Page 8 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

Shit.What is going on? Why am I here? And where the fuck am I?

Gunfire right behind me makes me flinch, but the body keeps driving as if it isn’t a problem. My mouth moves, and a voice that isn’t mine comes out. “How close are they?”

“Too close,” another man replies.

Did I die? Is that what’s going on?

But that doesn’t make sense either.

Nothing makes sense.

The body I’m in turns his head. Which is super disconcerting, as I should be looking at where I’m going given the speed we’re traveling. I note the swelling clouds on the horizon. There’s a sandstorm approaching, and I sense his concern about being caught out in it. He’s more worried about the storm than the bullets pinging off the vehicle and in the sand around us.

If I’m not dead already, it seems like it’s about to happen real soon. The body I’m in is sweating, and my heart is racing, but outwardly I’m acting as if being shot at is an everyday event.

Wait…

What was the last thing I remember?

I was studying the skeletons with Harrison…the skeletons of World War Two soldiers who never made it home.Oh, no.It’s not possible.

My sleeves are khaki, and the vehicle is muddy colored. It’s pretty obviously a military vehicle given the gun mounted behind me.

It makes zero sense, yet it seems I’m in Egypt in World War Two right before these guys get caught in a sandstorm. I’m guessing one of the guys is E Connell and the other is C Brown. Both of whom wind up dead in the cave I’m exploring with Harrison.

I scream, but it’s all in my mind. The man whose body I’m riding in doesn’t seem to realize he’s picked up a hitchhiker from the future.

This shouldn’t be happening.

I try willing myself back to Harrison.

Maybe I got bitten by a scorpion and I’m hallucinating, making up a story about the dead guys in the cave. Yeah. That’s more believable. I’m in the cave, and this is my mind processing the trauma of finding thebodies and the toxin.

Rationalizing what’s happening makes me feel a bit better.

Harrison knows first aid, but how long does scorpion venom take to kill? Will the sandstorm be over before I die? I try to remember what I memorized about snakes and scorpions before the trip, but the erratic driving and the bullets and not being able to control the body I’m in are kind of distracting.

The weapon behind me barks off a few more rounds. I jump because it sounds real, the sweat running down my sides feels real, the guy’s worry is so much like my own right now—even though we’re panicking about different things. This is definitely a ten out of ten panic situation.

I waste some more time swearing and trying to force the body to obey before I realize it’s pointless and that I need to think this through. Nothing I’ve ever done or studied is helping right now. Breathe…except I can’t.

Great.

All I have is my consciousness. Can I talk to him? I’m not sure what good it will do, but I try anyway.

Hey, buddy. What’s going on? Who are you? Where are we?

Hellooooo.

Nothing.

Fuck.

I’m along for a ride, and there’s nothing I can do. While I’ve never hallucinated, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be dreaming of grit in my mouth. It crunches between his teeth—I guess they are my teeth for the moment—and my cheeks are warm from sunburn.

The gun rattles, and a cheer goes up.

I assume the enemy vehicle was hit. But I don’t even blink. I’m staring at the sand in front of me, glancing to theside only to check on the storm. We’re not going to make it back to base before it hits.

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