floor. From here the mountains have an alien beauty. Maybe it's the distance, but for the first time since I arrived in this barren country I can actually describe the landscape as beautiful.
The helicopter lurches up again, and my stomach once again goes the opposite direction, smashing on the rocks below.
We skim the edge of the mountain range for a few hours. From what I know about Site J, it sits near the base of the mountains at the edge of a reservoir. I assume we're flying on this route to avoid being attacked. Not so far into the mountains where the enemy is suspecting of hiding, and not in the open plains where we're an easy target. The realization doesn't make me feel better.
I decide to shift my gaze to the other window, where the plains stretch out to the horizon. The monotony of endless brown is like a lullaby, soothing me into calm with its trance-like repetitiveness. Occassionally, a homestead whizzes by, but more frequently, we fly over lines of perfect circles surrounded by mounds of dirt extending past the foothills, far out into the plains.
I don't pay much attention to the first one, but the second and then the third? Leaning forward, I try to get a better look. The holes remind me of the pockmarks seen in the deserts of Nevada, left over from nuclear bomb testing. But the lines are too straight to be random bomb sites. They look more like bore pits. But for what? And what would they be boring for? There's nothing around for miles.
"Qanats," Trey's voice suddenly sounds in my earphones. I turn to him, startled. The microphone should have given it away, but I assumed the headphones were just for noise cancelling. "It's a watering system."
I glance at a line of Qanats disappearing behind the chopper. "Like wells?" I feel like I should know this but I don't.
"Sort-of. They dig a vertical well until they hit the water table and then dig horizontally. Each pit you see intersects the horizontal shaft below. It's an ancient way of bringing water from the mountains to the settlements out there." He gestures toward the plains.
"Ancient and ingenious."
He smiles. "You can cool a home with it, too, since the temperature that deep is what, fifty degrees or so? You have to hand it to these people, they come up with some amazing ways of coping with living in a less than ideal environment."
"No doubt. I could learn a thing or two from them."
Like, how to accept my fate and move on. I might be working on it, but it's slow going.
The chopper rises abruptly and I have to cover my mouth to keep my breakfast in my stomach. When it banks sharply to the left, I nearly lose it—coughing as I'm forced to swallow a little bile.
"Hey, you want to take it easy," Trey says sharply into the headset. "We're not all seasoned flyers back here."
"Sorry, Trey," one of the pilots replies.
The chopper smooths out and with a few deep breaths I'm able to coax my breakfast back down my throat.
We lift over the edge of a rocky peak and I see it: a vast pool of blue surrounded by mountains. If I didn't know where we are heading I'd think it was a mirage. Not just because the reservoir is a fountain of life in an otherwise lifeless land, but it shimmers with unearthly beauty. The mountains curl around it, their red and brown jagged edges press harshly into its soft blue depths.
The window is cool as I press my fingers against it and lean forward. So perfect, so pristine…
"Breathtaking," Trey's deep voice murmurs in my ear.
My gaze flicks over to him. He's staring out the window toward the lake. He must've been talking to himself.
Or about himself. Brown eyes focused on the landscape below, a small smile on his lips, his strong jaw covered in a layer of salt and pepper gray stubble…I didn't realize real men came in such perfect packages.
He catches me staring and somehow I manage to smile. "It is beautiful," I say into my microphone. My voice sounds foreign, tinny, as it plays back in my ears. "Haven't you seen it
The helicopter lurches up again, and my stomach once again goes the opposite direction, smashing on the rocks below.
We skim the edge of the mountain range for a few hours. From what I know about Site J, it sits near the base of the mountains at the edge of a reservoir. I assume we're flying on this route to avoid being attacked. Not so far into the mountains where the enemy is suspecting of hiding, and not in the open plains where we're an easy target. The realization doesn't make me feel better.
I decide to shift my gaze to the other window, where the plains stretch out to the horizon. The monotony of endless brown is like a lullaby, soothing me into calm with its trance-like repetitiveness. Occassionally, a homestead whizzes by, but more frequently, we fly over lines of perfect circles surrounded by mounds of dirt extending past the foothills, far out into the plains.
I don't pay much attention to the first one, but the second and then the third? Leaning forward, I try to get a better look. The holes remind me of the pockmarks seen in the deserts of Nevada, left over from nuclear bomb testing. But the lines are too straight to be random bomb sites. They look more like bore pits. But for what? And what would they be boring for? There's nothing around for miles.
"Qanats," Trey's voice suddenly sounds in my earphones. I turn to him, startled. The microphone should have given it away, but I assumed the headphones were just for noise cancelling. "It's a watering system."
I glance at a line of Qanats disappearing behind the chopper. "Like wells?" I feel like I should know this but I don't.
"Sort-of. They dig a vertical well until they hit the water table and then dig horizontally. Each pit you see intersects the horizontal shaft below. It's an ancient way of bringing water from the mountains to the settlements out there." He gestures toward the plains.
"Ancient and ingenious."
He smiles. "You can cool a home with it, too, since the temperature that deep is what, fifty degrees or so? You have to hand it to these people, they come up with some amazing ways of coping with living in a less than ideal environment."
"No doubt. I could learn a thing or two from them."
Like, how to accept my fate and move on. I might be working on it, but it's slow going.
The chopper rises abruptly and I have to cover my mouth to keep my breakfast in my stomach. When it banks sharply to the left, I nearly lose it—coughing as I'm forced to swallow a little bile.
"Hey, you want to take it easy," Trey says sharply into the headset. "We're not all seasoned flyers back here."
"Sorry, Trey," one of the pilots replies.
The chopper smooths out and with a few deep breaths I'm able to coax my breakfast back down my throat.
We lift over the edge of a rocky peak and I see it: a vast pool of blue surrounded by mountains. If I didn't know where we are heading I'd think it was a mirage. Not just because the reservoir is a fountain of life in an otherwise lifeless land, but it shimmers with unearthly beauty. The mountains curl around it, their red and brown jagged edges press harshly into its soft blue depths.
The window is cool as I press my fingers against it and lean forward. So perfect, so pristine…
"Breathtaking," Trey's deep voice murmurs in my ear.
My gaze flicks over to him. He's staring out the window toward the lake. He must've been talking to himself.
Or about himself. Brown eyes focused on the landscape below, a small smile on his lips, his strong jaw covered in a layer of salt and pepper gray stubble…I didn't realize real men came in such perfect packages.
He catches me staring and somehow I manage to smile. "It is beautiful," I say into my microphone. My voice sounds foreign, tinny, as it plays back in my ears. "Haven't you seen it
Similar Books
