Sneak Preview
So, to drum up interest, here’s a sneak preview of the BIG DEADLINE PROJECT I mentioned in an earlier post. I’m ridiculously excited to be working on this and can’t wait to be finished and send it to the publisher.
Karim al-Haid wiped at his brow. The vast expanse of the deserts of Kuwait reflected the sun back into his dull gray eyes and onto his weathered skin. Ahead of him, sheep picked at sparse patches of vegetation, bleating at one another for a turn before nudging their way in.
Life, for Karim, was good.
A decade before, his family huddled against him in a tent, shaking in fear for their lives each night as the Western Coalition forces pushed back against the Iraqi forces invading from the north. Each night, after performing the Maghrib and Isha, the final two salat- mandatory prayers- the Prophet Muhammed, peace be upon him, required all good Muslims to perform, the dread of an errant bomb or a stray round from combat gripped his heart. A good Muslim did not fear death- if Allah willed you to die, that was that. What clutched at Karim’s chest was fear his children would not grow up to see the world beyond their Bedouin lifestyle.
Now, over ten years after Saddam Hussein’s army was pushed back to their own country, Karim’s children were grown and only visited during the Eid. He was proud of Kayyin, his son. The boy grew into a strapping young man who, while not as devout as Karim, still performed his prayers and struggled to be a good Muslim, even as he ran across the football fields in London. He was overjoyed at his daughter Fatima announcing she found a ‘nice boy’ that asked for her hand in marriage. Karim hoped that one day, Fatima and her husband, Ali, would bring a grandchild on their holiday visits.
The old man clicked his tongue at the sheep. A few lifted their heads and bleated at him, apparently not finished harvesting what little plant-life grew in this area of the Udairi desert. Karim clicked his tongue again and clapped his hands together once, the rest of the sheep looked up. Grabbing his walking stick, Karim shuffled through the sand, prodding the sheep to start moving. Staying in one place, even though the sheep needed to eat, would cause problems if the Western armies drove through. Even though the Kuwaiti government laid rules in place to protect his Bedouin tribe, the desert was still used by Americans to hone their skills with their weapons, and an errant tank round or artillery shell was decidedly not how Karim wanted to meet Allah and receive his rewards in Paradise. He always joked with his cousins- only the male ones, of course- that he would rather be called by Allah in the middle of the night with his wife underneath him.
A warm wind passed over the dunes as Karim goaded his flock in the direction of his camp. He smiled as the breeze kissed his leathery tanned skin, ignoring the tiny stings of dirt bouncing off his cheeks. In the distance- some dozens of kilometers away-, the wind picked up, sending plumes of sand skirting along the desert floor. The plumes turned and roiled on themselves, growing in size and leaving a long trail behind him. A soft rumbling echoed across the sand and Karim shivered as an old memory passed through him.
Once, decades ago, Karim sat on his grandfather’s lap, listening to the old man tell tales of the ifrit and jinn- formless spirits that wandered the desert each night, seeking to claim naughty children and drag them to Jahannam. As a boy, Karim shook and shivered in fear as his grandfather snarled and growled, imitating an ifrit as it caught a child faking his Isha before bed. The old man always told young Karim the ifrit preferred taking the form of blowing sand across the desert when they could.
Karim watched the plumes of sand grow into blowing waves and let the shiver pass through him. The radios announced the Western forces returned to Kuwait, news broadcasters declaring the armies intended to move forward into Iraq in search of chemical and biological weapons. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Karim squinted at the plumes of sand moving in the distance, spotting small shapes rushing along the hard-packed dirt that passed through dunes and wadis. Straining his ears, the old nomad made out the faintest sound of engines roaring in the distance.
As Karim turned back, tutting his sheep towards the camp once more, another sight caught his eye- five small shapes above the horizon. Once, Karim saw a Western movie- the one indulgence he allowed himself. In the movie, Americans flew planes in a similar formation- five fighter jets arranged like an arrowhead. The jets moved faster than anything he had seen before, turning and flipping in mid-air as they chased their enemy. Seeing the five small shapes in the sky brought a smile to his face, one that faded as they grew closer.
Instead of stiff wings, sleek and fixed to the body of the jets, Karim saw the wings flexing and pounding at the air. Long necks flexed as snakelike heads scanned the desert sands, a thick tail trailing behind the body. As they grew closer and larger, Karim saw that each creature bore a different color and pattern, one appeared bright green and another such a dark blue it almost appeared invisible against the sky. A red creature trailed the blue one, and a yellow one followed the green. At the front of the pack, its wings lashing against the sky, a silvery-gray creature opened its jaws and let out a screeching roar. The other creatures joined in, the cries rattling Karim to his bones. The sheep scattered as the creatures soared overhead, wings pushing against the air with deep whooshing sounds. Karim swore loud as his flock bolted in all directions, sparing a glance at the dragons as they passed overhead.
The old Bedouin, once he collected his flock and returned home that night, swore that, in the metal cage on the back of the dragons, he saw someone waving at him.
