Page 21 of Runner 13
Stella
We bundle back into the Jeep after the last elite is through the checkpoint, Dale still keen to stay ahead of the pack.
Our next stop is the dunes, and this is where I want to wait to get photographs of the charity fun runners on my list. This will be the money shot.
The stereotypical vision of a desert: golden sands rippling in waves, arcing left and right as far as the eye can see. A perfect snapshot of their adventure.
Driving over them is an adventure in itself.
I have one hand tightly gripping my camera, the other one holding on to the handle above my head, my knuckles white.
The car seems to take off – almost fly – as Ali navigates us into prime position.
We pull to a stop in a valley between two monstrous sand mountains, and Dale jumps out straight away, powering up one of the dunes.
I take my time, switching my lens and reapplying suncream. Even though I tan easily, I need to take care.
‘How come you speak Arabic?’ Ali asks me.
I smile. ‘My mother was Moroccan, from the Todra Valley, although spent most of her life in either the US or France. She died a few years back.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you. What about you? What part of Morocco are you from?’
‘I am from Tafran, a tiny village in the mountains. Although I studied in London. Business school.’
‘Oh, that explains the British accent!’
He winks. ‘You will have to come to Tafran after this. See what all of this is helping.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘It’s OK, you can tell me.’
‘My aunt – she is one of the elite runners. Boones promised that if she finished the race, he would donate money towards rebuilding the school in our village.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ I say, blinking back my surprise. ‘That … that’s great news.’
‘I hope so. We desperately need it.’
I nod, a sinking feeling filling my stomach. Boones offered one of the runners an incentive to run in his race? That doesn’t seem right. My father is up to something. He’s playing games with people’s lives.
There’s a shout from Dale at the top of the dune. He’s waving his arms. ‘I’d better go up and see what that’s about.’
Ali nods, still appraising me with his deep brown eyes.
‘Come with us? If you point your aunt out to me, I’ll get some photos of her,’ I say. He smiles again, and follows behind me as I start to climb the dune.
For every step I take, my feet slip back.
I’m almost brought to my knees, like I’m crawling.
I look up at how far I have to go, when I’m struck by the image in front of me.
Of Dale standing at the top of the dune, his hands on his hips, looking out at the horizon.
I fumble with my camera to take the shot.
It also gives me the chance to catch my breath.
When I eventually get to the top, I slump to a seat on the crest. I pick up a handful of sand, allowing the grains to fall through my fingers like rivulets of water.
It’s beautiful, but it’s searing hot. I rub my hands together, shaking off any loose grains. I can’t imagine running through this place. Simply existing is hard enough.
‘You made it,’ says Dale. ‘Look, over there.’
Farouk has appeared at the edge of the dune field. He doesn’t hesitate in choosing his line. Rather than travelling as the crow flies, he makes a left, following the curve of one of the dunes. His feet barely seem to make an impression on the sand at all – it’s as if he floats above it.
‘I might try flying the drone,’ Dale says.
He opens the backpack at his feet and takes out a small black device with little blades like a helicopter.
The thing buzzes like a bumblebee, leaping up from the palm of his hand.
He manoeuvres it using a video-screen controller – or tries to, at least. It seems to have a mind of its own.
Eventually, he seems to gain a modicum of control and sends it high over the dunes.
I lean over his shoulder to watch the screen. It’s incredible to see the runners from this angle, putting into perspective how tiny they are compared to the immensity of the dunes. A true ocean of sand.
Dale follows the leader – Farouk – for some time, then pans back towards the entrance of the dunes, making sure to capture Rupert and then Mariam in the frame.
It’s difficult now that the runners are more spread out, but it looks truly incredible on video.
I can already see how this will come together for social media.
The next two into the dunes are Nabil, followed by – I have to squint to make out who it is. But there’s her race number, 13; it’s Adrienne. She’s still running well.
Dale tracks her with the drone. I wonder if he’s got a memo to keep tabs on the magic ‘runner 13’.
An uncomfortable feeling rises inside me.
A fiery anger I thought I’d extinguished a long time ago.
But then Dale pans back to Nabil. By contrast to Adrienne, he does look like he’s suffering.
He’s staggering left and right, then sliding down the face of one of the dunes, as if he’s lost control of his legs.
‘Ali?’ He comes over to view the screen. He watches for a moment. ‘Should we go to him?’ I ask.
‘I thought that was not allowed.’
Of the rules that Boones gave us, interacting with the runners is high on the list of forbidden items. We’re not allowed to give water, allow them to use the car as shade or offer any food or assistance of any kind. If we do, it’s an immediate disqualification for the runner.
‘It’s not allowed. But –’ I don’t need to say more. On the screen, we watch as Nabil stumbles, then falls almost flat on his face, tumbling down the sand. He doesn’t seem to make any attempt to stop himself.
We jump in the car and Ali guns it to where the drone is hovering.
When we get to Nabil, he doesn’t respond to us.
I reach up to his shoulder and activate his emergency beacon.
I want to drive him to medical care, but the doctors will be able to reach us quicker this way.
Plus, if we move him then we might cause further injury.
The way he’s fallen, he might have hurt himself badly.
Ali is beside himself, panicked, flustered, trying to rouse Nabil.
But I take a step back, my entire body falling still. I clench my back teeth, closing my eyes. It might not be worth driving him anywhere. Because I’m fairly certain Nabil has dropped dead.