River James knew he was in trouble. Without water and afoot, the Saudi desert would kill him in 24 hours. Now, it appeared that the whole country had fallen into the abyss of lawlessness and bloodletting. The man who taught him the ropes years earlier warned him it would happen and to pray he wasn’t there when it did. Too late to pray now. Soon, it became apparent the harsh environment wasn’t the only thing trying to kill him. Follow River on a nine-day journey conquering starvation, defeating dehydration, and dodging death, amidst destruction and Bloodletting…

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Excerpt

River woke and jerked off the scarf covering his face. He was soaked with sweat, but his tongue felt like sandpaper searching his mouth for the slightest hint of moisture. Rolling onto his back took more effort than he would have imagined. His lower back and hips screamed at the abuse from sleeping on a rock. He sat up, leaned against a boulder, and twisted the cap off the water bottle. The contents went down without stopping.

After shaking the keffiyeh, he glanced around for unwanted critters and bugs that might have fallen out. Sleeping during the day had additional advantages other than just surviving the heat. By the time the sun baked the sand to oven temperatures, the snakes, camel spiders, and scorpions would have already found their own hiding places. They would be less likely to snuggle up with him.

Streaks of yellow reached across the mountaintop. So far, the night was moonless and not a breath of wind stirred. All things being relative, the temperature probably had not changed five degrees, but the evening was bearable without direct sunlight.

He stood and shouldered the backpack. No time like the present. Take a long drink from the water can, refill his bottle, and start hoofing it north. Three steps took him into full view of his pickup. He froze. Stuck. Shocked. Where…? He ducked behind the rock.

A faded orange truck was parked near his pickup. Like the little tan pickup he’d encountered earlier, he’d seen many. European made. Two-ton, single rear axle with dual wheels and four-wheel drive. The Bedouins used them to move camp and haul water. This one performed the latter.

River took another peek. In the fading light, the Arab leaning in the door of River’s white pickup looked like a redheaded woman in a white dress and sandals…except for the M16 slung over his back. The weapon was as readily identifiable as the AK. As was the robe the man wore. It was made of the same white cloth all Saudi men wore but hemmed shorter, just below the knees. Either he’d outgrown the dress, or he was Mutawa. Mohammed-like. They wore their robes in a shorter fashion because they considered long and flowing as arrogant.

Religious was one thing. Add pious and you got pompous, to the point of policing the practices and habits of others. The Mutawa carried their policing to the extreme. River had slept hard. Too hard. He’d never heard a thing.