Page 24 of Runner 13

Stella

Once the sun sets in the bivouac, the atmosphere shifts. Most of the runners pass out in their tents not long after dark, the effort of the day catching up with them. The other photographers, the medics, the volunteers – they’re all exhausted too.

But I feel wired. I take a seat on a log outside, sipping lukewarm coffee I made over a tiny stove, waiting until I’m certain Dale is asleep. I need his drone. I want to see for myself what happened out in the dunes.

Another race, another death. Somehow I’d known this was going to happen, and yet I hadn’t spoken up. No more. I’d gone straight to Boone’s trailer straight after his announcement.

But Dad wasn’t there. Henry told me he’d driven off to the city to meet Nabil’s family. At least that was a decent thing to do – so decent it made me doubt whether he had actually done it.

I peer inside the darkness of our tent, listening to the steady breathing of its occupants.

Dale left his drone in the middle, so I sneak in and carefully lift it out.

I choose a spot behind a bush, where the artificial brightness of the remote viewing screen won’t be so noticeable, then rewind back to when it starts hovering over Nabil.

I don’t know what I expect a heart attack to look like.

But to me it seems like Nabil is suffering long before he collapses.

Wouldn’t it be instant? Or had his heart been slowly failing him from long before he entered the dunes?

Then the drone hovers a little while longer, as we rush to reach him. I see myself pressing his emergency beacon. Then the video goes dark.

I remember the moments after that. The agonizing wait for the doctors to arrive. Ali’s panic. Dale stock-still, unable to tear his eyes away. The sour taste on my tongue. Trouble catching my breath.

The dark-haired doctor Emilio was next on the scene. After that, things happened quickly. He’d administered first aid, then bundled him in the car to Ouarzazate. We’d returned to our vehicle and driven back to the bivouac in silence.

The video is just as upsetting to watch as it was to witness. Like a reflex, I reach into my pocket for my phone before remembering it’s gone. Fuck. I want to call Pete. Ask him to go to the hospital in Ouarzazate and see if he can find out what exactly happened to Nabil.

Maybe the doctor will speak to me. Something doesn’t feel right, and I need to know if my instincts are correct.

The medical tent is manned through the night in case of emergencies, so there’s a chance he’s still awake. I tuck the drone back into Dale’s backpack before crossing the bivouac.

As I enter, a young woman is packing something away in plastic boxes, ready to be moved in the morning.

‘Excuse me,’ I ask her. ‘Is Dr Emilio still here?’

She jumps, spilling one of the boxes. Rolls of tape, a few needles and small bottles of iodine tumble out on to the rough rattan flooring.

‘Oh shit!’ I say, bending down. ‘Let me help with that.’

She shakes her head, glancing behind her. ‘My fault. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘Rough day, huh?’

‘Horrible. So many people we had to help. If tomorrow is the same, we will be in real trouble. I can’t even think about the hundred-mile day …’

‘Nightmare.’

‘Um, the doctor is with a patient. If you wait a little bit, I’m sure he’ll be out soon.’

‘Thanks,’ I say.

She lifts the boxes and carries them out of the tent, as I wander towards the back. A sign requesting privacy is hung across a canvas door, but we’re in a marquee set up in the middle of the desert – it’s a bit unreasonable to expect much privacy in this environment.

I cough, loud enough to let him know there’s someone waiting. I hear what sounds like the snap of gloves and a low murmur of voices. Some tapping, fingers on a keyboard. I wonder if there’s a computer in there I can use to send a message to Pete. Then the flap flies open.

‘Can I help you?’ the doctor asks.

I sneak a look over his shoulder, but if there’s a device in there I don’t spot it in that split second.

‘Yes. I was with Nabil this afternoon.’

The doctor stares at me for a second, then nods. He rubs his temple. ‘ Scusa , I recognize you now. One of the photographers. Stella, right?’

‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’

‘I know. It’s a shock to us all. But he had a heart condition that he failed to tell us about.’

I pause, studying the doctor’s face. There’s a grim shadow across it, the faintest hint of some warring emotion – guilt?

‘I was reviewing some of the video footage and it looks like he was in trouble long before he actually went down. Stumbling around. Kind of woozy. Wouldn’t a heart attack be more sudden? ’

The doctor keeps his features very still. ‘It’s hard to say.’

‘But in your opinion …’

‘My opinion doesn’t matter very much – it is for the examiner in Ouarzazate to determine what happened.’

He’s a closed book. I grit my teeth. There’s something else that’s been playing on my mind. ‘Have you worked at many ultramarathons?’

He shakes his head. ‘This is my first one. And last, I think.’

‘Oh really? How did you come to be in Boones’s orbit, then?’

‘That is private information.’ The doctor’s mouth is set in a firm line.

‘I can’t help being intrigued. You know, since I’m his daughter and all.’

‘You are?’

‘Yes. And I know he’s very sick. He’s suffered with his heart his whole life. But if you know anything about my dad at all, you’ll know that getting any information out of him is impossible. How worried should I really be?’

The doctor’s expression softens, the guarded look in his eyes turning to pity. ‘I cannot divulge that. But if you are his family, it is good you are here. Is there anything else I can do for you, Stella?’

‘Oh, yes. Do you have any painkillers? An aspirin or something? In all the madness I forgot to bring any with me.’

He sighs. ‘Everything has been packed away. They’ll be in the trucks already.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Give me one second and I will see if I can catch Wendy before she puts the last box away.’

‘Thank you.’

As he leaves the tent, I push through to the private area he’d been in before. There’s a desk set up covered in files. I push them aside, searching for a laptop.

No such luck. But there is a black bag on the floor. I recognize it as the one Emilio had been carrying all day. Maybe he has a phone I can use.

I open it, rifling through the contents as quickly as I can.

There are all the normal things I would expect in a doctor’s bag: bandages, stethoscope, syringes sealed in sterile packaging.

But there’s something I don’t expect. An empty, crumpled water bottle, like the hundreds of bottles we handed out at the checkpoints throughout the race.

Except this one has writing on it. A number half erased by sweat. It’s one of the runner’s bottles.

I take it out and hold it up to the light. A dribble of water remains. But in the water there’s a residue of powder, leaving a trace all along the bottom of plastic.

It could be nothing. Maybe he’s just a conscientious doctor picking up the trash. But it sets my heart racing.

I dive back into the bag, my search taking on a different urgency. My fingers snag on a flap of material, and when I pull, the bottom of the bag lifts.

Underneath is an assortment of pill bottles held down by elastic. I’m no doctor, but I recognize the drug name. Ketamine. Why is a running race doctor walking around carrying sedatives? And is it for a patient or for his own personal use?

I hear Emilio’s footsteps returning. I grab one of the bottles, slipping it into my pocket, replacing the bag’s contents as best I can.

I’m back in the main part of the medical tent when Emilio emerges with a blister pack of aspirin. I mutter my thanks, rushing to get out of there. My breath catches in my throat as Emilio calls out my name.

I spin round slowly, the bottle burning a hole in my pocket. ‘Yes?’

‘Your father,’ he says. ‘He needs you. Spend as much time with him as you can.’

I nod, and slip out into the dark.