Duke knew
right away that he was in trouble. The energy wave in the air that he passed
through seemed to kill all the systems and the plane went from soaring to
descent. It was a no brainer. With no time to call for help, Duke Reed
unlatched the cargo door and dropped out of the spiralling aircraft. He prayed
that always wearing his parachute would finally pay off. With the chute
engaged, he watched as the white and red Cessna Skyhawk dropped out of the sky
and crashed onto the desert floor beneath him. The explosion rocked the sea of sand
upon contact, just like a large ripple in the water would. A pinnacle of smoke
and fire propelled up into the hot Egyptian sky. In the distance, Duke saw his intended
destination. He had left Cairo earlier that morning and headed southwest towards
Giza
There
wasn't much to salvage from the single-engine plane once the fire and smoke
subsided. The crash and resulting explosion incinerated most of the contents
and gutted the avionics, leaving little but a burned out shell. The radio was
melted and even the black box compartment seemed to be compromised. Duke Reed
was all alone, with no water, no real shelter from the searing afternoon sun
and only a pocket knife as protection. He sat for the longest time, huddled under
his parachute, which he had secured over a burned out wing with piles of the charcoal
rubble. He waited, shielding himself from the desert glare. He expected the GPS
and homing signal to bring him much-needed assistance. Surely someone had seen
the thick black smoke billowing into the cloudless sky. Although his watch must
have been damaged in the accident, his pilot and survivor training eventually
told him that no one was coming. His only ray of hope was some water that he
discovered in his carry on bag. Once the cabin had somewhat cooled, only three
plastic containers of liquid love had been conserved by his titanium briefcase.
His fishing hat and cell phone would be useful in their own accord.
Unfortunately, he couldn't get a signal, so he gathered what he could and
headed for higher ground. Despite the
heat, he knew he had to remain in his flack suit. The sun would literally eat
him alive if he exposed himself to it. His cap gave little relief from the
sweltering sky. His heavy boots anchored him as he climbed the highest sand
dune he could find. Between the ungodly
temperature and scaling the dusty monument, he had exhausted himself before
reaching the top. When he hit the summit, he fell into the baked crust.
He
carefully rationed each drink of water, taking only a small amount in order to
keep himself somewhat hydrated. When he stood, he was weak and literally lost.
He swore he had seen the three pyramids as he drifted towards the ground, but
they were now nowhere to be seen. He just assumed that each dune, after each
dune, blocked his view from this vantage point. He tried his phone again and
again but to no avail. He looked in every direction and cringed at the endless
layers of drifting and shifting sand. He spied for roads and bi-ways leading
through the desert but he could find none. If he had landed within the slightest
distance of those monoliths then there should be civilization somewhere, at
least to some degree. There were no settlements like Al Omraneyah surrounding the
modern tourist trap. He knew that this place was heavy and congested with
people. He had seen the hotels and servicing centers circling the Giza
"If Moses could do it," he joked out loud. "So
can I."
The further
he travelled in the godforsaken wasteland, the more he felt like a pork chop,
sizzling under an oven broiler. The longer he pressed on, the more futile his
journey seemed to be. His only guide was his greatest foe. The position of the
sun, and his pocket knife sitting in the sand, made for a makeshift sundial,
revealing what he hoped was the approximate time and the direction he should be
heading. From his initial approach by air, and the position of the pyramids which
he swore he had seen in the distance, he continued on a southerly course. The
blazing sun bounced off his grainy host, occasionally almost blinding him. As
his sight slowly returned, he was greeted by even more sand and more dunes and
nothing else but misery. He wondered where civilization had gone. He knew that
the plane had crashed mere kilometres from one of the most popular tourist
destinations in the modern world. He recognized that there was no indication
whatsoever that anything was at all but him, tracking through hell itself. He was tempted to change his aim to the southeast in hopes
of finding the Nile river, but
fearing he might get further lost deterred his gut instinct. He carried on over
a land that was fit for no man, especially one quite ill prepared for the
journey.
It was
completely impossible but it seemed to Duke that the Sahara Desert had
swallowed up any trace of man or beast. There was nothing, no marker, no
signpost to help him find his way. Since Giza is the third largest
city in Egypt Cairo
All hope
left Duke Reed as he sat up and surveyed his lot. He saw the plain truth,
stretching out into nowhere. Perched on the sand, he almost went out of his
mind. It had become quite obvious to him that something beyond explanation had
occurred. He was sure he had not strayed off course. He realized the world as
he knew it had completely disappeared. He searched his intellect for answers,
for an account of what had happened. Perhaps, he carefully considered, it was
not modern civilization that vanished but somehow he had. He pondered any other
rational solution but came up empty. It must have been that breach he passed
through in mid-air. Although he had only experienced it for a moment before it
swallowed him and his plane, he was sure that this could be the only
explanation. He imagined that, like with a wormhole, he had been stolen from
one place to put down in another. For all he knew, that portal had deposited
him far out in the middle of the Sahara . He was
grateful that it had not chosen to leave him floating out in an ocean or
melting in an active volcano. He realized he could have landed in any desert,
anywhere in the world. This could be the Australian
Outback or even the Arabian Desert
to his east. Still, it might have been
easier for him to have died instantly in that crash, rather than shrivelling in
this scorching heat and merciless sun. He didn't know what was next. Why bother
moving when he could just surrender and be done with the entire struggle. He
reached deep into the improvised satchel that he had clipped from his parachute
and pulled out the one remaining bottle of water. Only 500 millilitres of pure
spring refreshment now stood between him and sheer agony, then death. He
rested, propped up high on a sandy peak with no idea what the hell he was
supposed to do. He finally mustered enough strength to push himself up.
Everyone looks for God when lost in the desert.
He had
never been a praying man, but Duke called out for anything that might be
listening. He started to panic given his unfortunate circumstances. He begged
and he pleaded to the God he had never
had the time for or the disposition to even consider. He grew dizzy and noticed
he had stopped sweating. Recognizing the telltale signs of heat stroke, he
called out into the distance with one last appeal. He checked the phone which
had long ago run out of power. As he headed down the side of that giant dune,
he tripped from exhaustion and rolled to the bottom. The sun had risen into an
afternoon sky, of that much he was sure. He closed his eyes before they
disintegrated into puddles of flesh. He flipped over to shield his face and
block the glare which continually attacked him throughout the day. The wind had
arrived and was blowing ever so slightly against his exposed skin. He supposed
that even this minuscule relief was nothing but some tease, meant only for
Divine entertainment. He felt punished. He knew madness. He gave in to abandon
and surrendered to the sand.
The whole of
the desert meant silence. He screamed out loud, cursing anything Holy in one
last reprieve. Hope then rose from the desert floor. Despite his state of mind,
he could hear something in the distance. It was some form of flapping, some
lingering noise that remained on the wind as it picked up speed. He rose onto
his elbows to look around. He knew that he had seen nothing but desolation as
he had approached the dune that he lay at the base of. He was convinced that he
had journeyed so far for nothing. Even now, he saw only more hills of death and
isolation. Reaching for the water, he gulped some down then stood against his
shining foe. He listened and heard it once again. It seemed to be coming from
somewhere over the dune just beyond him.
Tiny pieces of earth stung against his face as he raged into the meagre
sandstorm that had called to him. Each step he took was instantly covered by
the wind blowing up the sand. He rushed as much as he could, tripping several
times into the searing ocean of meant to be glass. His breath was shallow yet
racing. His eyes were filled by the looming orb. He mustered everything that
was left within him and he sped around the ridge. He dropped to his knees when
he found it.
The ruffle from his compromised parachute danced in the
breeze.
Natalie
Reed watched her husband through the thick piece of glass in the observation room door. It had been three weeks
since the plane crash and little had changed. As the only survivor, she
realized how lucky he was to be alive. Duke sat in a corner of the fully white
space, rocking himself in an obsessive motion. He uttered nonsense while
bouncing against the padded wall. They had found him covered by his parachute,
lying face down in the sands. The only thing they knew for sure regarding the
incident was that someone had opened the cargo door in mid-air, forcing the
plane into a tailspin due to the change in pressure and wind speed. The craft
plummeted to the ground. The pilot and other passengers died instantly upon
impact. The white and red Cessna Skyhawk was burnt out beyond recognition. Somehow
Duke had managed to break free, landing less than 100 feet from the wreckage.
When they found him, covered in sand and his means of escape, he was intact or
so they thought.
"All he wanted was to see those damn pyramids,"
she whispered to herself.
The wall of
energy appeared out of nowhere. The plane flew through it and the engine and
system conked out instantly. With little time to escape, he secured the
parachute he was wearing and flew out the plane's cargo door. He floated to the
ground as he watched the Cessna Skyhawk take a nosedive and drop sharply from
the Egyptian sky.
The resulting explosion sent a pillar of smoke and fire and
ash straight up into the air. Duke Reed seemed to hover, softly hanging above
the desert floor. In the distance, like a beacon of hope, he spotted three
pyramids just to the south.
Sources
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