Page 12 of Under the Arabian Sky

The side mirrors smashed.

The roof bowed.

The door panels crumpled, and the windows cracked.

I grunted and gasped and slammed my head against the broken window as my body rocked violently from side to side until eventually…

With one last moan and a final crunch of glass and metal, the car rolled to a halt at the foot of the dune.

There the car sat, upside-down, like a giant overturned turtle.

I held my breath, in case it wasn’t quite over yet, in case the vehicle still had more rolling to do. But apart from the hiss of steam blasting from the bent hood and the whirring a still rotating tyre, the Land Cruiser was motionless and silent and, for all intents and purposes, completely dead.

Me, on the other hand… I was thankfully still alive, albeit strapped upside-down in my seat and in a great deal of pain.

My ribs were aching, my head was spinning, my vision was blurred, and my ears were ringing. Yet through the haze of it all, I heard shouting from somewhere beyond the car.

I turned my head to look out the window at the upside-down world outside, to see a figure hurrying down the dune toward me.

I tried to make out the person and was somewhat surprised to see a man in a tweed suit…

And a bowtie…

Carrying a fob watch.

“Cavendish?” I whispered.

Strangely enough the approaching figure was shouting in Arabic.

I blinked madly, trying harder to focus on the man, then suddenly—

Cavendish disappeared like a mirage.

Instead, a man in a traditional Arab gown and headpiece was hurrying toward me, still shouting in his native tongue.

“Help,” I managed to call back, my voice croaky and weak. “I need help. Please.”

The man dropped to his knees, inadvertently pushing a small wave of sand in through the broken window.

He pulled at the door handle, and after several attempts to open it, the door gave way with a metallic moan.

The man reached across me, asking as he did so, “Do you speak English?”

He was out of breath, but nevertheless his words had an almost lyrical, Arabic accent. I glimpsed his face. He was no older than me. A trim black beard adorned a strong and noble jawline, while his eyes shimmered in the bright light of day, sparkling like deep pools of molasses.

“Yes. Yes, I’m English.”

“I’m going to unfasten your seatbelt. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

Before I could respond, he unclipped my belt.

I felt myself drop, but before my head could thud against the roof of the car he had his arms around me, easing me down and turning my torso so that he could drag me out of the car.

I kicked with my legs, pushing against the car seat and the door frame, helping him pull me free until I was lying on my back on the hot desert sand.

The stranger knelt over me, placing my head in his lap as he asked, “Are you badly hurt? Where is the pain?”

“Everywhere.”

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