,’ says Ali. ‘It cuts off at least one direction for a car.’
‘Good. We’re going to need a miracle to find him in the desert,’ I say.
‘Stellz.’ Pete’s voice is tight. He taps Ali’s shoulder and points at something in front of us, at the bottom of the cliff. A car. Boones’s vehicle?
I barely wait for the Jeep to slow before I open the door and run. Pete tries to stop me. He’s saying something, but the ringing in my ears blocks it all out. He’s freaking out, but I feel calm. Like part of me expected this.
Because I’ve spotted my dad.
He’s slumped at the base of the rock, his head lolling against his chest. Blood splatters the cliff wall behind him, covers his face and drips down his neck, a dried-out pool of it in the sand.
‘Dad!’ I drop to my knees beside him. I reach out, holding two fingers to his neck.
He groans. He’s still alive. But for how long …?
‘Hang on, we’ve got you.’ I scan the rest of his body. There’s a gaping wound at his shoulder, which he’s managed to put some sort of pressure on. I gently remove the bloodied strips of shirt he’s stuffed against it, then gasp.
It’s a bullet wound.
He’s been shot.
40
Adrienne
I’m not hallucinating; Mariam sees the person lingering on the horizon too. But if she feels the same fear that I do, she doesn’t show it. She stoically carries on running, putting one foot in front of the other, and forces me to follow. I think I spot a bit of tension in her shoulders, a tightening of her running style. But that could be more to do with how far we’ve run already. I’m sure she’s experiencing the same aches and pains that I am, enough to make anyone stiff with discomfort. Of course she wouldn’t have the same anxieties as me. She didn’t do anything wrong.
She isn’t a liar.
And certainly no one thinks she is a murderer.
I match her stride for stride. What else is there to do?
At the fifth water cache, in the pitch black, we stop. We have no choice. At least there will be advance warning of his approach. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, watching for the bobbing of a head torch. Even runner 501 won’t be able to run in the dark without a light.
I am also ravenous, the miles and the fear eating a hole in my insides. The water in my bottles is lukewarm from being out in the sun all day, so I pour some freeze-dried macaroni cheese into my mug and submerge it with water. I wait for it to absorb. In the meantime, I chew on one of the granola bars, although my mouth is so dry, it seems toexpend just as much energy to eat one as it does to run. I swap to a gel, allowing the viscous, vaguely raspberry-flavoured goo to melt on my tongue.
I have some chunks of Parmesan cheese and dried sausage, which I cut up into the mac and cheese with my tiny knife. Mariam has a packet of ramen noodles, which she mixes with her warm bottled water and shovels into her mouth with gusto.
My meal is not so palatable. The freeze-dried pasta is still rock hard in places, cracking against my teeth. The cheese is mostly powder and the sausage chunks stick in the back of my throat. The only tasty thing is the odd chunk of Parmesan, but it’s so pungent and salty I clamp down so as not to throw the whole concoction up. I need every calorie I can. I close my eyes, force myself to breathe and swallow. Then I take another bite.
Thankfully my body seems to get used to it. I’m able to slow down, enjoy the mouthfuls a bit more. I sense fatigue catching up with me, sleep tugging at the edge of my consciousness. Sometimes I think it has actually taken over parts of me, because all of a sudden I’ll realize that my mouth has stopped moving and I’ve just been slack-jawed and dead-eyed, unchewed food pooling on my tongue. Then I snap out of it and remember I’m supposed to be eating.
Not good, not good at all. We hadn’t planned on sleeping at this cache, but I think I’m going to have to get at least a few minutes. Give my brain cells a chance to reboot. Otherwise I’m going to risk serious injury or a mental lapse.
‘Mariam, I think I have to sleep.’
She stares down into her half-empty bowl. ‘How long?’
‘A few minutes. Twenty?’
‘I’ll be on the move in fifteen.’
I nod. Fifteen minutes is better than nothing. I don’t need an alarm; I’ve trained for this kind of catnap. I lay back, using my backpack as a pillow, and shut my eyes.
My body gives in immediately.
Yet it feels like only a second later that I snap awake. Mariam is still there. I feel remarkably refreshed and jump up to my feet raring to go. I’m amazed that my body has retained the ability to operate on micro-sleeps, my internal alarm still able to go off without fail.