No Saving the Woman Who Killed My Daughter

Eight years ago, my daughter, Joey Porter, was stuck in the desert of death.

Her GPS had blinked out, and she ran out of supplies. She kept calling for me for over a dozen hours over the walkie-talkie.

The only rescue team was an hour's flight away from her, only to get intercepted halfway there.

Later on, I found out that my wife, Ruby Shaw, spent 800 thousand dollars bribing the dispatch center, rerouting the rescue team's flight route just so they could save Ruby's younger brother, Howard Shaw, instead.

Howard had had too much to drink at that time, causing him to lose his way outside the resort that was located at the edge of the desert. When he was found, it turned out that he was about a mile away from the resort.

But the rescue team never came for Joey, who waited for them till she was dehydrated and, later on, died in the desert.

Since then, I've quit my job and made this living hell my new home. For the next eight years, I work as a desert guide, ultimately saving over 100 people.

Every inch of the dunes and the hidden sand currents are engraved into my mind.

Today, my partner decides to give me a rescue order that's worth an astronomical amount. He urges me to pack my things and set off immediately.

I glance at the photo, only to see a familiar face. That's when I turn off my walkie-talkie and get up to my feet before heading outside.

"I can't save this person."

"Zachary Porter, have you lost your mind?"

My partner, Arthur Mueller, caught up from behind and grabbed my arm.

I shook him off and pushed through the door curtain.

Arthur lunged outside, cutting me off and planting both hands on my chest to block my way.

"That's ten million dollars. Did you hear me? Ten million dollars."

"I heard you."

"And you're still walking away? Think about it, man. Is your life even worth that much?" Arthur asked.

"I told you, I can't save this guy."

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"You've been eating dirt in the desert for eight years. You can't even afford next month's gas. Now ten million dollars is staring you in the face, and you're just turning it down?"

I glanced at him, stepped around him, and kept walking.

He hurried after me again.

"Zachary, you don't have to pay me back what you owe, but look at yourself!

"It's fine that the guys live in a shack leaking wind and sand, but the transmission on your truck is completely shot. You want to die out here? Fine. But what about them?

"Last month you had to borrow 30 bucks from me just for painkillers. You had to buy them on credit! Ten million dollars is right in front of you now, and you're telling me you won't take it?"

"Enough."

"No, it's not enough!"

Arthur's voice suddenly dropped.

"Your wife left you, your daughter is dead, your parents don't talk to you, and you've cut off all your friends. You're hiding out in this desert living like a camel. Ten million dollars is enough for a fresh start. Why won't you take it?"

I stopped in my tracks.

"You're crossing the line."

"Good!"

He stepped up to me and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Zachary, this isn't you. Three years ago, during that sandstorm when visibility was less than six feet, a family of three got trapped under a half-buried SUV. Everyone said it was a lost cause, but you dug through the sand with your bare hands for four hours and pulled them out.

"When that little girl clung to your back and called you Dad, you cried harder than she did."

I said nothing. I remembered that rescue.

The little girl was severely dehydrated, barely conscious, and shivering against my back.

When she called me Dad, my eyes went blurry instantly.

She made me think of my daughter, Joey Porter.

If I had been able to save her, she would have looked just like that.

"You're not the type to watch someone die. What's the real reason? Just give it to me straight."

I looked out into the deep desert.

On the horizon, the sandline looked like a massive, yellowish-brown wall, slowly rolling toward us.

"Did you see the photo?" I asked.

"Yeah, Howard Shaw, 35 years old. Went missing near an abandoned research station deep in the desert. His satellite signal has been dead for over 24 hours."

"Do you know who he is?"

Arthur froze. "The client's brother. Why?"

I didn't answer.

The wind picked up, sending sheets of sand rattling against the corrugated iron walls.

I had listened to that sound for eight years.

Every single night out here, I had the exact same dream.

In a barren desert beneath a scorching sun, Joey kneeled with cracked, bleeding lips and severely sunburned skin.

She looked up at me, her eyes too dry for tears, and used the last of her strength to call out, "Dad, I'm so thirsty. Where are you?"

Every time I reached out to hold her, my fingers passed right through her.

Then, she would scatter into the wind like sand.

Arthur was still waiting for an answer.

I turned back to him. "Find someone else for this job."

"There is no one else, and you know it. In this weather, you're the only one who can go into that desert and make it back alive."

"Then he's on his own."

"He's been missing for 24 hours. Any longer, and he's a corpse."

I looked him dead in the eye. "Arthur, how long have you been with me? Six years?"

"Six years and four months."

"And how many jobs have I turned down in those six years and four months?"

His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The answer was zero.

I had gone out in severe storms, ventured into the dead center of the desert, and pushed through 130-degree heat.

I had never turned down a cry for help.

"Then you should know that if I say I can't save him, I have a damn good reason."

Arthur stood there frozen, his hair whipped wild by the wind.

He didn't push any further, but I knew he still didn't understand.

"Go inside and charge your satellite phone. There's a bad storm coming tonight. Don't go out."

He stopped me one last time and asked, "The client is still on the line. You're really not taking it?"

"Tell her to find someone else."