1. Present Day

CHAPTER ONE

PRESENT DAY

MAX

T he smudge on the horizon is now a swollen bruise that doesn't look promising. The guide warned us about sandstorms, but I was thinking they'd be smaller. This one looks as though it will swallow the entire sky and us with it.

We've just passed the halfway point between stops and while I don't have the map—Harrison does—even I can tell we aren't going to make it to the next stop. The storm is in the way.

I use the radio in the helmet to check in with Harrison. "What do you want to do? Should we turn back?"

Harrison is the one with desert experience from several stints overseas with the army. I'm just the fill in. This was my brother's dream trip, not mine. Jay and Harrison had talked about this since they were seventeen, both of them getting their motorbike licenses and figuring out how much they needed to save and what they needed to make it happen. It turned out to be more complicated and expensive than either of them thought, and then they joined the army and life got in the way…until it stopped for Jay a year ago.

One bike ride gone wrong.

Riding through the baking desert and camping while keeping an eye out for scorpions and snakes is not my idea of fun. But so far, this trip has been so much more than I thought possible.

Cairo is bustling, a marketplace that doesn't seem to sleep. It's soaked in history and a blending of cultures. Jay would've loved it. Harrison did. He dragged me through marketplaces, and I made him go to the museum to take in some of the history. A week of being tourists and meeting the guide and paying for supplies before we headed out into the desert.

When Harrison suggested we make the trip for Jay six months ago, I agreed. Mostly because it seemed like the right thing to do. That gave me six months to learn to ride a motorbike and how to do some basic maintenance. I also helped with the final plans; it had been my idea to spend some extra time in Cairo on both sides of the trips. I wasn't coming all this way not to see the pyramids.

I'm glad we did all of that in the first week, as I'm not going to be able to walk after this. My ass needs hotel recovery time before we get on the plane. I want to soak in a cold bath as I have sand in every crevice possible—and some I previously hadn't discovered.

I don't know how my great grandfather spent years fighting out here and lived to talk about it, filling Jay's head with his tales and inspiring his love of the military and Egypt.

Harrison doesn't turn his head, as his voice crackles in my ear. "Press on. There should be a ridge and caves to the left. "

I remember seeing something on the map this morning, but because we were supposed to be swinging right, I didn't pay it too much attention—I was more worried about how many hours we were going to be riding and if there were any stops planned to check out ruins and oases. Of course, Harrison noted the caves. He's the commander of this trip, the one making contingency plans and ensuring we are carrying far more food and water than we need for a day of travel.

He jokes that I'm the medic of this little mission.

Having completed my paramedic degree, I am the medic. But this is a break from reality…and much better than sitting at home and watching Mum cry on the anniversary of Jay's death.

Not that she was happy about Harrison and me taking the trip. She called it dangerous, and when we left, she cried and said she didn't want to lose her other two boys. Harrison and Jay were friends for so long, he's part of the family. I can't imagine him not being around.

I hope this trip isn't also a goodbye.

"With a bit of luck, it will die down or sweep past us," Harrison adds. "The guide said the wind can be temperamental."

Thirty minutes later, I'm pretty sure Harrison's mention of luck cursed us as the storm-caused bruise has darkened and expanded to fill the horizon. We won't be turning toward the coast as scheduled unless we want to ride straight into it.

To our left, the ridge is clear, but I see no sign of caves.

That doesn't deter Harrison as he makes the decision and heads toward it without checking in. He knows I'll follow .

"Keep your eyes peeled for a cave," he says like I'm not already scanning the rocks for any sign of a gap.

The sandstorm seems to chase us, herding us toward the ridge. The sand whips around my legs and finds a way to burrow beneath my clothes. It's in my mouth and my boots, rubbing my ass crack.

"There," Harrison says with a nod.

I was searching for a cave, a big half circle opening like in cartoons. I don't know what he's seen, but there's so much sand in the air that if he takes off, I'll lose him. If he thinks he's found shelter, though, I'll follow him. Not that I have much choice as I don't want to be out in the storm. He glances behind to make sure I'm with him.

"I'm right behind you." And the storm is right behind me, like it's hunting me.

The noise and wind and sand are getting to me. It feels wild and savage and alive, even though I know it's not.

We're almost on top of the cave before I see it, a narrow crack in the rock face. That is not a cave. How can we shelter in that?

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 sand stinging 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.