Love Saved (2 page)

O
ren blinked slowly
, trying to clear his vision. Everything was dark – utterly and completely dark. Where was he?

"Mr. Moore, sir?"

That's my name
, he thought groggily. Oren turned his aching neck in the direction of the voice, cringing as every vertebra screamed in resistance. Moving was definitely a mistake.

"No, sir, stay still. Just relax, please."

Oren almost laughed. When was the last time he relaxed? Except for the occasional secret trip away to Miami for some quick and dirty hook-ups, he didn't have much time to relax. Oh, except for that sand dune trip he was supposed to go on. What happened with that? Did he go?

He blinked harder, trying to focus his eyes. The darkness was slowly lifting, and he could now see lights swirling above him. They were tiny and bright, making his pupils want to crawl into his head. The brightness was swimming all above him, moving erratically everywhere, making him dizzy.

Oh god.

He rolled over quickly and vomited. He immediately felt somewhat better and gingerly rolled back over, feeling a strong pair of hands on his back, guiding him.

"Can you understand me, Mr. Moore?"

"Oren," he croaked, feeling disgusting for having thrown up. He wasn't in college, unable to hold his drink. Had he been drinking, though? He didn’t remember going to the bar. "Call me Oren."

"Ok, Mr. Moore. I'm going to cover you up with this blanket. Please just try to rest until I return."

Oren felt a rough blanket being dropped over his torso, and he blinked slowly in acknowledgement. His eyes felt heavy, and soon he was drifting off to sleep. Before he went completely under, he thought of how pleasant the voice had been as it told him to relax. The accent had been delicious. If he was going to be bossed around, he didn’t mind it being done by such an alluring voice.

O
ren awoke startled
to find himself next to a bonfire, dusk settling around him. The smell of smoke was strong in the air, and his head ached. He sat up with great difficulty, every muscle in his back scream out in anger. His bones felt like they had been replaced with cement - heavy and incapable of moving like a human's should.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Mr. Moore."

Oren groggily turned to see the pilot sitting by the bonfire, watching him intently. He was shirtless, and a long thin gash ran across his chest. What was the pilot’s name? He couldn't remember. Karl? Chris?

"What happened to you?" Oren said, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. "Kirk," he added as more of a confirmation to himself. Yes, he could remember things now - vaguely.

A strange emotion rippled across Kirk's face, and he tilted his head while peering more closely at Oren. "I think you should also be asking what happened to
you
.”

Oren looked down at this body, which seemed to be all in one piece. His clothes were torn and smelled strongly of smoke, but he didn't see any major injuries. His head was killing him, though, and he wanted nothing more than to dip his face in nice, cool water. "Well, what
did
happen to me? And you? And...and the others?" He looked around quickly, trying to see Steve and Doug, but the rapid movement only made him want to throw up.

"There is only us now," Kirk said quietly. He stood up and came to Oren's side of the fire, sitting on his heels to peer intently into Oren's face. "I'm very sorry."

"Just...us?" Oren let the words solidify and sink down to his stomach, making it feel heavy and leaden.

"I'm afraid so. There was a problem with the plane, and we have crashed far out into the desert. I tried my best to land safely, but with the fire and the smoke..." Kirk broke off and looked off into the distance behind Oren.

Oren turned himself around slowly to follow Kirk's gaze. Behind him, at least a quarter mile away, could be seen a smoldering wreckage. It rose from the desert sands like an alien ship, twisted metal and sharp angles almost completely obscuring the fact that it was once a functioning aircraft.

"Jesus," Oren whispered, trying to fight the lump in his throat. Poor Steve and Doug. They had been good men. Quiet, intense men, who had been very committed to their jobs. Right until the very end, it would seem. "Steve had worked with me for two years," Oren said at last, to no one in particular. He just let the words out into the air, hoping they would perhaps take some of the pain away. "You wouldn't know it looking at him, but he was a huge nerd. Loved space operas and comic books. And Doug took two weeks off every Christmas to spend time with his mother and brothers. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Oren threw the blanket off his body, sending it sailing dangerously close to the bonfire. He didn't care, though; he wanted to see it burn. It would just be another thing he had destroyed. However, he was soon disappointed to see he hadn’t thrown it quite close enough. The fire impotently slashed at the fabric, but was unable to reach it.

"Sir, I'm very sorry," Kirk said again, reaching out and touching Oren's shoulder gently.

"You’re sorry? I'm the one who hired them, who brought them on this death trip," Oren snarled jerking his shoulder away and then immediately regretting the rash action. His muscles screamed in agony. "They were good men, and I asked them to protect me. As if my life is so valuable."

He slumped back onto the sand, staring up into the sky. Kirk looked down at him with concern, but Oren refused to meet his eyes. They were enveloped in silence for quite some time, and Kirk eventually made his way back to the fire.

"They'll be coming to find us soon, will they?" Oren asked at last.

"Who will?"

"The search party."

"They don't even know we are gone yet," Kirk said sadly, opening a small emergency ration kit that was sitting on the ground.

"How is that possible? You can't just lose planes! There have to be radars and control towers knowing what's happened."

"This is the middle of the Sahara," Kirk replied slowly, pulling a package of jerky from the kit. "There is no one out here to see the fires or to care. We are miles and miles and miles away from anyone. And our company doesn't expect a call from me until tomorrow morning."

"They don't expect you to check in? Not even after flying a customer off into the wilderness?" Oren's voice was steely, and he could feel his anger shifting from himself to Kirk. It was bad enough that they had crashed, but to not have any safety checks? "You just fly off into the wilderness without any system in place for emergencies? Your company was highly recommended! I paid a ransom to get fit into your oh-so-busy schedule. This is an outrage!"

Kirk sighed and shrugged sadly. "Why would they expect me not to get there? I'm the best pilot in the entire region. I've told them before that we should have better security in place, but my boss just thinks it would cost more money. They'd have to hire someone to man the station after dark and also purchase satellite phones. The dunes are way beyond regular cell range, and the equipment would be quite expensive. Like you, he is a businessman through and through."

"Great. Just great." Oren rubbed his face with his hands, trying to get his thoughts in order. "So, what do we do?" he said at last, the sound muffled by his fists.

"We walk."

"We walk? Walk where?"

"That is the question, isn't it?"

Oren looked up, startled by the defeat in the pilot's voice. "So you really don't know where we are?"

"I have a rough idea. There are oases throughout this area, and some nomadic clans inhabit it. It could be worse."

"Worse? Yes, maybe if we had been stranded on the moon instead. I can't believe this is happening." Oren knew he sounded like a child having a tantrum, and he didn't care. His whole life was about being in control, micromanaging everything that happened in his business and his life. All of that had been ripped out of his hands, and now he was left with no control at all over his destiny. It was terrifying.

"It's late; maybe we can discuss our plan more in the morning." Kirk's jaw was set tightly, and his lips were pressed in annoyance.

He's annoyed? Right. Because I'm the annoying one here - not the one who has stranded us in a giant sandy purgatory.

"Sure." Oren huffed and turned over, drawing the blanket around his shoulders.

He could hear Kirk moving around the makeshift camp for some time, but didn't turn over to look. Instead, he curled in on himself and cursed silently for even planning this trip from hell.

This is what I get for trying to enjoy myself
, he thought bitterly.
When this is all over, I'm never leaving my office again. I can't wait to sit at my desk and never have to see a speck of sand again.

K
irk awoke early
in the morning when the light was dim and the sun was still hiding along the horizon. He was covered with a light layer of sand, which had no doubt blown over him during the night. It had, at least, insulated him from the cold.

Nights in the Sahara were always cold which tended to surprise his guests. They thought it would be hot all day and night, and they were shocked to discover that one of the most brutal parts of the desert was dealing with the cold nights. People would get hot and sweaty after a long day in the sun, then find themselves chilled to the bone as darkness swept over the sands. They never packed enough clothing or blankets, expecting to lie out under the stars like they were enjoying a sauna or something.

Kirk stretched his limbs vigorously, working the cramped and cold muscles as best he could. His back twinged from the crash and hauling Oren out of the wreckage. Sleeping on nothing but the ground certainly hadn't helped matters either.

Once he got moving, the stiff pain faded away until only a dull ache remained. He looked over to where Oren was sleeping on the other side of camp, huddled under the only blanket they had. The blonde man was turned away, his body hunched tightly under the blue cloth.

Kirk rubbed his face, remembering the emotional night before. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt one of his passengers, and he couldn't help but feel at fault for what had happened. He knew the mechanical problem had been out of his control, but he still wished there had been something, anything he could have done.

I shouldn’t have trusted the mechanics. I knew something was wrong but they assured me over and over it was just a simple issue of the light malfunctioning
.

He took another long look at Oren. "I'm sorry," he said sadly, before getting up and moving to the fire. And he was deeply sorry - even if his passenger had never asked him if he had been hurt. Or noticed that Kirk had slept on the cold ground with absolutely nothing to cover himself because he had sacrificed his own comfort.

Kirk shook his head, trying to chase the bitter feelings. There was something about Oren that muddled his brain. And being distracted was a very good way to get killed in the desert.

"Got to focus. Let's get this fire started," he mumbled to himself.

It had burned down to just coals in the night, and he went to work stoking the flame. There had been a dry bush near the camp that he had harvested twigs from, and he scooped the remaining branches together and threw them into the circle. The flames began to grow slowly, enough to heat a bit of water in a plastic bag he had scavenged from emergency kit.

When the water was warm, he dug a cotton swap from the kit and wet it. Peeling off his dirty, bloody shirt, he began to clean the cuts and scrapes across his torso. None were very deep, and he soon had them all as sanitized as he could under the circumstances.

Just as he was finishing, he heard a rustling sound and looked up. Oren had finally woken up and was now looking into the fire with unblinking eyes.

"Good morning, sir," he said cautiously, hoping he wasn't going to get another outburst from his passenger.

Oren grunted, and looked at him with an unfocused gaze.

"I'm afraid there is no coffee.”

Oren grunted deeper this time and threw a hand up in disgust.

"Let me look at some of your injuries." Kirk grabbed another wetted cotton swab and the med kit, then moved to sit next to Oren. "You'll need to take off your shirt."

Oren complied silently, grimacing as he reached up to peel off the fabric. Blood had clotted on it during the night, and as he tugged, several of the cuts on his back reopened.

Kirk inspected the damage, running a long finger across Oren's shoulder. The skin was turning several shades of blue and purple, and one particularly nasty cut across Oren's shoulder blade would need frequent cleaning. However, considering the circumstances, it could have been much worse.

"We both got pretty lucky," Kirk murmured, taking the cotton swab and gently wiping sand and blood from the largest cut.

Oren nodded, continuing to stare straight ahead. He would flinch when Kirk pressed too hard on a bruise but otherwise remained silent.

As he worked, Kirk couldn't help but notice the strength of Oren's body. His shoulders were wide and well-defined, and every flinch of his body made the muscles ripple beautifully under Kirk's touch. Even covered with purple and blue welts, Oren had the type of body that ballads were written about.

Kirk cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of the bared flesh in front of him. "We can't stay here, I'm afraid. We'll need to start walking as soon as we can get everything packed up."

"Won't it be best to stay here by the plane so rescue teams can look for it?" Oren rubbed his eyes sleepily. "I don't like the idea of just tramping out into the sand without knowing where we are going."

"There were supposed to be strong winds today and tomorrow, and we are sitting on very fine sand. If there is too much wind, everything under our feet will shift. We won't be sitting on top of this hill anymore -- and neither will the plane. You'd be surprised how quickly the wreckage will get buried, and there will be nothing left to find from the air. Besides, there is a chance they still don't know we are gone yet."

"Everything about this keeps getting better and better. Unbelievable."

Kirk decided to ignore the comment, choosing instead to grind his teeth together.
If I don't get rescued soon, I'm going to charge this man for dental work
, he thought.
I feel terrible about this whole thing, and I will have to live with the knowledge that I lost two passengers for the rest of my life. And he just keeps piling on the stress and cutting remarks. He has no heart.

After he was satisfied that Oren's injuries were tended to, Kirk stood up and began to quickly pack up the meager supplies he had managed to save. They had the med kit, two large water bottles, some granola bars, matches, and a knife. Plus, their one blanket which he intended to make into a sack.

The water was the real problem. It was hardly enough for a long day spent walking around town, let alone across the barren sands. Kirk tried not to keep staring at the bottles, hopelessness filling his stomach.

Oren must have made a similar judgment call. "Is that really all the water we have left?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"You didn't save the Scotch from the plane? I'm pretty sure that was mostly water as well."

Kirk snorted and nodded his head. "Our director has some unusual ideas about cost savings."

"I should have jumped out of the plane right then."

"That would have made this easier on everyone," Kirk replied shortly, slamming the last of their goods into the hastily made sack. "Now, are you ready to walk?"

Oren huffed and stood up, annoyance radiating off of him. Kirk resisted the temptation to make another biting remark and simply started off over the dunes, assuming the whining billionaire would follow him.