A/N: No, I'm not dead. And yes, this is an actual update. Explanation at the end!
Chapter 7
The trip through the desert going back was even longer than the one leaving. There was no river boat to get us most of the way there this time, and so it was horses and camels for the entire way, and the trip back was days longer than it had been going. There wasn't much we could do for Uncle Andrew except keep his eyes covered, and give him Dad's drink supply to lessen the pain. After a day or so, Uncle Mark had to be the one to untie Uncle Andrew and I on the few occasions that we stopped, cause Dad's hands had started shaking too badly, but no one said anything.
Most of the trip was silent: we were spread just barely too far to be able to talk easily, although Dad and Uncle Mark stuck close to me, and even if everyone had been within easy conversation distance, no one really felt like talking.
Several days of silence, several days of stopping only to eat and water the horses, with only brief murmuring during these breaks. I had always been, well, not athletic, but fit enough to do ranch work, and yet by the second day of nearly non-stop riding I was having a very hard time. My back and everything immediately connected wouldn't stop aching, I knew I was getting saddle sores on my legs, and my hands were stiff from the changing temperatures and constantly gripping the reins.
But Uncle Andrew was having to deal with that, and the pain from his eyes and tongue, so I said nothing, I just kept riding. The horse was well mannered, and wanted to stay with the only herd it had, so even when my mind drifted, nothing happened. After several days through the barren desert, when we finally saw the Fort as more than just an outline in the sky, I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or collapse. Finally, our journey was over.
We rode into the city fairly quickly, and made our way to the building we all had rented apartments in. It was bizarre, coming back like this: the city was completely unchanged, the same people in the market, the same people walking by, and yet our circumstances were completely different. Once the horses and camels were unpacked, put away, and watered; Rick helped Dad and Uncle Mark get Uncle Andrew up the stairs to our rented apartment, and I hobbled up the stairs behind them. My legs didn't want to work right, after being on a horse for so long, so navigating stairs took a lot more thought than it should have.
"Someone needs to run and get-"
"I'll call for a doctor," Evelyn, who had been just behind me, said before Dad could stress too much.
"Will you take her?" Dad asked Evelyn.
"Of course," Evelyn said, and patted my shoulder. I turned and looked up at her.
"Go get a change of clothes, okay?"
I nodded, and didn't say anything. I knew that Dad would say that getting Uncle Andrew comfortable was "men's work" and that he and Uncle Mark probably would want to talk to the doctor on their own. Besides that, I was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to bathe and sleep, so I was not about to protest being sent off.
Evelyn showed me to her apartment, and I barely had the energy to take a quick look around before she helped me to the bathroom. She started running the bath water and gathering towels and things while I took my shoes and socks off, grimacing at the flecks of sand that flew off of them, and the sand and grime that were still on my legs.
"I'm going to be in the other room," Evelyn told me. "I need to call the doctor. Don't fall asleep in the bath, okay?"
"Okay," I nodded, and undressed when she closed the door. I was glad I had worn work clothes to Hamunaptra; even these would need the washing of their life to get all the sand out, but at least they'd hold up to it better. I tried my best to keep all the sand in one spot on the bathroom floor, but wasn't as successful as I'd hoped I'd be. My only consolation was that Evelyn was most certainly just as sandy as I was.
I scrubbed as much as I could on a single tub of water, but eventually it became too murky, leaving just as much sand as it took away, and I had to let the water drain and fill the tub part way again to finish. I didn't want to fill the tub the whole way again and waste that much water, but filling it part way did the job. Finally, I could move without feeling sand sliding against my skin, and I was clean everywhere I could see, with the sand washed out of my hair, too.
I let the tub drain and got out to dry off and change. I'd brought one of the dresses I usually wore to school in with me, it was lighter than work clothes but not as nice as church clothes. Socks, and shoes, and I was finally free of getting sand all over me. I cleaned the tub and tried to at least get all of the sand I'd left on the bathroom floor into one pile.
Evelyn was in her main room when I came out of the bathroom.
"Sarah, look at you! You look lovely!"
I smiled, a bit shy at the compliment, and thanked her, before I asked:
"Did you get ahold of the doctor?"
Evelyn nodded. "He should be getting here by now; I'm sure your dad will come and get you when they have news."
But Dad coming to get me took a long time. Evelyn was in and out of the bath, and trying to distract me with research notes, but I couldn't stop thinking about Uncle Andrew. Now that we were out of the desert, safe in the city, I couldn't stop thinking.
Uncle Andrew was an artist. It wasn't what he had gone to college for, but as people in town would say, art was in his blood. I had no doubt that Uncle Andrew could learn to navigate the house with the help of a cane, I had no doubt that Uncle Mark and Dad could train Chance, Uncle Andrew's horse, so that Uncle Andrew could ride safely on his own. He'd be whispered about in town for the rest of his life, but everyone liked him. On the surface, Uncle Andrew could manage.
But he was an artist. He was always painting or sketching or thinking about doing either one. His room at home was full of canvases, both finished paintings, paintings he was working on, or completely blank. All of our framed paintings hanging everywhere else in the house were his. The rich ranchers in the area paid him for family portraits: since everyone in town was having portraits done with cameras, getting Uncle Andrew to do a family painting had become a sort of mark of wealth and spare time. Dad joked that Uncle Andrew spent just as much time painting Chance as he did riding him.
And now he was completely blind.
It was impossible to process.
I jumped up every time I heard a knock on the door, but the first few times it was Rick and Jonathan going in and out. After what felt like an eternity, the knock was finally Dad.
"Hey kiddo," Dad said as soon as I saw him. His voice was softer, and he looked tired. He looked from me to Evelyn. "Thank you."
"Of course," Evelyn said, her smile was small, but warm. "She can stay with me any time."
I walked over to Dad, and he nodded in thanks, before looking down at me. "Are you hungry?"
I nodded. I hadn't thought about it for most of the day, but while Evelyn was distracting me, the hunger had hit me.
"Can I see Uncle Andrew?" I asked as we walked down the hall.
"Yeah, but just for a few minutes. He's tired."
Uncle Andrew turned his head towards the door when Dad opened it for me. He was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room, with proper bandages on his eyes instead of a sandy handkerchief. He was sitting up, not slumped over in pain like he had been on the journey back, so the doctor had clearly given him something.
"Uncle Andrew" I called out to let him know it was me, and hurried over across the living room to his chair.
He reached out for my hand, and I moved to meet him. Now with pain medication, his grip was much steadier, more like it had been.
"We're almost packed up," Dad told Uncle Andrew. "I'm gonna take Sarah to get some lunch and then Henderson and I will see about tickets home."
Uncle Andrew nodded, and then spoke, his words halting and distorted, but there:
"Have you told her?"
"Not yet," Dad replied.
"Do you want me to stay with you longer?" I asked him.
"No," he shook his head, but smiled. "Go eat."
Dad led me out of the apartment, and down into the city. Once we were out in the open, I held his wrist with both hands and stuck close to his side as we walked along the street. The sky was completely covered with clouds and they'd gotten even darker since we'd gotten back. There was something in the air, not quite electric, that made me nervous. It wasn't just the prospect of a potential thunderstorm (although I wondered if Cairo had even seen a thunderstorm) even though that would have been enough back home to have me inside and wrapped in blankets. There was something in the air that I couldn't identify and it felt like the inside of Hamunaptra had; dangerous and lurking, creeping up on the city.
Dad held me close, occasionally putting his arm behind him so that I was protected when we had to push through a group of people. The restaurant wasn't far, and even partially connected to our building, but our apartments were in one of the busier parts of the city. It took a few minutes to get through the crowds of both tourists and locals alike, and I just clung to Dad's wrist and stayed as close as possible.
I stayed quiet while Dad found us a place to sit and ordered food for both of us, and bourbon for himself. When he had a swallow of it he sighed in what sounded like relief. I didn't say anything: Dad got mad whenever Uncle Mark or Uncle Andrew brought up how much he drank, and at the moment, all of us were ready to snap like twigs in the wind. If Dad got annoyed now it wouldn't be good.
Once I'd eaten, it was easier to deal with both the noise level of the bar and the feeling of dread that loomed over me. The feeling was still there, but it was easier to put it in the back of my mind. I didn't know what was going to happen and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't ignore it completely, but at the very least I didn't focus on it.
"What's going to happen with Uncle Andrew?" I asked finally.
Dad sat still for a moment before he spoke.
"We'll get him a cane so he can walk without help. Drag out his old clunker of a typewriter. He's a good typist, so as long as we put a few little spots on some keys or something like that he can figure it out. Then I'll put up new doors in the dining room so he doesn't have to go upstairs."
I just nodded. That sounded like as good a plan as anything. Dad was quiet, and looked like he was still thinking about it, when Uncle Mark came up to the table.
"Let's go see about those boat tickets."
Dad looked at me. "Do you want to stay in the museum?"
I shook my head. The last thing I wanted right now was to be by myself. "Can I go with you?"
"Sure, kiddo."
When we made our way to the docks, I sat out of the way while Dad and Uncle Mark asked about the next boat leaving. It didn't really matter where at this point, although straight back to America would be preferable, but I knew we would take anything that would just get us out of Egypt and on the way. There were likely more boats leaving from the ports in Europe, at least.
A few minutes later I saw them walking back towards me. Uncle Mark looked frustrated, and Dad was muttering under his breath. When he got closer I could hear words that I knew he would tell me never to repeat.
"What did they say?" I asked.
"There isn't a boat leaving Egypt until tomorrow morning."
I knew at that moment that something else was wrong. Yes we needed to get going but even Dad wouldn't have been angry over leaving tomorrow instead of today.
But I didn't ask. Dad would have told me if he thought I needed to know.
I walked between them, holding both of their hands, as we walked back to the bar. The city was still crowded, and the sky was only getting darker. It was worrisome to look at; I didn't think this part of the world got tornadoes but I wasn't sure. At the very least something was brewing up in the sky, and it didn't look like it was going to be pleasant. Even if it was just a normal storm I would have still been nervous, but with the ominous feeling rolling over the city like a blanket, I wanted nothing more than to be inside.
Once we were inside the bar, I could see Rick and Jonathan. Uncle Mark was about to go find a place for us to sit down, but when I pointed them out he changed direction, weaving through the crowd ahead of me and Dad.
Dad sat down next to Rick and I sat on his other side. The seats at the bar were tall enough that getting up on them was an issue for me, and after a moment of struggling, Dad offered his foot for me to step on as a boost. Once I was up, Dad muttered his drink order to the bartender, who poured it for him quickly, and then handed me a glass of water.
Rick was clearly wanting to say something to Dad. Uncle Mark and Jonathan were talking like nothing was wrong, but then again, Uncle Mark had that effect on people, and Jonathan did too. I watched Rick stare at Dad, clearly trying to think of something that would be good with how Uncle Andrew was.
"So, uh, how's your friend?"
Oh dear.
"He had his eyes and his tongue ripped out," Dad snapped. "How would you be?"
I gave Rick a look behind Dad's back and mouthed 'he's just frustrated.' At his best, Dad was never very social outside of the house, and this was hardly him at his best.
We were in the bar for a while. It was noisy, but after a moment became easier to deal with. Different groups of people, some local, some clearly tourists, came in and out, and we waited until a large table had opened up. Over the course of an hour or so, Dad got less snappish, probably in part because he had alcohol, and Uncle Mark even got him to laugh a bit. I sat wedged between the two of them, and even though it was noisy with too many people and echo-y walls, even though the feeling of dread was rolling in my gut now as much as in the sky outside, I felt safe. Dad was smiling, Uncle Mark was making Jonathan, Rick, and two local men who Jonathan knew, laugh.
I took another sip of water, and immediately spat it back out. It wasn't water anymore, I didn't know how. But the consistency had changed; it was a bit thicker, and tasted almost metallic.
I wasn't the only one. Everyone looked around, confused, and finally I saw it:
On my shoe, where some of the drink I had spit out had landed, were a few drops of blood.
As soon as I thought it, Rick dropped his glass. I looked up, and immediately clung to Dad's arm. The fountain… the fountain was still flowing, like nothing was wrong, but instead of clear water pouring down the tiers, red, thick, blood dripped down the sides and splashed out of the fountain bowls.
For a second I didn't know what was happening, and then something flashed into my mind: the Ten Plagues. Waters of Blood.
He was Here.
A/N: Okay, so where have I been? I'm almost done with my master's degree, I'm finishing up my last course and starting to work on my thesis. I've also been dealing with The Depression, which has hit hard, and fast, and can turn a mildly productive day into me laying on the couch staring at the ceiling for three hours. Also I dove head-first into writing for another fandom almost immediately after I posted the last chapter. That fandom became my priority, so when I could be productive for something other than school stuff, it was that.
Anyway, the next chapter will not take nearly a full year, promise!
