After releasing his prisoner, Asim had the driver return to Cairo via the long route. El Alamein, with all of its pristine beach resorts, was soon far behind them and replaced by shepherds grazing their herds on the street curbs. The innumerous sand dunes, tiny Army outposts and villages chaotically situated alongside the road flew past. On the horizon, dark chestnut-haired camels scampered through scattered palm gardens that surrounded frugal villages made up of trounced huts. The long drive back to Cairo was not an easy one. As El Alamein was slowly swallowed up by the desert expanses, Asim huddled in the backseat tightly holding his cloak against his bleeding wound. The blood had started soaking through the cloak, and it was not long before Asim realized he was losing too much blood. One hundred and thirty miles was way too long to wait in agony and risk his life from blood loss or infection. His chief needed him, predominantly now, as it truly was the darkest time in the Medjay’s long, proud history.
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