it off. The battery was good for only twenty-four hours, so he decided he would turn it on and off every fifteen minutes. Theroutine would keep him busy. He worried about the Iraqis homing in on his signal.
Gabriel dug a hole in the sand under his chair and crawled into the space. Every fifteen minutes, he reached his arm out into the skin-prickling sun and turned the beacon’s on/off switch and called into the microphone. “I am F-15 down, over. Can you hear me? Over.”
He heard big guns firing in the distance. Several times, he heard the sound of jets but could not see them. Once he made out the thin profile of a helicopter, appearing and disappearing through the smoke. It wasn’t close enough to see him. On the morning of the next day, Gabriel saw the red light die on the TACBE’s battery pack.
Loneliness clamped down on him. Gabriel crawled out from under his chair and shielded his eyes from the sun. He knew he’d have to start walking toward Kuwait City, through the oil fields. He set out immediately, knowing that, without food or water, the longer he waited, the weaker he would become. As he walked, he heard a distant rumbling like thunder. First Gabriel thought it was close by and then it seemed to have disappeared altogether. Wind was carrying the sound. As he came closer to the oil fields, he realized it was the sound of the fires, roaring open furnaces incinerating the sky.
The burned rubber on his boots picked up sand until it looked as if the soles were made of the tiny grains. It was harder to walk. Gabriel wound his silk scarf around his mouth and nose. He normally wore it to stop his neck from chafing as he looked constantly from side to side in the cockpit of his plane.
All day he walked toward the fires. They were much farther away than he had thought. Gradually the ground turned black, each grain of sand caught in a sphere of oil. When he looked behind him he could see his own footprints, white like bone and trailing off in a drunken-looking line into the dunes. Scrub brush had become fans of shining black like coral.
Kuwait was vast and silent on the horizon. Gabriel began to feel as if he were the last person left on the planet. It was harder to breathe. He ran his fingers through his hair and the strands were thick with tar. His overalls were as black as the sand. Burning drops of it collected in the corners of his eyes.
The sun went down, bloody through the smoke. Gabriel walked allnight, sometimes so close to the fires that he could feel their heat. They glimmered off the low-hanging clouds and by this light he saw old corpses that had been lying there for days. They were sculpture-like now, all features slathered into anonymity by oil.
When the first smudges of dawn filtered yellow through the smoke, Gabriel found himself to the east of Kuwait City. He crossed a deserted highway and saw the ocean in the distance. By ten in the morning he had reached the sea. But it was not the sea. It was oil. The slugglish-arcing waves that slopped up on the black beach were black and the seaweed was a fringe of black at the edge of the waves. Hideously dying cormorants tried to swim in the sea, their wings like black knife blades now, and useless. Turtles like half-constructed toys lay tangled in weeds and oil at the high-tide line or crawled blind and mostly dead onto the black sand and vomited oil and tried to blink the oil from their eyes. The crabs still scuttled on the sand, but they were black and dying. He could smell the rotting fish. Their bodies were gleaming bumps in the slick black water. It was black as far as Gabriel could see. Everything that had lived on the beach or swum in the ocean here was dying or dead. Gabriel moved in a trance along the beach toward the city. He was overcome with horror. He looked down at himself and saw that he had become the same greasy obsidian black as everything else. He rolled up his sleeve and the skin underneath seemed so pale that he barely recognized it
Gabriel dug a hole in the sand under his chair and crawled into the space. Every fifteen minutes, he reached his arm out into the skin-prickling sun and turned the beacon’s on/off switch and called into the microphone. “I am F-15 down, over. Can you hear me? Over.”
He heard big guns firing in the distance. Several times, he heard the sound of jets but could not see them. Once he made out the thin profile of a helicopter, appearing and disappearing through the smoke. It wasn’t close enough to see him. On the morning of the next day, Gabriel saw the red light die on the TACBE’s battery pack.
Loneliness clamped down on him. Gabriel crawled out from under his chair and shielded his eyes from the sun. He knew he’d have to start walking toward Kuwait City, through the oil fields. He set out immediately, knowing that, without food or water, the longer he waited, the weaker he would become. As he walked, he heard a distant rumbling like thunder. First Gabriel thought it was close by and then it seemed to have disappeared altogether. Wind was carrying the sound. As he came closer to the oil fields, he realized it was the sound of the fires, roaring open furnaces incinerating the sky.
The burned rubber on his boots picked up sand until it looked as if the soles were made of the tiny grains. It was harder to walk. Gabriel wound his silk scarf around his mouth and nose. He normally wore it to stop his neck from chafing as he looked constantly from side to side in the cockpit of his plane.
All day he walked toward the fires. They were much farther away than he had thought. Gradually the ground turned black, each grain of sand caught in a sphere of oil. When he looked behind him he could see his own footprints, white like bone and trailing off in a drunken-looking line into the dunes. Scrub brush had become fans of shining black like coral.
Kuwait was vast and silent on the horizon. Gabriel began to feel as if he were the last person left on the planet. It was harder to breathe. He ran his fingers through his hair and the strands were thick with tar. His overalls were as black as the sand. Burning drops of it collected in the corners of his eyes.
The sun went down, bloody through the smoke. Gabriel walked allnight, sometimes so close to the fires that he could feel their heat. They glimmered off the low-hanging clouds and by this light he saw old corpses that had been lying there for days. They were sculpture-like now, all features slathered into anonymity by oil.
When the first smudges of dawn filtered yellow through the smoke, Gabriel found himself to the east of Kuwait City. He crossed a deserted highway and saw the ocean in the distance. By ten in the morning he had reached the sea. But it was not the sea. It was oil. The slugglish-arcing waves that slopped up on the black beach were black and the seaweed was a fringe of black at the edge of the waves. Hideously dying cormorants tried to swim in the sea, their wings like black knife blades now, and useless. Turtles like half-constructed toys lay tangled in weeds and oil at the high-tide line or crawled blind and mostly dead onto the black sand and vomited oil and tried to blink the oil from their eyes. The crabs still scuttled on the sand, but they were black and dying. He could smell the rotting fish. Their bodies were gleaming bumps in the slick black water. It was black as far as Gabriel could see. Everything that had lived on the beach or swum in the ocean here was dying or dead. Gabriel moved in a trance along the beach toward the city. He was overcome with horror. He looked down at himself and saw that he had become the same greasy obsidian black as everything else. He rolled up his sleeve and the skin underneath seemed so pale that he barely recognized it
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