The Desert Flower

Chapter 7

The desert heat beats down relentlessly against the roof of the tent, turning the interior into a bonafide sauna. Wincing against the brightness of the morning, I shield my eyes with my arm, emitting a soft groan as my head grumbles in protest and instantly I regret drinking the night before. Across from me, Mr. Monetary shoots me a bemused glance as he wipes the water dripping from his face, wisely choosing not to remark on my evident hangover. With a gesture, he offers me access to the bucket of water at his feet, a silent invitation to refresh myself. With a heavy sigh, I muster the strength to rise from my bed, bracing myself for the day ahead.

Meeting up with everyone at the mobile home-like vehicle, everyone passes silent glances between each other at the sight of Kevin and me as they pass out the first MRE of the day. It is safe to assume that the bottle I took from him the night before was not his only one as he looks nearly as bad as I do and the watered-down "coffee" does nothing to make things better.

"Did the two of you drink last night?" Louis breaks the silence, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Kevin and I respond in unison, my "yes" contrasting his "no."

"Well sober up as soon as you can, "Jefferson chuckles cheerily and a little louder than he should be. "Today's going to be the day we make history!"

"I'll make you into history if you don't pipe down," Kevin grumbles, massaging his temples. "I need some real coffee."

"I'll get what I have from my backpack, "I offer, rising from my seat in the motor home.

With Mr Monetary trailing after me, I make a beeline for our tent eager to get out of the sun effectively taking my day's worth of Vitamin D with this walk alone. Once in the shaded confines of the tent, I sit on the floor with my bag in between my legs, I dig blindly through the various clothes and undergarments to find my coffee paying no mind to Mr Monetary stands behind me by the doorway to the tent watching me in amusement.

"It should be in here," I grumble.

"Take your time," Mr Monetary encourages, his voice tinged with humour.

Taking his words to heart, I delve into the depths of the backpack until my fingers brush against a silk pouch. My heart leaps at the touch, knowing its contents could provide instant relief from my hangover. Tempted, I pull the pouch out of the bag, the hand-embroidered desert flower shines in the dulled light of the sun and accompanying it are my sachets of instant coffee. Standing up, I present them to Mr. Monetary, who chuckles at my victory.

Hastening back to the motor home, I relieve Kevin of his empty "coffee" cup and fill the electric kettle. With practised efficiency, I prepare the sachets, discreetly slipping a glass vial from the pouch in my back pocket. Pouring its contents into the cups, I hand one to Kevin, exchanging a pointed look that he understands. Without a word, he takes a sip, nodding in appreciation.

"Now this is real coffee," He sighs in appreciation.

"You'll feel better in a minute," I reply having already consumed half of the cup.

Laughter erupts in the motor home as our companions joke about our desperation for coffee, their boisterousness no longer has effects on me as the vial's contents wipe away the hangover. Watching the dishevelled Kevin brighten up with alertness, I allow myself a satisfactory smile as I eat.

Then all at once the peace and light-hearted atmosphere is punctuated by the frantic cries of one of the local men who bursts into the motor home with a shovel in hand causing everyone's attention to be on him.

" PROFESSOR GRANT! PROFESSOR GRANT!" The frantic screaming of one of the workers breaks the calm tranquillity of our walk, making Doctor Grant stand up straight to see what the fuss is about. "WE BREAK THROUGH! WE BREAK THROUGH PROFESSOR GRANT!"