The Medusa stone (20 page)
Authors: Jack Du Brul
Selome and Mercer used scraps from their clothing to fashion rudimentary sun protection for their heads and breathed through their noses to reduce fluid loss. They tried every survival trick either had ever learned, and still their efforts were falling far short. Had either of them carried a compass or knew celestial navigation, they could have walked in the coolness of the night. As it was, they were forced to march in the daylight, the sun as their only guide. And after just one day, with an unknown number more to go, it was clear that they would die.
"The sun's almost behind the horizon." Mercer spoke for the first time in nearly six hours. "It'll be cooler in just a little while."
"And I'll be dead in just a little while, too." Selome managed a smile, though her voice scratched like an old phonograph record.
"That's the spirit," Mercer rasped. "Nothing like a positive attitude."
His grin cracked his dry lips and a tiny bead of blood quivered at the corner of his mouth. He surveyed the terrain around them. The landscape was spiked by mountainous ramparts that grew from the desert floor with brutal regularity, forcing them to follow a meandering route as they tracked eastward toward the Adobha River.
They continued on, their steps less sure, fatigue and dehydration taking their toll. Just before total darkness set in, Mercer steered Selome to one of the countless kopjes, rocky hillocks similar to the buttes that dot the American Southwest, and led her into one of the hundreds of caves that pocked the cliff, riven out of the stone by eons of erosion. Too exhausted to speak, they tumbled to the floor and soaked up the cave's chilled air. A full half hour passed before Mercer felt he had the energy to sit up and press his aching back against the rock wall. He tried to use his pack as a pillow but its contents were even harder and more jagged than the stone.
Neither dared remove their boots. Their feet would have swollen immediately and they wouldn't be able to don them again in the morning. Mercer did loosen his laces to ease the pressure against his tender skin.
"Try it," he prompted Selome. "It feels better than sex."
"You must not be very good," she teased. "How far do you think we've come?"
"I'd guess about twenty-five to thirty miles."
"Then we're halfway to the Adobha River."
"Unfortunately no. Because of the terrain and our need to go around these damned hills, I estimate we've only walked about fifteen miles due east." Though he wanted to protect her from their reality, she had a right to know.
"So the river is . . ."
"Another forty-five miles. If the ground doesn't flatten out soon, we'll actually have to cover seventy. And our bodies are going to weaken even more during the night. Our pace will be slower tomorrow, and every second we're out in the sun, we're going to dehydrate further. I'm sorry to tell you this, but these are the facts."
Selome's body slumped in defeat. "Can we go back and take our chances with the Sudanese?"
Mercer couldn't specifically recall facing a more desperate situation but Selome took comfort from his words. She crawled to him, laying her head on the hard pads of his stomach muscles. He stroked her hair softly and she mewed before drifting into an exhausted sleep. For Mercer, the respite of oblivion was a long time in coming.
He was almost too tired and sore to sleep. Something about what Selome had told him nagged at the back of his mind, something about Levine's quest to find King Solomon's mine. It was an archaeological treasure, the find of the century, but Mercer couldn't figure out how the Israeli minister planned to use it to gain power or to help him hold it once he'd won the elections. Something didn't fit. There was another piece to this puzzle that Selome hadn't mentioned.
Had he not been so exhausted and his mind tortured by the dry thirst, he would have demanded an explanation, but until they were safe again, neither could afford to waste the energy talking about something that was, for the moment, out of their control. Just before sleep claimed him, Mercer had one more thought: the Eritrean refugees he had sent for from Sudan. They were leaving one hell and heading straight into another. He knew their labor would be eagerly accepted by the rebel soldiers who were undoubtedly at the mine at this very moment. Mercer realized that his and Selome's struggle for survival was also a race against time.
At dawn the next day, Selome woke before Mercer and her feeble stirrings brought him awake. They had snuggled together during the night, their legs twined. It was a position of intimate trust, the nocturnal pose of lovers, and for several seconds they silently enjoyed the touch. It was only when Selome tried to lift herself that they realized how much their muscles had stiffened. She whimpered, her face screwed up with pain.
"Oh, Christ," Mercer said, his voice barely a hoarse croak.
Moving like arthritics, Mercer followed Selome's lead as she began stretching her tensed limbs. His joints popped and creaked in the confines of the cave and he knew intimately how Harry White felt every morning of every day.
Thinking of his old friend brought a burst of adrenaline to Mercer's heart, the natural drug giving him just enough strength to motion for Selome that it was time to continue. It was almost six in the morning, and they would have a couple of hours before the sun's heat began searing the desert floor.
"Last one in the swimming pool is a rotten egg," Mercer tried to joke. Selome was too exhausted to respond.
The vastness of the wasteland made their progress seem like that of insects crawling across a huge table. Yet for them, every step was a personal triumph against the ravages of thirst and exhaustion. Selome called for a break after two hours, but Mercer urged her on with just a touch of her shoulder. She moved like an automaton, her gait mechanical, her arms no longer swinging because the effort was too great. After two more hours, Mercer could not dissuade her from stopping, and she plopped to the ground in the shade of a small granite outcropping. Mercer slumped next to her, watching fifteen minutes ratchet by on his Tag Heuer before staggering to his feet and extending his hand. Gamely, she reached up and allowed him to haul her up.
Trying to maintain some sort of mile, but when he reached the number, he knew they had walked half that distance. He abandoned the counting and continued to put one foot before the other, thinking their next rest would come when Selome could go no farther. Yet it was he who needed the break first.
Just after noon, at the edge of one more nameless mountain, Mercer saw a cave similar to the one in which they had spent the previous night and he led Selome to it, intending to wait out the hottest part of the day. The remorseless sun gave him a headache like a thousand migraines, an all-consuming agony that left him dizzy and nauseous. "We'll get moving again at three," he managed to say before drifting into an empty torpor that was neither sleep nor wakefulness, but a vacant zone somewhere in between.
Neither was able to stir at their three o'clock goal, so they didn't start out again until it was nearly dark, their pace so slow that they would have trouble making it to the next sheltering mountain before their strength gave out completely. Death by dehydration would still be another torturous day away. But no amount of determination or will could lessen the possibility that when they stopped for the night, they might never rise again.
"Do you think you can keep going after sunset?"
Selome nodded, then asked after a pause, "Won't we get lost?"
"We already are," Mercer admitted, and they walked on in silence. They could cover more ground in the dark, regardless of direction. He had to keep them moving--simply sitting and waiting for the end just was not an option. An hour elapsed before Mercer continued their exchange, not realizing so much time had passed. "We can rest again tomorrow and maybe make it a few more miles the next night, but that'll be our last."
Selome's half-hour delay in her reply went unnoticed in their misery. "Isn't the monastery on this side of the river?"
A quarter mile later. "That's what Habte and Gibby said. I don't know how much closer it is."
Twenty minutes: "Let's hope it's a lot closer."
Darkness came swiftly, sucking the heat from the desert with a welcome suddenness. When the stars showed, they shone with a cold, indifferent brilliance. With the temperature down twenty degrees, Mercer and Selome found they could cover a greater distance between rest stops, and even those stops were shorter. For the first part of the night, they felt a small degree of hope.
But by midnight what little strength they'd managed to hold in reserve had burned away, and as suddenly as night had stolen the day, exhaustion stole their will. From a starting average of two miles per hour, they were down to just half and every hour slowed them even further. Their thirst was no longer a simple agonizing craving. Every second brought greater and greater damage to their bodies. Another twelve hours would lead to severe and possible irreversible kidney damage. After that, death would be quick.
The sun approached at five, rouging the sky. Amazingly, Mercer and Selome had traveled nearly twenty miles, their route eastward more direct as the gaps between mountains widened. Still there were untold miles remaining, and as Mercer began searching for another cave in which to hole up, he knew they would never see the end of their journey. When the sun went down again, they might cover a few more miles, but most likely, this stop would be their last. In desperation, Mercer sucked at the blood that dripped from his cracked lips.
His eyes were nearly closed by dehydration and the fast-approaching sunrise. Beyond a few feet, ss labored, a tiny but noticeable smile on his face.
The Monastery of Debre Amlak
An unfamiliar sensation brought Mercer awake, and it took him a moment to recognize what it was.
A mattress! Oh, Jesus!
Worn to little more than the thickness of a blanket and covered with sheets of the roughest cotton, it still felt as if he were resting on clouds. His whole body ached, his feet and legs especially. However, it was a reassuring pain that told him he was still alive. He shifted under the bedding; the blisters on his feet smeared open against the sheets. He gasped and shot up in bed, grabbing for his stinging heel. Instantly, his vision clouded over and his head swam. He collapsed back against the flat pillow, his sore feet all but forgotten.
A mattress! Oh, Jesus!
Worn to little more than the thickness of a blanket and covered with sheets of the roughest cotton, it still felt as if he were resting on clouds. His whole body ached, his feet and legs especially. However, it was a reassuring pain that told him he was still alive. He shifted under the bedding; the blisters on his feet smeared open against the sheets. He gasped and shot up in bed, grabbing for his stinging heel. Instantly, his vision clouded over and his head swam. He collapsed back against the flat pillow, his sore feet all but forgotten.
Selome!
Her image flooded his mind, and once again he struggled upright, his arms flailing to free himself from the sheets' tangling embrace. He had to find her; nothing else mattered. Then he heard a voice and he looked to his right. The room was just large enough for the bed, a desk, and a chair. The walls were white and clean, the floors were bare and well swept, and through the single window he could see it was twilight. A crucifix above the desk was the room's only decoration. A young boy dressed in a long robe stood at Mercer's bedside. He spoke again in Tigrinyan, ignoring Mercer's incomprehension.
Her image flooded his mind, and once again he struggled upright, his arms flailing to free himself from the sheets' tangling embrace. He had to find her; nothing else mattered. Then he heard a voice and he looked to his right. The room was just large enough for the bed, a desk, and a chair. The walls were white and clean, the floors were bare and well swept, and through the single window he could see it was twilight. A crucifix above the desk was the room's only decoration. A young boy dressed in a long robe stood at Mercer's bedside. He spoke again in Tigrinyan, ignoring Mercer's incomprehension.
"Selam,"
Mercer finally croaked.
Mercer finally croaked.
"Selam, Selam,"
the youth greeted.
"Kemayla-ha?"
the youth greeted.
"Kemayla-ha?"
The boy must have been asking about his condition.
"Hmak."
Bad. It was one of the few words Mercer had learned.
"Hmak."
Bad. It was one of the few words Mercer had learned.
"Shemay Tedla iyu,"
the boy said, pointing at his chest.
"Men shem-ka?"
the boy said, pointing at his chest.
"Men shem-ka?"
Mercer understood the boy's name was Tedla. He pointed to himself. "Mercer," then added, "Selome?"
The boy gave a lengthy reply, but Mercer understood none of it. He let out a frustrated breath. Tedla poured water from a pewter pitcher and held it for him.
After draining the cup, Mercer settled under the coarse blankets and was asleep in moments. The next time he woke, he was alone and his room was dark except for a single candle burning on the desk. In its glow, he saw that a plate of fruit had been left for him. He had recovered enough to be hungry and reached for it, wolfing two man-goes and a banana before weakness overcame him and he was back asleep.
The candle had gone out when he regained consciousness again. A haunting sound echoed beyond his chamber. Mercer was disoriented, nearly panicked by the darkness, his own weakness, and the faint noise. Slowly his mind brought him back to the present, and his heart rate eased. He recognized the noise as a song, a chant. Then he remembered everything in a rush, the march through the desert, Selome's finding the water in the cave. Fuzzy pictures flashed in his mind of men carrying him and Selome from the cave up a steep trail to an ancient building. He lay in the darkness and smiled, letting the monks at their midnight prayer serenade him back to sleep. They'd made it to the monastery!
When the sun woke him, Mercer had enough strength to lever himself out of bed and dress. His clothes had been laundered and lay in a bundle on the desk. He was surprised to find he needed to use the chamber pot sitting under the bed. At least his kidneys were still functioning.
Once in the hallway, Mercer began to weaken but he continued past s large cleared table dominating the room. He sat at one of the chairs and lay his head on the tabletop, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Selome. He needed to find her.
He must have passed out again because suddenly Tedla was taping at his shoulder and speaking to him gently. "Where is everybody?" Mercer asked.
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