Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.
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Striking the Balance:
(No Country For Old Men):
The past:
We were somewhere around Tindouf, on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I was holed up in one of the Sahrawi tents overnight, suffering from burns and the delirium was upon me. I think it was a chemical explosion; our retreat from the Atlas Mountains a narrow escape and I myself the only casualty -- unexploded ordinance wedged in the Ziz riverbank going off with a bad fall.
While we were only able to cross over the border into Trans-Algeria so far, it was enough to evade the New Canaanite landspeeders until our fuel depleted. It was the season of nuclear sandstorms and the whole of the Sahara was under a blanket rendering sensor-radar useless. Tetherblood was in control, leading us further from the Moroccan border and into the blindness of the wastes. It was harsh and unrelenting, the winds whipping my tagelmoust and delivering it into the clutches of the hurricane. We later emerged from the dunes scored and bloodshot, feet run red and ragged. The chase was over but I was feverish and unable to vomit, our water having run out a day before.
Finding seclusion against boulders amongst the flats they kept me warm and hunkered down for the night. There were no settlements and we were going to die from exposure if not dehydration. I told them I was proud of them and that I would lead them into the River again if I had to. The dam was not only plunging Neo Sijilmasa into drought, but was a localised source of power for the North African Canaanite outposts. The whole of Morocco was in their chokehold.
A chill soon developed and by dawn we had been drowned in fresh sandfall.
Tetherblood sent out a flare. It was better to get captured than die. But the Kel Tamasheq found us; pastoralist Sahrawi wandering the desert from oasis to oasis. They took us in, bathed my skin and filled the wound with dried herbs and maggots. I slipped in and out of consciousness for three days, Boak never leaving my side. I had dreams of chaos and spires, rocky outcrops bursting like the Icelandic geysers and the spray coating me head to toe. I awoke periodically, the glare of the sun permeating a new tagelmoust hood. The earth shook, but I realised I was being carried, bound. My voice called out, I had no sense of direction, I was scared.
'Rest easy, Nate,' Tetherblood said 'we're on our way out of here.'
The movement was jerky, my weight treated with care. A rocky surface, the wastes adjacent to the dunes. I tried to reach out with my telepathy, my performance clumsy at best in those days. Thoughts I couldn't interpret were intercepted. Closeness, unity. Formation. Friendship. I didn't want to relax but the fever came in fits. The scent of cloves and oil, the smell of lighted embers and the wisps of fire and smoke dancing to the sky.
I slipped into dreams once more.
The fever broke a day later; I stepped out of the tent into a small settlement. The rush of children spun me round and I saw the voices rioting at a fresh delivery of water. A lone dog, probably stolen from its mother months ago yipped by their feet, the men manoeuvring the nozzle from the back of a rusted landspeeder into cloudy jugs and bowls. They shouted excitedly, jostling with one another and letting a pool develop from spray. I could see it glistening in the sun, like a mainline pipe bursting and for one day all the world gathering at that one outlet to bask in the glory of Allah's fortune.
Tetherblood greeted me, one of the English-speaking Sahwari by his side.
'This is al-Baqeq, an elder in the tribe. He's told us of the Iron ore expressway still operating in the Sahara. The trains come through every week delivering mined ore and supplies to the Dakar coast.'
'Does it stop here?' I asked.
'No. No stop at Tindouf.' The elder said.
'They're a camel-herding tribe, Nate. We maybe out one landspeeder and our air transport trashed but if we could catch that train on camelback we could shoot through the borders and past the Sahara to the coastal ports.'
'What about resistance,' I asked 'New Canaanite outposts?'
'Area controlled by Kel Tamasheq.' The man was smoking an old pipe. 'No fighting in Senegal.'
'Fine.' Then, to Tetherblood 'what's the window on this? I'm still not a hundred percent.'
'It passes through today, Nate. We can make it in five hours! The best thing is we've got lots of opportunity. The train is over two kilometres long.'
I stared at the kids slipping in the mud, the dog wild.
Upon a stony hill we stood, the sun high in the afternoon sky and the winds abated for the moment. Camels spat and scuffed, several members of the tribe present.
They spoke in Berber to one another, smoking and clutching at their old bullet-rifles. The borders were zones of conflict amongst the tribes, years ago the Polisario taking control before Apocalypse bombed Niger and Mali and obliterated an insignificant populous.
My mouth was sandy and dry, head dull and drowsy still.
In the distance, surfacing through mirage and vapour a worm of steel and wheel ploughed its predestined trail. We heard the grind of axles. The roar of its horn. We mounted and I lowered my telescope. 'Are you ready?' I asked.
The three of them nodded. The train was already through the membrane of mirage and speeding toward our interception point: the tracks a hundred and fifty meters directly ahead. Tetherblood thanked the Sahwari and I led the charge, the camel jerky but light-footed. Close to the chain of open-topped carriages and the screech of rails we galloped parallel, the worm at least twice as fast as us. I hadn't bargained on its locomotive inertia being so powerful. The winds picked up and flew down lee side, scattering loose gear and tossing our headscarves like leaves. Loose surface pebbles and desiccated roots made the camels falter and I heard Tetherblood shout above the roar: 'Nate we've got to ride faster! There's no way we'll get onboard otherwise!'
And I wondered if the beasts had it left in them. We were added weight, racing against the chain looking for handholds. I heard a scream, and watched as Boak's mount buckled under the strain. It gave a horrible weak cry and he was knocked clean off. I didn't know whether we could keep going. What if the Sahwari had turned off leaving the camels and we would be stuck out in the desert again, abandoned to the winds of fate?
I couldn't leave Boak. He was a relic from my guardian's time. He could take care of himself, off-line and hibernate until we found him again. Quickly, the camel dodged a boulder and I saw the three of us swerve in a line, Dawnsilk's camel with its mouth slack, saliva trails and beating manic animal eyes. The futility of it all.
'Nate! Boak's got a hold back there, but we'll all be stranded if we don't get on now!'