Free Egypt by Patti Wheeler

camp is secure enough to hold when the winds arrive! Everyone hurry! The storm will be here soon!”
    We all went to work, checking the ropes and stakes that held our tent camp to the desert floor. Most of the support ropes were grounded by large rocks, some weighing as much as fifty pounds.
    Soon, a purple and red haze reached from one end of the horizon to the other, like a wall of sand slowly consuming the earth. Storms like this are not uncommon in these parts. They come off the Mediterranean Sea, picking up desert sand and dust as they roar eastward. I had read that these storms are sometimes bad enough to bring all outdoor activity to a halt, forcing people to take shelter until they pass. But even reading of such accounts, I wasn’t at all prepared.
    “Everyone to your tents!” Dr. Aziz shouted. “The storm is nearly upon us!”
    I was putting one last rock over a stake supporting the kitchen tent, when a strong wind charged up the hill from the west. The wind was hot, like a wind coming off a distant forest fire, and carried with it a thick plume of sand. I lifted my scarf over my mouth and turned my back to the wind. The sand hit the exposed skin on my forearms like tiny needles. At first I thought the initial gust would ease enough for me to gather my things and run inside the tent. But the wind didn’t let up. Actually, it increased, blowing harder and moving up the dune with such force that it pushed me back a few steps. I had to squat down to keep from being blown over.
    Visibility was no more than a few feet. Through the thundering wind, I could hear shouts of men and see the occasional worker making a break for his tent. The wind continued, refusing to let up, even for a second. I needed to get to shelter.
    Staggering, half-blind, my arm bent around my eyes to shield them from the driving sand, I found our tent and quickly made my way inside. Gannon, Serene and James were seated on the floor in the center of the tent.
    “Sorry, I didn’t want to say it,” Gannon shouted, “but I’m starting to think we’re cursed!”
    Serene remained silent.
    “It’s just a sandstorm!” I yelled.
    “No, this is not just a sandstorm!” Gannon shouted back. “It’s the mother of all sandstorms! Listen to that wind! The whole camp’s going to blow away! We’ll be buried alive! Just like the shopkeeper’s grandfather!”
    “The tent will hold!” I yelled, though I wasn’t so sure.
    The inside perimeter of the tent is lined with heavy rocks for added support. With all of that weight, it will take a tornado to blow our tent away, but the wind is pounding at the canvas walls with such force, I’m afraid it might rip apart at the seams.
    “I never thought I’d say this,” James said, “but I’m with Gannon! Maybe we got too close to the tomb and now we’re cursed!”
    Serene has not spoken, but there is fear in her eyes.
    I’m not buying into the curse theory. Fact is, a desert storm is upon us and we’re helpless to do anything, but wait it out.
GANNON
    MARCH 5
    For two days and two nights this storm has raged. I’ve never seen anything like it! By some miracle, the tent has managed to hold up somehow, but the constant battering has definitely taken its toll. Last night a rip appeared in one of the corner seams and started to grow with each rush of wind. We were scared that the tear might open more and if that happened the entire roof would be blown off, so we raced around looking for anything that could be used to patch it up. What we ended up doing was using a pocket knife to cut a slit into the canvas on either side of the tear, then we taped a couple pens and pencils together, pushed them through the slits, and twisted them around until the tear was tightly closed off.
    So far, it has held.
    The sound of the wind whipping against the tent has us all on the verge of a breakdown. I’m not joking, it’s like a thousand drums pounding in our ears all at once … for days on end! And to make matters