Downside? She would just have to brave the storm again.
The wind was screaming louder than ever and the sand was like an industrial rasp. But she was determined—determined to live, determined to be seen, and determined to do everything in her power to ensure that happened.
Once she had managed to get everything out of the back of the Jeep, securing the warning triangle to the handle of the spade with her bra was the easy part. Finding a way to fix it onto the Jeep wasn’t quite so simple. She settled for wedging it into the bull bars, and now she had to get back into the shelter of the vehicle as quickly as she could or she would be buried where she stood.
Closing the door, she relished the relative silence, and, turning everything off, she resigned herself to the darkness. She had to conserve power. There was nothing more she could do for now but wait out the storm and hope that when it passed over she would still be alive and could dig her way out.
CHAPTER TEN
DISMOUNTING, SHARIF COVERED his horse’s face with a cloth so he could lead it forward. Attached to his horse by a rope was the camel loaded down with equipment. The camel’s eyelashes provided the ultimate in protection against the sand, while he had to be content with narrowing his eyes and staring through the smallest slit in his howlis. His men had gathered round him, and so long as he could see the compass he was happy he could lead them to Britt’s Jeep. When all else failed magnetic north saved the day.
As they struggled on against the wind he sent up silent thanks that Jasmina had been able to text him Britt’s last coordinates, but a shaft of dread pierced him when he wondered if he would reach her in time.
He had to reach her in time. He had intended to test Britt as she had tested him in Skavanga when she arrived in the desert, but not like this.
What would she think when he appeared out of the storm? That a bandit was coming for her? It only occurred to him now that she had never seen him in robes before. That seemed so unimportant. He just prayed he would find her alive. He had left the encampment battening down for what was essentially a siege. Custom dictated the tribe pitch their tents at the foot of a rock face to allow for situations like a sandstorm. The best he could hope for where Britt was concerned was that she’d had enough sense to stay inside her vehicle. She wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance outside.
* * *
The scream of the wind was unbearable. It seemed never ending. It was as if a living creature were trying every way it knew how to reach her inside the Jeep. Curled up defensively with her hands over her ears, she knew that the electrics were shot and the phone was useless. The sand was already halfway up the window. How much longer could she survive this?
What a rotten end, she thought, grimacing at the preposterous situation in which she found herself. She could only feel sorry for the person who had to drag her lifeless body out of the Jeep—
She Would Not Die Like This.
Throwing her weight against the driver’s door, she tried to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge—and even if it had, where was she going?
Flares were her last hope, Britt reasoned. She had no idea now if it was day or night, and before she could set off a flare she needed something to break the window.
Climbing over the seats, she found everything she needed. The vehicle was well equipped for a trek in the desert. There were flares and work gloves, safety goggles, a hard hat, and heavy-duty cutters, as well as a torch and a first-aid kit. Perfect. She was in business.
* * *
He had almost given up hope when he saw the flare flickering dimly in the distance. Adrenalin shot through his veins, giving him the strength of ten men and the resolve of ten more. He urged his weary animals on and his brave men followed close behind him. He couldn’t be sure it was Britt who had let off the flare until he saw the warning triangle she had fixed onto the top of a spade handle with a bra, and then he smiled. Britt was ever resourceful, and any thought he might have had about her setting off into the desert at night without a proper guide seemed irrelevant as he forged on, his lungs almost exploding as he strained against the wind. Nothing could keep him back. Sharp grains of sand whirled around him, but the robes protected him and the howlis did its job. Just thinking about Britt and how frightened she must be made his discomfort irrelevant. His only goal was to reach her—to save her—to protect her—to somehow get her back to the camp—
If she were still alive.
He prayed that she was, as he had never prayed before. He prayed that he could save her as he sprang down from his horse, and started to work his way around the buried Jeep. The vehicle was buried far deeper than he had imagined, and, worse, he couldn’t hear anything against the wind. Was she alive in there? With not a moment to lose he yanked at the windscreen with his men helping him. Britt had already loosened it to let off the flare—