- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
It was terribly hot and his throat was parched. Both of which were par for the course, Alex thought wryly. Ever since he'd come to Morocco he'd been hot and thirsty, no matter how much he drank.
And now he was stranded on the outskirts of town, his car's engine smoking. He thought it rather ironic that his car, of all things, would break down while he was doing research in anticipation of covering the first ever trans-Sahara car race. 'First ever' because the prince had promised it would not be the last.
So he'd come and started following the route map, wanting to know the way as well as he could before he had to try to navigate the strange land while covering the race. It was sure to make his name with the newspapers.
Right now though, the only thing he wanted a newspaper for was to fan himself.
He'd opened the bonnet, burning his fingers in the process, but truth be told, he knew nothing of what went on under the hood of the automobile. And thus he was stranded where he was until someone came upon him.
He'd already tried the three houses that clustered around the road, if you could call it that, and they had proven to be quite unhelpful. No running water, let alone telephones.
He sat carefully on the footboard of the car and took off his glasses, wiping his face down with his sleeve before perching the spectacles back on his nose. There wasn't even any shade and his hat had blown off and he'd used all of his water on the overheated engine. And he was feeling just a little woozy.
He watched a cloud of dust coming toward him for the longest time before he realized it was most likely rescue in one form or another and then it took himrather longer to decide that no, it probably wasn't a mirage. He stood, far too quickly for such a terribly hot day, and grabbed onto the side of the car as the world went blurry.
The dust clarified into two horses, dark and tall, the men upon them dressed in flowing robes, faces hidden.
"Oh. Hello." He had to clear his throat and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. "Do you speak English? I need help."
A smattering of words sounded, none of which made sense. Then a dark hand reached for him, grabbed him up onto the back of a horse.
He was ashamed to admit that he shrieked. Just a little. It had been unexpected and the horse was very high up and he was worried about falling off. "Um ... you see, my car has broken down."
More rumbling and chattering and the horses began to move, the action remarkably fast, bumpy.
He wrapped his arms around the body in front of him as he felt like he was going to be thrown, clinging. He might have taken it as a good sign, if they were moving into the city where he could send someone back for his car, but they weren't moving into the city at all; instead they were headed back out into the Sahara.
"Where are you taking me? What is going on?"
A loud whooping sounded, the horses moving faster and faster, the sand zooming by. He screamed then, wanting to let go and fall off the horse, but too scared of the drop, so he just tightened his hold around the waist of the man in front of him.
A piece of material was wrapped around his wrists, making the option of not holding on much less available to him.
He screamed again, shouting, yelling, though a small voice inside him asked just who he thought was going to come to his rescue. He was shaken up, tugging on his hands, trying to loosen his bonds, no longer caring if falling off the horse was dangerous. He was scared.
The men didn't seem to care in the slightest, the sand kicking up and choking him, not even a hint of the city left behind.
Between the sun and sand and the bouncing and the lack of water, he was getting woozy.
His eyes were closed tight and slowly everything else faded away, the sweet darkness welcoming and cool.
Posted July 5, 2010
No text was provided for this review.
Posted January 10, 2010
No text was provided for this review.