Page 2 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

Will the bikes even fit?

If they don’t fit, we’re fucked. The wind will pick them up and carry them away or bury them or fill them with sand. Or all of the above. I can’t ignore the little bit of fear forming in my chest and growing with each breath.

Any shelter is better than none, and we can move the supplies off the bikes.

We’ve got radios—not that they’ll be of any use in the storm—and emergency beacons and such.

We are carrying two days of food and water at Harrison’s insistence.

The storm can’t last that long, can it?

For a few seconds, with the storm at my back and sandstinging my skin, I wish I’m back in Cairo, sitting at the bar of the hotel and reminiscing about all the shit Jay and I did as kids. Harrison had shared some of the shit he and Jay had gotten up to when I was underage and not part of their fun.

Harrison slows, and it looks as though he’s planning on driving straight into the crack, but he changes his mind at the last second and stops. I pull up next to him.

He looks at me, the visor of his helmet hiding his face. “It’s going to be tight, but I think we’re out of time.”

I turn to see the storm bearing down on us.

Did we piss off one of the ancient gods by accident?

In those seconds, as I stare at the storm, I’m sure we’re about to be erased from existence.

Harrison walks his bike to the crevice and disappears into the darkness. I follow—the handlebars kissing the sides of the opening—and pray that the cave is deep enough for us to wait out the storm.

CHAPTER TWO

PRESENT DAY

MAX

Three meters into the cave, it’s clear the bikes aren’t going any further as it narrows—I’m not sure we’re going any deeper. Outside, the wind is screaming, and sand is pushing into the cave. Is it possible to be buried alive in a cave?

My heart is beating fast, but the only choice we have is to go deeper and hope like hell there’s nothing else sheltering in the cave. I’m not sure which is worse, being eaten by a wild animal or being skinned by a sandstorm, and I don’t want to find out.

“Grab the saddlebags,” Harrison says, still wearing his helmet because there’s enough sand whipping around to be hazardous to our eyes. “And climb over.”

He holds his hand out for the bags. It takes me a couple of goes to get them free. I’m always calm in an emergency, but it’s not usually me having the emergency. This time, it’s all out of my control.

I do as he asks and pass them to him before climbing over his bike to join him.

He hands my bags to me and nods. “You all good?”

With the helmet on, he can’t tell if I’m freaking out or cool. I nod. “I’m good.”

He’s staring at me. His gaze is drilling into me. “Seriously, Max. If you’re about to panic, I need to know.”

I’m not about to lose my shit and do something dumb. “I’m concerned but not panicking.”

“So about a seven out of ten on the ‘we’re fucked scale’?”

I laugh. It’s a rating we’ve been using since we were kids. Though back then, the things we were worried about now seem like three or fours. “Yeah, about that.”

“Right, I’m going to attempt to squeeze through. I don’t want both of us getting stuck. Can you wait?”

I don’t want either of us getting stuck, but I don’t have any other ideas. “Sure.” I’m not going to get buried alive in a couple of minutes. “Wait, what if there’s something in there?”

I’m envisioning giant snakes or beetles that will strip his flesh. I may have watched one too many horror movies growing up.

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