Page 53 of Runner 13

Stella

We look up as Henry runs into the tent. ‘Another emergency beacon has gone off.’

Pete leaps to his feet. ‘Shit – Adrienne?’

‘No, but that woman she often runs with. Mariam. They could be together.’

‘Why didn’t Emilio come and get us?’ I ask Henry.

‘After he got Boones off to the hospital, he and Rachid drove straight back out into the desert again. Towards Jebel Tilelli. He wanted to be closer in case of exactly this, another beacon going off – but I insisted he take a radio to let us know.’

‘Fuck! It might take us hours to get to them.’

‘It’s getting lighter now – if you take the helicopter, you might even beat him.’

‘Great,’ I say.

It takes us minutes to grab our things.

‘It might not have anything to do with Matthew,’ Pete says, trying to reassure himself more than me. ‘Mariam could be pulling out for any number of reasons.’

‘Or it could,’ I say. I grab Pete’s hand, stopping him from leaving the tent. ‘Look, there’s not going to be much room in the helicopter.’

‘Right. Mac can stay behind.’

‘No way!’ Mac protests.

I wave him off. ‘Pete, stay in the bivouac. Coordinate with the police when they get here – show them all this evidence and get them ready to arrest Matthew when we bring him in.’

‘Stella, this is insane. There’s a mad man with a gun. My ex-wife is out there, Ethan’s mother …’

‘Exactly. That’s why you can’t go. Ethan needs both his parents . You can’t take any risks.’

I can see the decision warring on his face. He doesn’t like it, but even he can see the logic. He gives me the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod.

I don’t know if Mac senses that I would prefer him not to come either, but he’s already sprinting to where the helicopter is parked, not giving me a chance to protest. Maybe he has more journalistic instinct than he gives himself credit for.

The propeller blades are already in motion, and with a quick glance I see the pilot waving at me, gesturing for me to hurry up.

I duck under the blades and clamber into the seat next to Mac. ‘Go, go!’ I say to the pilot.

And then we’re up in the air.

The door isn’t even closed. I’m strapped in but the wind rushes through the helicopter, showing me a view that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

Yet quickly I forget about the fear and simply ogle the scale of the bivouac itself, like a tattoo on the skin of the desert.

The rolling dunes look almost benign from here, despite the fact I know how menacing they are.

Everything bar the sky is in a palette of oranges and browns.

Mac has an iPad on his lap, showing a map of the area; I can see a blue dot on it. ‘Are those the coordinates?’ I try to shout, until he points at me to put on a pair of earphones.

Once I do and depress a button I’m able to speak at a normal level so Mac can hear me.

‘That where the beacon went off?’ I ask

‘Yeah!’

‘Can I see?’ I gesture to take the tablet, but he holds on to it protectively.

‘I wanna compare it to the map we got off Alex!’ I say.

I pull it out of my pocket and unfold it.

Mac leans over so that I can see the screen better – still not letting me take control.

We try to match the topography of the digital map with the hand-drawn one but it’s nearly impossible.

It doesn’t look to me as though Alex’s route intersected with where Mariam’s beacon went off.

Boones must have sent them off in wildly different directions.

Something that’s going to make our jobs even more difficult.

‘Holy fuck,’ I hear in my ear.

It’s not Mac. It’s the pilot.

My head jerks up. Those words – and many more like them – are coming at speed out of the pilot’s mouth. Not exactly the kind of language you want to hear while in a tin metal box high above the desert.

‘Sandstorm,’ he says, twisting his head to one side. ‘Over there. Moving fast.’

‘Didn’t that appear on the radar?’ I ask.

‘These things pop up quickly. We can’t fly to those coordinates. I gotta put down.’

‘We can’t do it here!’ I say. ‘We’re miles from the beacon!’

‘No choice.’

‘For God’s sake, land us!’ Mac screams.

The sight of the sandstorm silences any further objections I might have. It’s a beast. I think back to the first night, the ferocity we experienced. Like hell I want to be in the air during that. That sand could level a jumbo jet if it was stupid enough to fly in its path.

The pilot agrees. He banks away from the storm, but we can’t even fly back to the bivouac.

The storm is approaching faster than I could ever imagine.

He heads instead towards a flat rocky plain.

I think the sunlight winks off something metal there, but I blink and can’t find it again.

The winds have picked up, chasing us, shaking the body of the chopper.

I want to scream in fear but I swallow it down.

Keep stoic. The only thing showing my fear are my knuckles, which are white as they grip the edge of my seat.

‘OK, everyone, brace, brace! When we land, remove your restraints and leave the helicopter calmly, staying as low as you can until you’re out of range of the rotor blades.’

I force myself not to close my eyes but I stare deliberately through the window, trying to focus on the horizon so I don’t get the sense of ground rushing towards me. If we can’t get to the beacon, then I somehow need to get to the jebel. That’s where all the runners will converge.

I see it again – the flashing metal object. Like someone is signalling us.

I can’t think about it much more. The helicopter does an almost three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin that makes me feel ill.

My eyes snap shut of their own accord, bile rising in my throat.

But then there’s a thump as we land on the ground.

I wait, holding my breath, but we don’t crash or explode. We’re safe.

In a split second I’m out of my harness and through the open door. I crouch down until I reach a pile of boulders I can shelter behind.

‘Did you see that?’ I ask Mac, when he joins me.

‘The storm?’

‘No – there was someone out there signalling to us. I’m sure of it. Don’t the runners have to carry a pocket mirror with them for that purpose?’ I’m sure I remember that from Pete’s packing list. ‘How far are we from the beacon?’ I ask Mac.

‘Still a few miles. But it’s right in the middle of that.’

He points and I follow the direction of his finger. I hadn’t realized but we’ve landed on the edge of a steep drop leading down to a huge crater of dirt and sand. The crater is swirling with the sandstorm – if it wasn’t so terrifying, it would be magnificent.

‘Jesus.’

‘You’re telling me. We’ve got to wait it out.’

‘Let’s go and see if we can find who signalled us, then,’ I say.

Mac shakes his head. ‘Are you daft? I’m not leaving the helicopter. What if the storm clears and we can fly again? Or what if it comes this way and we’re out in the open?’

I look back out at the massive storm, the wind whipping my hair even here. He’s right. Staying with the chopper would be safer. But there’s someone else out there. We can’t just leave them.

‘Fine, you stay here. Do not leave without me. I’m going to see if I can find whoever it was.’

‘I don’t think you need to.’

‘Mac, someone’s out there …’

‘No, I mean, they’ve found us. Look. Oh shit, I think it’s Emilio.’ Mac is squinting now, trying to focus.

‘What?’

Mac’s right. Emilio stumbles towards us, his hand holding a bloody piece of cloth to his head. Mac and I run to his side. He collapses when we reach him, and we prop him up by taking one arm across our shoulders.

‘My God! What happened?’ I ask.

‘Don’t … know.’ He swoons again, teetering on the edge of consciousness. He’s got a nasty gash on his temple; I don’t know how he made it to us.

‘He needs water,’ I say to Mac. ‘Let’s get him to the helicopter.’

The pilot sees us and comes over to help, freeing me to grab water and a small first-aid kit from inside the aircraft. I have so many questions. Where is Rachid? Where is the car?

We prop him up, tipping fresh water into his mouth. The wound on his head is superficial, the blood making it look more alarming than it is.

The doctor seems better now that he’s got some fluid in him, colour returning to his face.

Now he doesn’t look in pain – he looks angry, muttering in what I presume is Italian, before gathering himself.

‘We were driving to the beacon but we came across someone on the way. He waved us down and we stopped. When I got out of the car, he jumped me. He had a gun.’

Despite the searing heat, my blood runs cold. ‘Runner 501?’

‘If it was, he wasn’t wearing his bib any more.’

‘He doesn’t need it. He was never out to win the race. Probably didn’t want to be easily identified,’ says Mac.

‘He forced Rachid to drive off,’ says Emilio.

‘So now he’s got a hostage?!’ I exclaim.

‘And my medical kit. You must have some supplies in the helicopter, right? We have to get to Mariam,’ says Emilio, trying to stand up.

I shake my head, and both the pilot and Mac guide Emilio back to seated.

‘The storm is still too bad. We have to wait it out. Here, take these.’ In the bag I find some painkillers.

He pops them dry. ‘When the signal is back, we’ll send the coordinates to the bivouac and tell them to send as many vehicles as they can spare,’ I say.

It’s agonizing to wait, but we have no choice. The wind is picking up where we are too, and we’re forced to huddle together for protection.

My mind keeps snagging on what Dad said in the car. He’s gone too far . He’s gone too far … past what? Boones expected something out of someone, only it’s spun out of control.

Is that what’s finally happened? Boones has lost control of his own race?

The pilot gets our attention. ‘I think we’re good to fly,’ he says. ‘Storm’s dying.’

‘Great,’ says Emilio, wincing. ‘Let’s get to Mariam. It’s been too long already.’

‘She’s smart,’ I say. ‘She will have hunkered down somewhere. She would have known we couldn’t get to her in that storm. If she had enough wits about her to set off her emergency beacon, she would have known to take shelter.’

‘I hope you are right,’ says Emilio.

‘We should fly him to the biv,’ says Mac under his breath to me. ‘There won’t be room for Mariam in here anyway.’

‘Then you can look forward to a long walk back.’ Louder, I say, ‘Let’s get to Mariam.’

We help Emilio into the helicopter, strapping him in – although he seems stronger now. More alert. Once we’re all aboard the helicopter, the pilot lifts off.

It doesn’t take us long to home in on the emergency beacon. I’m scanning the horizon, trying to see if I can see any sign of life.

‘Looks like it’s coming from near those buildings,’ I say, pointing to a small enclave of abandoned-looking ruins. A smart place to hide out from a storm. I knew Mariam would do it.

Someone emerges from one of the buildings, waving their arms. But it doesn’t look anything like Mariam. For one thing it’s clearly a man.

‘Wait! Don’t land!’ Mac screams at the pilot, his eyes wide with panic. ‘That’s the guy with the gun. That’s runner 501.’