“Emmett, go!”

His mother’s face as she screamed for him to leave flashed through his mind.  He was hurtling through the air like a meteor.  His gut shot up into his throat as he spun out of control.  The clear, blue sky whirled around him, and his eyes watered.  Emmett found it difficult to breath.  He grasped the parachute cord and yanked it.  As his descent slowed and evened somewhat, he cursed himself for being so careless; below him, all of his supplies were hurtling down towards the expansive sand below.  He wished he had held on to them more tightly.  Heart thudding, he glanced around frantically as he continued to fall.

“Mum, Dad!” he yelled.

He saw no sign of his parents.  Had they managed to jump from the plane?  He looked down again, trying not to wet himself; he was still a very large distance away from the ground.  Burning debris from the plane fell around him.  What if a piece ripped through his parachute?  Emmett took deep and ragged breaths.  He thought back to his survival guide.

“Parachute Landing Fall... Chapter Five,” he rasped, “paragraph three: ‘Landing under a parachute canopy, the jumper's feet must hit the ground first and, immediately, throw himself sideways to evenly distribute the landing shock.  These five points of the body must sequentially come in contact with the ground: One, the balls of the feet.  Two, the side of the calf.  Three, the side of the thigh.  Four, the side of the hip, or buttocks.  Five, the side of the back.’”

Emmett replayed the steps over and over in his mind, until he actually neared the ground.  His entire body froze, and his mind became a blank canvas.  His feet slammed onto the sandy surface, pain shooting through his ankles and calves.  He stumbled forward, tripping awkwardly over the white parachute.  He then fell face first into the scorching sand, blacking out for a moment.

When he came to, his head was whirling.  He sat up slowly, his entire body shaking.   He wiped sand off of his face and coughed violently until all of it came out of his mouth.  He shook his curly black hair, sand spraying everywhere. He curled his toes, and cringed at the amount of sand he felt in his brand new hiking boots.  He looked up at the blistering sun, beads of sweat streaking down his face. 

“I need to find that plane,” he murmured.

Emmett struggled to stand up, his legs feeling rather weak.  He glanced down at the parachute, reluctant to leave it.  He folded it quickly and shoved it back in the pack.  He looked around for any sign of the plane, but all he saw was sand, sand, and more sand.  He desperately hoped his mother had made it out of the plane.  He even felt a twinge of fear for his father.

Suddenly, he saw a column of smoke billowing up in the distance; it had to be the plane!  Emmett started to trek towards it.  His balance was wobbly on the uneven sand.  He tripped twice, cursing each time his hands hit the scorching ground.  All at once, he felt very angry with his father.

“Dad, why are we going to Morocco?” he complained as he walked with his parents to his father’s private jet.

“For your own good. It’ll be educational,” he replied in a gruff, British way.

Emmett had always hated flying.  He hated travelling in general.  He also hated his father, and he hated the fact that his family was so rich.  Kids would always make fun of him; he just wanted to be normal.

“Why are you wearing that?” his father asked as they approached the loading dock.

Emmett gave a small smirk.  He was wearing a black Nirvana t-shirt and black skinny jeans.  When he had woken up this morning, a polo, sweatervest, and khakis had been laid out for him on the foot of the bed.  He let the dog chew the clothes.

“Honey, don’t patronize him.  He already doesn’t want to go.”

His mother had a sing song voice, a stark comparison to his father’s.  Her hair was raven black, smooth as velvet.  Her brown eyes were always alight with life, and her smile never failed to bring a warm glow to Emmett’s heart.  Her caramel skin showed years of being under the sun.  She had grown up in India, and lived there all of her life until she met his father.  They’d fallen in love and she moved to England to be with him.  Emmett didn’t understand why she loved his father; all he ever did was worry over finances, and how to ignore Emmett.

“He looks like a hooligan!” his father cried.

Emmett made an annoyed UNGH sound, and stalked ahead of his parents.  He did not want to go on the plane.  Though he’d never tell his parents, he was afraid the plane would crash or explode as soon as they took off.  His mother already knew this, unbeknownst to Emmett.

He’d taken precautionary measures.  On his back, he carried a giant hiking pack filled with things he would need to survive in the desert.  In the other equally giant pack he lugged in his left hand, was everything he needed to survive being out at sea.  In his right hand, was a survival guide for almost any situation.  In his pocket, was his trusty Swiss Army knife; he never went anywhere without it.

Emmet returned to his present situation when he saw the plane wreckage.  In the distance, he noticed that half of the plane was on fire, and most of it was buried underneath the endless sand.  He stared at it with a horrified expression, green eyes wide.

“Mum, Dad!” he yelled.

No response.

“ANYONE!”

Emmett was again met with silence.  He sighed.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gone on the damned trip!”

He walked toward the plane.  Perhaps some supplies would still be available, and if he could find the black box, he could be tracked and rescued.

BOOM!

The force of the blast sent Emmett reeling backwards into the sand.  He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him.  He scrambled backwards, kicking up sand as he tried to get further away.  The jet was engulfed in flames; there was no way he would be able to recover anything.  Tears welled up in his eyes, and he began to cry.  Despite preparing himself, he was still in this mess; he was lost, alone, and had no supplies, in the largest desert in the world.

“Do you know what desert we’re going to be flying over?” Emmett asked his mother.

They sat next to each other on the jet, as they always did.  It had been like that for seventeen years.  He did not want to be anywhere near his father, and he did not want his mother’s attention to deviate from him.

“The Sahara, yes?”

“That’s correct,’ he said, turning his gaze out the small window next to him. 

He looked down to see London becoming smaller and further away. 

“It’s the largest dry desert in the world.  It’s also VERY hot.  It’s landscapes include several mountain ranges, sand dunes, stone plateaus, gravel plains, dry valleys, ergs, and salt flats.  So, if we crash, it’ll be important that we have all of our supplies.  I left them right next to the parachutes, so we can grab them easily.”

“But we won’t be crashing,” his father hissed through his teeth.
Emmett looked at his father, facing opposite him.  He had the best chair, of course: leather, large as a sofa, and facing the flat-screen television behind Emmett’s head.  Emmett could hear a football game on the program: Germany vs. England.

“How do you know?”

His father’s eyes drifted from the television screen, and his gaze rested on Emmett.

“You worry too much.  You sound like a deranged madman.”

Emmett glowered at him, opening his survival guide to a random page.  He didn’t want to talk anymore.

Emmett stopped crying, all of his tears having run out, and dried off of his face in the hot desert sun.  He stood up slowly, straightening himself.  He breathed in, and exhaled deeply several times.  He closed his eyes, and thought.

“Desert Trails... Chapter Seven, paragraph two: ‘The most important thing you need to survive, is water.  When you can’t find water, find shade.  Wandering for even five minutes looking for water could result in a heat stroke, and possibly death.  Find shade and wait for help, otherwise travel at night and early morning.’”

He opened his eyes, taking in his vast surroundings.  As far as he could see, there were only sand dunes.  His tongue felt like sandpaper.  He glanced down at his MTM military watch; It was definitely the hottest time of the day.

“I can’t even risk walking,” he mumbled.  “I’ll use the parachute canvas as sun protection, and then wait till dark to find water.”

He knelt down to remove the parachute pack from his back, when he felt something lumpy from underneath the sand.  Emmett digged at the sand, and began to cry tears of joy; his desert survival pack was buried under the sand.

“Oh yes!” he cried.
He ripped the pack open; inside, he found supplies to set up a tent, water, food, flashlight, blankets, a coat, mirror slat, GPS, sunscreen, tweezers, ski goggles, sunglasses, a large hat, medical kit, a compass, and an extra survival guide.  He clasped his hands and thanked Lakshmi before setting up a shelter.  When that was done, he crawled under his tent and instantly felt cooler.  Emmett rifled through his pack, and dug out the GPS.  His current location was at 30° 29' 11.5836'' N4° 36' 34.0236'' W, which meant the closest place of civilization would be Tafraoute Sidi Ali.  He grumbled, tossing the GPS aside; it would be a long journey.  Emmett set an alarm on his watch for 4:30 pm; it would be close to nightfall by then.  He shut his eyes, and drifted off into sleep.

The jet lurched to one side.  Emmett glanced out his window; the right side engine was burning.

“Mum!  The engine is out!”

She gripped him tightly, mumbling prayers to Ganesha and Vishnu.  Emmett’s father clutched the sides of his chair.

“This is preposterous!” he declared.

Emmett stood up from his chair, almost falling over.  The plane was falling to the right side, and very rapidly.

“EMMETT, STAY IN YOUR SEAT!” his father shouted.

“I’m checking on the pilot!” he yelled.

Grabbing a hold of the walls and chairs as he walked, he eventually made it to the c***pit.  He gasped, staring at the pilot’s seat.  He was slumped over in his chair, his ebony skin now looking flushed and pale.  Emmett checked the pilot’s pulse; he was alive, but unconscious.

“He must’ve fainted... how are we going to land?”

Emmett’s heart galloped.  He started breathing irregularly.

“The pilot… he’s unconscious!”  He shouted.

He stumbled back into the other room.

“Mum, we need to get out of here!”

She turned to his father.

“George, put on a parachute,” she said in a surprisingly calm tone.

He stared at her, mouth open wide in shock.  His green eyes looked lost.

“George, we must act NOW.”

He blinked, returning to his senses.

“Anima, make sure Emmett gets out of the plane first.”

Emmett turned towards his father, surprised.

“Emmett, put on your parachute and grab your supplies,” his mother told him.

He didn’t need to hear it twice.  He found the parachutes and slung one onto his back.  He grabbed his desert supply pack, gripping it tightly.  He opened a side exit, the air immediately dragging loose things out of the plane.  His parents held on tightly to their chairs, while Emmett clutched a hand bar next to the exit.  They were plummeting even closer to the sandy ground.

“Mum, I don’t think I can do it,” he said, his voice cracking.  He felting like barfing, peeing, and crying all at once.  His head was swimming, the whole dilemma disorienting.

“Emmet, you have to jump!” his father cried.

Emmett turned, and locked eyes with his father; he felt regretful.  His gaze shifted to his mother’s; she had tears in her eyes, and he knew she was frightened.

“Emmett, go!”

A loud growling echoed through his head as he jumped.  He woke, eyes flying open.  Emmett found himself staring into the glowing amber eyes of a jackal.  He froze, fear gripping him like a python. He yelled just as it attacked him.  He flailed, frantically trying to throw it off his body.  He was shocked; jackals were not usually this forward, especially around humans.  It must be very hungry.

He desperately tried to keep its snapping jaws at bay.  Slobber splattered onto his face, and his ears were ringing with sharp yips and barks.  His left hand reached for the Swiss Army knife still in his pocket.  He switched the blade.  Before he even thought about what he was doing, he stabbed the jackal in the shoulder blade.  It leapt away from him with a loud cry.  Blood dripped onto Emmett’s shoulder.  The jackal fled from the tent, tail in between its legs.  Emmett felt a large stab of guilt; he loved all animals, he didn’t want to hurt any.  He silently prayed that Vishnu would watch over the jackal.  Suddenly, his watch alarm went off.

“Perfect timing,” he mumbled.

Emmett looked through his pack and cried out in anger; his food had been eaten, presumably by the jackal.  Luckily, he still had water, and the rest of his things seemed untouched.  A chill wind whipped through the tent.  He pulled on his coat.  The temperatures at night could be close to freezing.

Once he disassembled the tent and packed everything up, he headed north west for Tafraoute Sidi Ali.  The cold wind bit his face, and he pulled his hood up.  Emmett looked at the night sky.  The stars were as bright as the warning beacons of Gondor, startling against the empty black of the night.  They twinkled in silence, watching over him.  He exhaled, watching his breath wisp around in the air, like smoke.  Under his breath, he quietly hummed a tune his mother used to sing to him to get him to sleep.

“Where did you get that bruise?” his mother asked him.

He turned his right cheekbone away from her, avoiding her touch.

“Nowhere,” he mumbled.  He walked over to the marble island in the kitchen, setting his bag on the wood floor.  He sat on a bar stool, setting his head in his hands.  He breathed a long sigh.

“Emmet.  Tell me now.”
She came up behind him, and gently hugged his shoulders.

“I was walking home from school and a kid beat me up for being a ‘freak’ and a ‘rich prat.’”

His mother sighed, massaging his shoulders.

“Do not take offense.  Your memory is a gift!” she praised. 

Emmett was silent, and she paused.  “I know you don’t like the way we live,” she began to say.

He swivelled around in his bar stool to face her.

“I am grateful… that we have so many nice things.  But Dad never listens to me.  I don’t want - we don’t need all of… this!”  Emmett faltered, giving a grand gesture that indicated the entire mansion. 

“He only cares about maintaining his status, and being a snobby prick.  He doesn’t care about us, or how I’m doing at school, or the racist things people say to you every day!”

Her eyes softened.

“Emmett, that’s not true.  He loves us very dearly.”

“THEN WHY ISN’T HE EVER HERE?” he shouted.

His memory flashed to later that evening, when he was eavesdropping on his parents outside of their room.

“He’s hurting, George.  You’re never there for him!”

His father scoffed.

“Hurting?  He’s seventeen, he can fight his own battles!  And what do you mean I’m never there?  I buy him things all of the time, and he usually throws them away or burns them!”

Emmett did have a tendency to burn things.

His mother sighed.

“He doesn’t want gifts.  He wants you, he wants your love.  He wants a father.”

There was a moment of silence.

“But I do love him, Anima.”

“Then show him that you do.”

The sun beat down on the back of Emmett’s neck, sweat trickling down his shirt.  His mouth was dry again; he’d drunk all of the water.  Soon, he’d have to set up shelter again, but he kept walking.  He had to make it to the city.

But the sand seemed to taunt him, becoming larger and greater in number each step he took, laughing at his helplessness.  The sun beat down on him with anger; he was a stranger, unwelcome here.  The sun would be sure to obliterate the outsider.

Emmett gasped suddenly, seeing something in the distance.  His blurred vision slowly cleared; it was an oasis!

With new found energy, he burst into a run.  There would be water and shade.  There would be water.  Water.  He could just taste the cool liquid streaming over the cracks in his tongue, cascading down his throat like a waterfall.  He imaged the cool water washing over his body, all heat leaving him.  He ran even faster.  However, it seemed that the more he moved, the further away it became.  He slowed down, knees collapsing onto the sand.  He desperately kept shuffling forward.  His eyes began to water.

“No… No, it has to be real!” his voice cracked.

But as he blinked, he knew what it really was.  The mirage quickly vanished, and he buried his head in the sand, sobbing desperately.  He thought of his parents, and cried even harder.  His chest was heaving, barely able to take in air.  His cry was muffled in the sand.

“I want to go home!”

He lost all of his strength to move.  Emmett knew he should get up, set up shelter, but he would not move.  He was so tired.  He just wanted to lay there in the scorching sand and give up.

“Oh Ganesh, why did you send us here?  Why have you placed me this hindrance?  Take it away!”

He laid there, all of his will drained.  His thoughts drifted back to his life, and he found himself wishing he told his dad that he loved him.  He wished he could be with his mother one last time.  He wished he were here with them now.

A faint noise seemed to buzz in his ear, but he didn’t even care.  The sand was his only company now, his only life.  Yet, the noise seemed to be getting louder. 

“VWUMVWUMVWUMVWUMVWUM!”

Was this some other desert creature?  It was rather loud.

“Emmmt!” he heard a faint shout over the strange noise; he was probably just hallucinating now.

“EMMETT!” a voice shouted through a crackling megaphone.

“D-” he paused, looking up and squinting, “Dad?”

At first he saw nothing, the sun blinding Emmett’s eyes.  Then, a sleek, black helicopter covered the brightness.  His eyes adjusted, and he saw two people at the opening of the helicopter, lowering a ladder.

“Grab on!” the voice shouted.

“Dad!” he tried to yell, but his voice was too dry.  The ladder was low enough for him to grab as he stood up wobbily.  He climbed about two steps before they slowly started raising him up.  Once he clambered onto the helicopter, his dad helped him to his feet.  His dad’s face was as red as a tomato, giving off an expression of pure relief and joy.  He gave Emmett a bear hug, blonde hair tickling his nose.

“I love you Emmett, and I’m so very sorry.”
Emmett hugged him back, eyes welling.

“I love you too.  I’m also sorry.”

They held their embrace awhile longer, and then they slowly pulled apart

“Emmett!” a woman cried.

He turned, seeing her.  Despite her sunburnt skin and chapped lips, she was still the most beautiful person in the world.

“Mum!” he wheezed.

She hugged him, arms tight.  She was sobbing into his shoulder.

“We were so worried!”

She let him go after she fussed over him properly.  Then, for the first time, he noticed the people behind his parents.  There was the pilot from the plane, sitting in the back of the copter with a dark-skinned woman wrapping a bandage around his head.  The man piloting the copter also had dark skin, though he fashioned a large and rather bushy beard.

“These people are from Tafraoute Sidi Ali; they spotted us while giving a helicopter tour for some American tourists!  Luckily they agreed to help us find you,” his mother told him.

Emmett smiled.  The woman who had been helping the pilot, walked over to him and checked him over.

“We will take you and your family to the embassy for The United Kingdom,” she said with a heavy accent.  “Be glad you survived the Sahara; most do not.”

The words went in one ear, and out the other; despite all that happened, Emmett grinned like a child about to open fifty Christmas presents.  He looked to his mother, and then to his father, both of them smiling at their son.  Joy filled his heart, and he knew that as long as he was with his family, he would be safe and happy.