Cargo

Naked Sun Girl

I have been walking for hours, my throat parched, and the sun mercilessly blazing overhead. Every step in the endless desert felt like a journey through a furnace. My skin burns, my clothes soak in sweat but dry instantly, and my mouth is bone dry. The landscape seems to extend forever, a sea of scorching sand and horizon.

I trudge through the seemingly endless expanse of the desert, my boots sinking slightly into the hot, shifting sand with each step. The relentless sun bore down on me, turning the landscape into a shimmering sea of heat. Sweat glistens on my forehead, and the dry desert air seems to suck the moisture right out of me.

Ascending a small ridgeline; I wipe the sweat from my brow and shield my eyes to scan the barren landscape below. As I reach the top of the ridge, I pause to catch my breath and take in the view. The desert stretches out before me, a vast and unforgiving terrain of rolling dunes and barren flats. The distant mountains on the horizon appear like wavy mirages, shifting and distorting in the intense heat. Wandering the desert for hours, searching for any sign of life, I see it; a faint plume of dust rising into the desert air. My heart leaps with hope.

Down below, I spot a lone quad bike traversing a dirt track, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. The figure riding it is unlike anything I could have anticipated. It is a woman, seemingly naked, her tanned skin glistening in the searing sun. Her confidence is evident as she skillfully manoeuvres the four-wheeled machine across the uneven terrain. I watch in awe, befuddled, as she halts the vehicle outside a weathered campervan that had escaped my attention, materializing out of nowhere. It was a peculiar sight; a solitary, statuesque woman, completely stark naked in the middle of the unforgiving desert. I wonder if perhaps I have succumbed to the heat and am hallucinating.

With newfound determination, I begin my descent towards the dirt track. This is the first indication that there might be some form of civilization out here. No matter how awkward approaching this nude desert rider may be, my parched throat aches for a sip of water, and my weary body yearns for shade.

As I observe her further, it becomes clear that this was no mirage. She dismounts, her movements fluid and purposeful, opening compartments on the quad bike and retrieving supplies. Her nudity, though unconventional, seems almost natural to her in this desolate setting.

With cautious optimism, I continue my approach, my pace deliberately slow, so as not to startle the woman. I have a million questions, but shelve them, not wanting to risk the prospect of finding help in this desolate place. As I draw closer to the track, I notice that the rider, her silhouette distinct against the harsh desert backdrop, with a swift, practised motion, produces an AR-15 rifle.

My heart skips a beat, and I instinctively take cover behind a rocky outcrop, peering out to watch the unfolding scene. The woman aims the assault rifle at the campervan and struts towards it, her demeanour unyielding. Without hesitation, she begins firing endless rounds into the weathered campervan. The deafening crack of gunfire echoes through the desert, each shot sending tremors through my trembling skin.

I watched the woman unload endless rounds into the campervan. Windows shatter, metal explodes, and the campervan, now riddled with bullet holes, is reduced to a more decrepit state than before, a victim of unfathomable fury. The woman's actions are as enigmatic as her initial appearance, leaving me to ponder who she is and what has led her to this desolate place.

The air fills with the acrid smell of gunpowder as the woman lowers the rifle, her breathing heavy, seemingly satisfied with her actions. Deliberate, calculated, and shockingly violent. My initial hope turns to dread as I realize that the desert holds not even a small promise of salvation, only the notorious potential for dangers beyond anything I could ever imagine.

As the last echoes of gunfire fade into the arid expanse, I remain hidden, unsure of whether to approach this mysterious woman or continue my quest for survival in the merciless desert. Amid this stark and surreal encounter, the sun burns relentlessly, casting long shadows over the shifting sands, and I am left with more questions than answers in this unforgiving landscape. Frozen in my tracks, hidden by the ridgeline, I am torn between the instinct to flee and the need to understand the woman's motives.

Using a line of desert shrubs for cover, I backtrack up the hill as the sound of the quad bike breaks the silence once more. I stumble into a crevice carved into the hill by ancient dry winds, twisting my ankle for that extra bad luck. My ears track the petrol-powered quad bike as I pause to let the pain ease.

Expecting the engine noise to dissipate, it alarms me when I hear it getting louder.

Closer.

The engine goes suddenly silent.

I freeze, listening to the desert, until a shadow blocks my sun. As I welcome the cool relief, I cautiously look up at the woman standing at the edge of the crevice above me, the relentless sun glaring between her legs. I quickly avert my gaze and slowly raise my hands, not only to signal that I pose no harm but also to maintain a sense of modesty. However, her unflinching posture suggests that modesty might be an alien concept to her.

I feel a mixture of fear and desperation. My voice quivers as I call out to her, "I'm lost and in need of assistance."

She glances around in every direction, and for a moment, she remains silent, her fingers still gripping the AR-15 rifle. The seconds feel like an eternity, and I cannot help but plead, "I mean no trouble. I'm just trying to survive my way out of here."

She lets out a suppressed, cynical laugh.

"Can you help me?"

Ignoring my plea, she lowers her weapon and retreats from view.

"Hey," I call out. "I need help."

I hear the quad start up again and take off. I scramble out of the crevice and watch the quad leave a trail of red dust as it disappears north towards the rocky ravine.

Facing no other choice, I head east, back towards my abandoned Cyberstar, ignoring the sharp pain in my ankle. The desert, once a barren canvas, has suddenly become a place where the boundaries of survival and sanity are blurred. Desperate and demoralised, I find myself stuck halfway along a one-way perilous journey into the unknown.