Special Effects: Survival

The desert stretched out ahead, mile after mile, silvery, pale, and quivering in the heat. There seemed to be no end to it. No limit. The dust boiled and rolled under the wheels of the Rover. Small stones bounced away from under the tires. The engine growled, protesting. Steam hissed from under the radiator cap, threatening to explode it into the sky. The sun followed like an angry yellow eye.

Turran wiped a patch of moisture from his forehead and slouched back in his seat. He felt as if he was melting. His father, Brad Zandrak, was concentrating on the rough ground which rose and fell gently ahead.

"How much further?" said Turran.

"I don't know," said his father "We're sure to come to something soon though. This can't go on forever!"

"It might," said Turran, bored.

His father didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Three weeks they had been travelling around Australia. Brad Zandrak, a rising star in the field of molecular biology, with three degrees tacked on to his name, was taking a well-earned break. It had been a wonderful holiday, just him and his son, and his lovely wife. Together. They had left Mrs Zandrak on the coast, during the third week. She didn't want to do the desert crossing.

"You're not getting me cooped up in that thing for two weeks, with nothing but desert to look at!" she had said, "I'm going home!"

Dad had kissed her at the cream-coloured hotel, and smiled into the rear-view mirror as they turned off the Main Road. Now they were into their second week and it was like living in an oven. Turran loathed the desert now. At the start, it had seemed like a wonderful idea, to cross the huge, wide white area on the map, but now that he was actually doing it, he wanted to get home. The map had told him nothing about the extreme heat, and hardship.

The day wore on. The fuel gauge registered empty. Dad stopped the Rover and tipped another can into the tank. He rubbed his face with his hands and shielded his eyes.

"Can't be far to go now," he said, squinting as he scanned the monotonous landscape.

The sun was on the edge of the land, scraping the edge of the plain with needle-sharp fingers of red light. The first chill of evening clutched at Turran's legs.