Chapter 6
CALVIN
Dawn in Jumayah is spectacular—rose-gold light spilling across the city, turning every white building pink and orange.
The call to prayer echoes through the streets, and for a moment, standing in the hotel parking lot while our driver, Khalid, loads our supplies into two SUVs, I feel the most relaxed that I have since I set my eyes on this project, because everything is working out.
Then Ella starts crying from somewhere behind me, and the moment shatters.
“I know, I know,” Georgia’s voice drifts across the parking lot, soothing but strained. “We’re almost ready to go. Just a little bit longer.”
It’s barely five in the morning. The child has every right to be upset, I suppose, but the wailing sets my teeth on edge. We haven’t even left the city yet, and already things feel chaotic.
“Everything loaded?” I ask Khalid, checking my watch.
“Almost, Mr. Aarons. Just two more cases.”
“We should have left ten minutes ago.”
“The desert will still be there in ten minutes,” Edmond says cheerfully, appearing with coffee from the hotel. “Anyone want one before we go?”
“We don’t have time,” I say.
“We have time for coffee,” Dr. Akkhad says with a smile, taking a cup from Edmond. “It’s a four-hour drive. Ten minutes won’t matter.”
I bite back a retort. They’re right, logically. But logic doesn’t touch the anxiety that’s suddenly back and thrumming through my veins. Every delay feels like failure. Every minute wasted is another minute further from answers.
Georgia appears with Ella on her hip, the toddler’s face blotchy from crying. Georgia looks exhausted already, her hair hastily pulled back, dark circles under her eyes.
“She’s not happy about the early start,” Georgia says unnecessarily.
“Will she settle once we’re moving?” I ask.
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. She’s fourteen months old, and her schedule has been thrown out the window.”
There’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there yesterday. She’s tired too. We’re all tired, and the excavating hasn’t even started yet.
Lois appears last, moving slowly, and I feel a pang of guilt. The woman is seventy-three. Maybe dawn departures aren’t ideal for her either.
“Sorry,” I say, surprising myself. “I know it’s early.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear,” Lois says with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been waking at dawn for fifty years. It’s the youngsters who need the sleep.”
There’s a flurry of activity as everyone figures out seating arrangements. Ahmed, who is doubling as second driver today, loads the last of the supplies. Khalid checks something on his GPS.
“Mrs. Lois, you’ll be most comfortable in the second vehicle with Dr. Akkhad,” Khalid says, gesturing to Ahmed’s SUV. “More legroom, and the suspension is slightly better.”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
I head to the first SUV, assuming Georgia and Ella will go with Lois. I plan to work during the drive. I need to review site surveys, answer emails while I still have some internet connection. Four hours is a long time, and I can’t afford to waste it.
But then there’s confusion. Ahmed is asking something in rapid Arabic, which I of course can’t keep up with. Khalid is responding, gesturing at the vehicles. Georgia has set Ella down to dig through the diaper bag for something, and the toddler immediately toddles toward the nearest car—mine.
“Ella, no—come back.” Georgia chases after her.
“Where does the car seat go?” Ahmed calls out in English.
“Second vehicle,” I start to say, but Khalid is already lifting Ella’s car seat.
“Here, I’ll put it in the first one. More secure mounting points,” he says, installing it in the back seat. Right next to where I’m supposed to sit. “There. Perfect.”
There, indeed. Just not perfect.
Georgia scoops up Ella and looks at the arrangement with a frown. “I thought…”
“This works better,” Khalid says, already moving on to the next task. “Ahmed’s vehicle has all the equipment and medical supplies. Safer to keep those separate from the baby.”
It makes sense, logistically. But it means Georgia and Ella will be in my vehicle. For four hours.
There goes my plan to work.
I should say something. Demand we rearrange. But everyone is already climbing into their assigned vehicles, and if I protest now, I’ll look like an ass who can’t handle being near a toddler for a few hours.
There’s a fine line between being a leader and being a tyrant, and I’m aware that I haven’t gotten off to the best foot with this team. And it’s my job to keep morale up, so I don’t say anything.
Instead, I climb into the back seat. Georgia buckles Ella into the car seat between us, and suddenly the spacious SUV feels very small. Edmond is in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. Khalid starts the engine.
“Everyone ready?” he asks.
A chorus of affirmatives, and we’re moving.
The city falls away quickly. One moment we’re navigating morning traffic, dodging motorbikes and pedestrians, and the next we’re on a highway cutting through an increasingly sparse landscape.
Buildings give way to scrubland, then to nothing but sand and rock and the occasional scraggly tree clinging to life.
The desert.
It’s beautiful in its own way, vast and empty and ancient. The morning light turns the sand into liquid gold. I can see why my grandmother loved this place, why she talked about it with such longing.
But it’s also unforgiving. Harsh. And as we drive further from civilization, that harshness becomes more apparent. The road deteriorates from smooth asphalt to cracked pavement to barely maintained dirt track.
I pull out my laptop, determined to get some work done despite the circumstances.
“Ba!” Ella shouts, slapping the car seat tray with both hands.
I glance over. She’s grinning at me like she’s just accomplished something remarkable.
“Yes, very good,” I mutter, unsure what she’s even talking about, returning to my screen.
“She’s saying hi,” Georgia says quietly. “She does that when she wants attention.”
“Hmm.”
I pull up a document, trying to focus. But Ella keeps making noises. Babbling, singing to herself, occasionally shouting “Mama!” or “Ba!” for no apparent reason.
Georgia tries to keep her quiet with toys, books, snacks. It works for a few minutes at a time, then Ella gets bored and the noise starts again.
I grit my teeth and keep working. Or trying to work. Mostly I’m reading the same paragraph over and over while a fourteen-month-old provides an enthusiastic soundtrack.
“How much further on this road?” I ask Khalid after about an hour.
“Another hour, then we turn off onto the desert route. That’s where it gets interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“No real road. We follow GPS coordinates and tire tracks from the supply trucks. It’s why we need the four-wheel drive, reinforced suspension. The desert doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
I stare out the window at the emptiness. No cell towers. No buildings. No people. Just sand and sky stretching to infinity.
This is one of the things I was excited about. The isolation. No interference. Just us and the site.
“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Ella chants, reaching for Georgia.
“I’m right here. Look, here’s your bunny.”
Georgia hands her a stuffed animal, and Ella immediately throws it on the floor, where it lands next to my foot. Smoothly, I retrieve it and hand it back without comment.
“Thank you,” Georgia says softly.
We drive on. Edmond dozes in the front seat. The landscape becomes more and more barren. I check the rear-view mirror and see the second SUV keeping pace behind us.
I try to work, but between the bouncing vehicle and Ella’s intermittent contributions to the ambient noise level, I’m getting nowhere. I close my laptop with more force than necessary.
Georgia glances at me but doesn’t say anything.
About ninety minutes in, I notice something on the horizon.
“What’s that?” I point to a dark smudge in the distance.
Khalid’s expression changes. “Sandstorm. Moving fast.”
“How fast?”
“Fast enough that we need to decide. Turn back or find shelter.”
“We’re not turning back.” The words come out harder than I intend. “How far to shelter?”
“There’s an outcropping about fifteen minutes ahead. Rock formation, some coverage. We might make it.”
“Then go.”
Khalid accelerates, and through the mirror I see the second SUV speed up to match. The dark smudge on the horizon is growing, spreading, turning the sky an ominous brownish-gray.
Ella senses the tension and starts whimpering.
“It’s okay, baby,” Georgia soothes, but I can hear the worry in her voice.
“Everyone, hold on,” Khalid says calmly. “It’s going to get rough.”
The wind hits us first, with sudden gusts that rock the SUV. Then the visibility starts dropping. The clear morning light turns murky, filtered through increasing amounts of airborne sand.
“There!” Khalid points to a rocky outcropping appearing through the haze. It’s not much, just a formation of stone rising from the desert floor, but it’s something to protect us from the storm.
Both vehicles pull up beside it, and Khalid immediately starts giving instructions. “Everyone stays inside. Windows stay up, ventilation off. We wait it out.”
“How long?” I demand.
“Could be a few minutes. Could be three hours. The desert decides.”
The desert decides. As if the desert has agency. As if we’re not in control here.
I hate it.
The storm hits in full force. Sand pelts the windows like rice at a wedding. The wind howls. Visibility drops to nearly zero—I can barely see the second SUV parked just yards away.
Ella starts wailing, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her truly scared and not just fussy. My heart is pounding fast, but she must be terrified, not having a clue what’s going on.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Georgia takes Ella’s hands. “You’re safe, baby. Mama’s here.”
“Mama!” Ella wails, reaching for her.
“I can’t take you out right now, sweetheart. We have to stay buckled. But I’m right here.”
“Mama! Mama!” The crying escalates into full-blown screaming.