Short Story

Across the Desert – pt III
by M. R. Karugi

The camcorder operator, who also spoke passable English, and acted as the team leader, jabbed his finger in Muhandis direction.

“You mister, come here”, he said gruffly. The two sentries jerked Muhandis upright and pushed him to the kneeling position on the bed sheet. They stood by his side, guns at the ready, as if he would bolt, Muhandis thought.

The other two guards took new positions to cover the remaining captives better. One of his colleagues started crying behind him, a low wailing sound that echoed in the tent. Another one soon joined in the chorus.

“What do you think of meeting your maker, huh? Are you ready for heaven?” he asked Muhandis, his eyes a black pool of mystery. Muhandis stared at him blankly.

Due to the fatigue, Muhandis took some time to register what he was about to happen, and then it hit him like a thunderbolt. Their captors were actually going to execute them, as they had said. Muhandis wanted to say a thousand things at the same time. I mean, the video clip had barely reached the networks, and they had to wait for the response from their employer and ……….. It then occurred to him that none of that mattered.

Indeed the end had come. This was the moment of truth. More wailing from his colleagues rent the air. The desert was eerily still.

The lead captor then took a step towards a canvas bag leaning against the tent wall. He reached inside and took out what looked like a long, curved sheathed sword, of course it was a sword, what else could it be? Muhandis felt a big lump develop and start constricting his throat, he tried swallowing it in vain. His breathing was coming out in small bursts, and the sweat dripping from his forehead stung his eyes. His shirt was already soaked, and his grey khaki trousers were beginning to stain at the waist band.

The English-speaking, camcorder-operating captor, in an audible swoosh removed the curved, evil-looking sword from its chamois leather sheath. It glistened in the dim tent light. Muhandis closed his eyes and tried hard to swallow, but the lump had grown bigger and would not budge.

The sword brandishing captor, ordered him to open his eyes, as if it mattered, Muhandis thought. His eyes fluttered open, the sweat now running in rivulets from his forehead into his wide open eyes. The sweat really stung.

“Any last words?” the captor asked his eyes locked hard on Muhandis’. Did it matter now?

Muhandis could not utter a word, and his mouth hung open, dry and as parched as the desert outside. He attempted to wet his lips with an extended tongue; an effort was too much for his fatigued body. It was miracle he had not collapsed yet.

The captor, eyes now wide open and glistening in the dim light, tightened his two-hand grip on the sword, and raised it high above his right shoulder.

He cracked a smile, a gold-capped tooth catching the last glint of light that Muhandis saw on this earth, and the swoosh made by the sword sounded like a huge gust of wind as it descended towards Muhandis’ exposed neck. The cool air from the gust swirled over his sweat-drenched face.

Muhandis woke with a start, sitting bolt upright on his bed, as the electric fan whirled above his head with a slight swooshing sound. The cool air swirled over his sweat-drenched face. The dim light burning from the wall cast small shadows in his room. His body was drenched in sweat and his eyes stung. He clambered out of his bed and stumbled blindly into the adjoining bathroom. He rinsed his face with cold water and grabbed a towel from the rack above the sink, burying his face in its softness.

The dream had left him shaking like a leaf in a storm.

the end

Short Story

Across the Desert – pt II
by M.R. Karugi

Back in the tent, the captor operating the camcorder seemed comfortable with the gadget, maybe he had been a photojournalist in another life, Muhandis thought. The recording took a short while since no words were uttered by the captives. Perhaps insurgent headquarters would edit the same to include their demands. After ensuring the clip was fine for their purposes, he removed the mini-cassette, stowed away the camcorder, picked up his assault rifle, and stepped outside with the mini-cassette in hand. Muffled voices could be heard outside the tent, and shortly after the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the sand were heard going farther away from the tent. The short video clip was on its way to be shown to the rest of the world. This made Muhandis feel there was hope in this whole saga, that finally the world would know their fate.

He actually prayed that the messenger would reach his destination without a hitch. The other gunmen hurdled in a corner, conversing in low tones in a language that none of the captives could understand. All the time, two sentry guards kept their rifles trained on the captives, fingers at the trigger, as if anyone would bother trying to escape, Muhandis thought.

By his calculations, if he made a dash for it, movie style, he would not last long in the desert without water. They were very far away from any civilization, but the captors had planned well it seemed, and they were fully stocked on all essentials. No starving or dehydration here.

Surprisingly, they had been very well treated, being allowed time to eat, drink and rest while travelling. Each time they stopped, at tent would be put up, they would be ushered in and the black cloth covering their eyes unbound. They would proceed to be fed and allowed some little time to rest before they were bound again and were on their way.

At night, the same would happen, and they would fall soundly sleep after a heavy meal. It was surprising that one managed to fall asleep under the circumstances, but fatigue levels were usually at the highest by nightfall.

Muhandis shook his head vigorously to keep from falling asleep again. Prior to his journey, he had read all he could about the country he was going to work in, its history, economy, politics, society and all other details. This was to try and mentally prepare for his assignment, never having left his home country before.

Obviously survival skills in the desert had not been part of that repertoire. All his reading however was of no use in the middle of the desert as he faced an uncertain future.

Their captors seemed to be discussing a very serious matter judging from the intensity of the exchanges, wild gestures and contorted facial expressions. An agreement was soon reached. The camera man was now inserting another mini-cassette into the camcorder.

It seemed there was more recording to be done. He then propped the camera on its tripod, but this time moved the whole assembly to one side of the tent, angled to the space between the captives and the door of the tent.

He said something to two other sentries who were huddled near the door. They rummaged through their luggage, and took out a white bed sheet which they spread on the sandy patch between the captives and the tent door.

to be continued ………..

Short Story

Across the Desert – pt I
by M. R. Karugi

The masked gunman prodded Muhandis’ ribs with an AK-47 assault rifle. Muhandis had been dozing due to the stifling heat in the tent and sheer exhaustion. They had travelled for three days and nights across the southern Iraqi desert, and for Muhandis this was too much. Coming from a country on the equator, where temperatures rarely rose beyond 30°C, the desert heat waves were proving to be a real test of his endurance. He had chuckled with glee while watching adventurers on reality TV shows submit themselves to the same endurance tests while trekking in deserts, forests and snow-swept Arctic landscapes.

He was now fully awake and the gunman pointed to the camcorder that had been set up facing the captives. He indicated they should hold aloft their passports for the camera without covering their faces. Two masked gunmen stood on either side of the row of captives, holding their assault rifles across their chests. The short video clip of the captives was to be recorded and sent to the satellite TV stations in the Gulf.

Back in Iborian, Muhandis’ home city in his country Aynek, the news of the captured engineers in Iraq had been reported the previous night. It was not known by then what their nationalities were. Their contracting company wanted to ensure they were unharmed before releasing more details.

The video clip featuring Muhandis and his colleagues was shown on one of the Gulf’s leading regional TV news network, and rapidly spread all over the world in minutes thanks to 24-hour satellite news channels. The clip was picked by the local channels in Iborian late the same evening and the following morning, and Aynekans were treated to all the chilling drama as their day was beginning.

Muhandis was there, a tired smile playing on his lips and his eyes dead centre on the camcorder. The demands of the captors were simple, all foreign contractors were to leave Iraq and stop aiding the Americans in destroying their country.

Muhandis was a chemical engineer. He had worked tirelessly for local petroleum firms in Aynek and risen through the ranks and experience. While surfing the Internet from his office in Iborian, he followed an advertisement link, and stumbled across a job recruiting firm that was recruiting engineers of all cadres. His curiosity was piqued, and he read through the requirements and without a thought, submitted his resume.

One day the following month, his cell phone rang, and Muhandis was startled to see it was an international call. He rarely received these kinds of calls. He thumbed the “answer” button.

“Hallo?” said Muhandis.

“Good morning sir, could I speak to Joe Muhandis?” the voice with a distinct British accent said.

“This is Muhandis, how may I help you?” he replied calmly, still not knowing who was calling.

“My name is Jan Perry calling from Petrochemical Technologies in Kuwaiti City. This is in regard to the application you sent for an engineering job based in Iraq”, explained the caller.

Muhandis was thrown by the reference to Iraq, a country that was virtually at war. He then remembered vaguely filling a form and attaching his CV in reply to the job advertisement. Then it dawned on him that the gentleman was actually calling to offer him a job in Iraq. All this flew through his mind in a fraction of a second.

“Yes, I had applied for the same some time back”, said Muhandis, not sure where this was going.

“Sir, we have an opening and I am calling to discuss the offer with you. Should we agree on the basics, you shall get a technical interview on phone from our Engineering department, and should you qualify, then we shall move to the contract stage. Are you still interested in the job?” asked Mr. Perry.

Muhandis’ heart skipped a beat. When he had applied for the job, he had not given it much thought, and afterwards it had totally slipped his mind. He was not sure that he wanted to leave his home and job, but something seemed to be pulling him in that direction.

“Yes, I’m interested. What are the details of the offer?” said Muhandis.

The recruiting agent went on to outline the job description, remuneration, job location and other contractual issues. Muhandis hang on to every a word. The caller concluded by asking Muhandis to agree for him to send the same details by email. After the call, Muhandis was lost in his thoughts. He had just agreed to the offer for a job in war-torn Iraq, a country that foreigners were avoiding like the plague.

to be continued …………….