It had been roughly forty hours although she didn't know it.
"Anything is better than where I was," she said to herself.
She had been a prisoner for so long, a walk on the hot sand with nothing but the vast horizon for the company was a welcome relief. No longer faced with a gun to her head, the fear that now descended upon her was the lack of liquid nutrients that would not be made available any time soon, barring a miracle that was certain not to occur.
She was alone.
Vastly alone.
Alone in beautiful desolation. Her mind wandered as her feet dragged in the dust. She was standing alongside Neil Armstrong, the lunar rover was off to their right. He was planting the flag. He turned to look at her.
"That's one small..." he began.
"Step for people," she completed his sentence.
"One giant leap for people," he replied with a smile. She smiled back. He planted a lone black flag that stood in stark contrast to the red earth. She walked over to it to feel the sensation of its fabric. When she reached out to touch it it had disappeared. She was alone again.
It was an illusion. She craved water once more. The thirst was dictating her movements. She didn't know in which direction to travel. The horizon was everywhere, surrounding her like a global line of insult. An enormous prison. She had swapped one prison cell for another, vastly open yet more depressing one.
"I'll take the cell again," she said, changing her mind on her circumstances.
"At least they fed me," she said aloud. No one was there to hear her. Except the postman who arrived in his mail truck. He pulled up his van alongside her with a package under his arm. He addressed her from the driver's seat.
"Martha Plinkton?" he asked.
"That's me," she said.
He tossed her the box, put his truck in gear, and proceeded towards the southern horizon. Or perhaps it was the eastern horizon. His truck left a layer of dust in his wake that covered Martha and fogged her vision. She managed to wipe the dust from her eyes as she observed the package that rested in her arms. She was reluctant to open it. What if it was another illusion? She had her hopes up for nothing if that were to be the case.
She sat down on the hot earth and crossed her legs. She pulled away at the box lid. Her arms were weak but she managed to tear away at the masking tape sealing the lid shut. She looked inside and removed an empty plastic bottle. She threw the garbage away in anger. She attempted to stand but was too weak. She laid down and let the sun absorb away what was left of her flesh.
Perhaps, if she fell asleep, the transition wouldn't be as intimidating, as frightening. To slip away in your sleep would be akin to passing between two trains standing side-by-side on parallel tracks. You're substituting one fantastical world for another.
No fear, no agony, just a direct, painless transfer.
She closed her eyes and heard the distant rumble of the chopper on the horizon, scanning the earth. Its blades propelled a thwomping sonic boom. She tilted her neck to get a better look.
There were two of them off in the distance. No, there were three.
Why did her mind insist on fooling her like this?
Not when she had agreed to make the transition, there should be no further need to ridicule her like this, she thought. Or maybe this was the real deal. Maybe word had got out amongst the allied forces that the daughter of the President was released by the militant group and this was the rescue team tasked with finding her?
"I wasn't released, I escaped," she reminded herself.
The chopper blades grew closer.
She felt her consciousness fade away.
Either they would rescue her and return her to a normal life, one that existed before her incarceration eighteen months earlier, or she would slip into a sleep that would be a gateway to the life of the world to come. She didn't know, or care. She closed her eyes and let fate decide for her. She heard the chopper blades prowling the hot sand for life. She listened until the sounds faded away. She didn't know if they had landed or if she had faded.