Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

The heat from the white dunes caused a mirage effect on the construction site as Harold wiped his brow again, taking a long swig from a jug of water and letting out a quickly drying breath. The wind, like the unforgiving blast of a hair dryer, did its best to absorb any leftover moisture on his parched lips.

“Take five more minutes,” said a short, black bearded foreman, indicating with a gloved finger. “And then you must push that sand over there.”

Harold swore to himself that after this job he would not take any more employment in the Middle East. Technically he was in Africa, just north of the ancient Valley of the Kings, but it felt like every place he had been since the Sea Bees discharged him because of some unfortunate business, from Iraq to Saudi to the edge of the Sainai. After this job he would…