Page 97 of Runner 13
My tone convinces her of how serious I am. Or maybe it’s what she wants to hear. At any rate she stops protesting, braces herself, and lifts slightly so I can swap her backpack for mine. She takes the bottle of water I hand to her and sips slowly. In addition to the pain, her body will be in shock right now.
I quickly find her first-aid kit, which is shockingly light.Like me, she’s only brought the essentials. I find paracetamol and ibuprofen, so I give those to her first. Something to take the edge off.
‘Stupid, so stupid,’ she says, as I start to wrap her leg in the sparse remnants of some bandage that I found.
‘Don’t do that to yourself. It’s so easy to lose your footing.’ Seeing her in pain, I wish I had chosen the less risky path down. But I take solace in the fact that I know Mariam is just like me. She would have gone for it even if she’d been alone. She’s racing too. And she almost made it. It wasn’t a lack of skill. Just bad luck.
I look around to see if there’s anything I can use to keep Mariam’s leg elevated. I stand to move one of the rocks and a gust of wind almost knocks me off my feet. Mariam cries out as I jolt her leg attempting to stabilize myself. ‘Sorry!’ I exclaim, but it’s stolen away by the wind.
It’s as strong as the first night of the bivouac.
Another sandstorm.
We exchange a look of panic. I have no idea how long it will take to hit us, but right now we’re the most exposed we could be, surrounded by loose sand, rocks and other debris. I think of Jason, being whacked in the head with a rogue tent peg. Anything could happen to us out here. Especially with Mariam injured. I dig out my buff, pulling it over my mouth and nose, then putting my wraparound sunglasses on top, trying to cover as much as possible. I do the same for Mariam, helping her make it comfortable.
I stand up and see what’s coming towards us. My stomach drops. It’s a wall of dust and wind, approaching like a tsunami. Multitudes bigger than the first night. Tornados of sand – several of them – rise like fingers out of theground to scrape the sky, heralds of the coming storm. Once the wall hits us, we’re going to be completely blind – at the mercy of the wind.
Even the once bright sun has now darkened. The official advice is to stay put and wait for it to pass over. But what if it’s like that first night all over again? What if it doesn’t last ten minutes but hours?
‘It’s going to be OK,’ I repeat to Mariam, unsure if I’m trying to reassure her or me.
She pulls her bandana down to her chin. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it? Dammit, leave me Adrienne.’
I’m not listening to her. I’ve had a thought. Those abandoned buildings we saw from the top of the cliff can’t be too far away – maybe half a mile.
I lean in close. ‘I think we need shelter. If the storm is anything like before, we can’t stay exposed. Not with your leg …’ I drift off.
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think I can move.’
‘Can you balance on your poles? I will support you.’
She pauses, teetering as the wind buffets our bodies. ‘Maybe.’ She takes out her telescopic poles, stretching them out to size.
I quickly take a heading for the buildings on my compass, before tucking it in the waistband of my shorts. Accessible in case we need it. In the meantime, Mariam plants one pole firmly into the ground, then wraps her other arm round my neck.
I brace myself so she can use me to push to her feet. She lets out a scream from the base of her belly, a roar to overcome the immense pain. I grip her hand, trying to lend her some of my strength. The first step is more of ahop, her other foot dragging. She grinds her teeth so hard, I can hear it. But we move. I pray that I’ve made the right decision.
It’s a painful shuffle. The storm comes upon us faster than I ever could have imagined, and I feel vindicated in my decision. But it makes moving even harder. Once we stumble, and Mariam cries out in such agony that it brings tears to my eyes. We take extra care, but it means we slow even more.
Mariam grips my hand hard, her nails digging into my skin. I’m struggling to see more than a few feet in front of us through my sunglasses. I focus on following the bearing, and eventually the walls of the building come into view. Weather-beaten and crumbling, broken roof, no door – the desert slowly subsuming the house back into itself – no wonder it was abandoned. Yet any shelter is better than nothing.
I hurry us inside, easing Mariam down so her back is supported by the stone. She leans forward, scrabbling with one hand for a bottle of water. I find it for her, twisting open the cap, tipping some of the liquid into her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice a croak. The red light on her emergency beacon still pulses. Someone must be coming. Hopefully we’ll be easier to find in here than out there.
She looks pale. Clammy. Beads of sweat are forming above her eyebrows. She’s warm to touch but shivering, and I fear the shock must really be setting in now that the adrenaline of the move is dying down. I need to find something to cover her, to try to make her more comfortable. I dig my down jacket out of my bag and wrap her up to her neck.
And we’re getting uncomfortably close to running out of water.
‘I’m going to look around,’ I say.
‘Be careful.’
‘I won’t be long.’
She lets out a grunt of frustration as I leave her side. I try to keep my promise to be quick. The storm rages, battering the walls and racing through the empty windows.
There’s nothing in this building, but we’re close to another. I remember watching a documentary about a man who got lost in the desert and how he had to drink the blood of bats to survive; I seriously hope it doesn’t come to that.
I don’t stray too far, just in case I can’t find my way back. There’s nothing. What had I hoped to find, some kind of hidden cache of Coca-Cola? Ridiculous. I stick my head out of the door, trying to see if it’s worth running to the next building.
