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."

The phone rang in the middle of the night.

I hadn't been asleep. I let it vibrate for a long time until it finally stopped.

Less than ten seconds later, it started again.

I didn't know how long it rang, but eventually, I picked it up.

"Mr. Porter?"

It was a familiar female voice.

"This is Ruby Shaw."

The moment I heard her name, my grip on the phone tightened.

"Name your price," she said, cutting straight to the point.

"If 10 million dollars isn't enough, I'll make it 20 million dollars. Cash. Wire transfer to any account you choose, within 30 minutes."

I said nothing.

"Mr. Porter? Are you there?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"20 million dollars, cold hard cash. If that's still not enough, we can negotiate."

"It's not about the money."

"Then what is it about?" Her voice spiked.

"Aren't you supposed to be the best guide in this desert? The entire dispatch network recommended you. They said you're the only one crazy enough to go out there. If you don't take this job, my brother will die out there."

"Find someone else," I said coldly.

"Find who? Dispatch said you're the only one who can make it in during this weather window. The other guides won't go past 30 miles out. Any further north, and they won't make it back alive."

I knew that.

I had spent eight years risking my life to map this desert.

Every hidden current, wind shear zone, and quicksand trap was etched into my mind.

I was the only person alive who had the navigation data for this sector.

Ruby asked, "Mr. Porter, don't you have anyone you care about? You should understand what it's like to wait for death in the desert."

I fell silent.

Of all the people in the world, she was the last one who should say those words.

Joey's final satellite signal had pinged at 3:00 am. It lasted for exactly 11 seconds before vanishing forever.

Later, a slip of the tongue from a dispatch worker revealed the truth. Ruby had paid a million dollars to reroute the only fully equipped rescue team in the opposite direction to rescue her brother, Howard.

That grown man had managed to get lost outside a five-star hotel.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in the deep desert, Joey was out of water, completely delirious, and burning up with a fever over 104 degrees.

Her last voicemail to me was only a few seconds long.

"Dad, it's so hot… and… I love you…"

Those few seconds had played on loop in my head for eight years.

"Mr. Porter?"

Ruby's voice snapped me back.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm listening," I replied.

"If 20 million dollars won't do it, 50 million dollars then."

She paused, letting out a cold laugh.

"Have you ever even seen that much money scraping a living out there? 50 million dollars is enough to buy a house, a car, and marry a beautiful wife in the city. You can't be stupid enough to turn this down."

"Ms. Shaw," I called out.

"What?"

"You're right. I've never seen that much money."

"Then—"

"But I've also never seen anyone haggle over human life like they're at a flea market. Your brother's life is worth 50 million dollars to you. But how much was my daughter's life worth to you?"

The line went dead silent.

"W-What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. Find someone else."

I hung up, and the tent fell dead quiet again.

When I closed my eyes again, the dream returned.

Joey was kneeling on the parched earth, the skin on her arms peeling away and her knees scraped raw.

She looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot and dry, her lips badly cracked.

"Dad… why isn't Mom coming to save me?"

I crouched down, my hand shaking as I reached out.

How could I answer her?

How could I tell her that her mother had diverted her rescuers to save a useless man who got lost at a hotel entrance?

Joey waited for a long time.

Then she smiled, her split lips oozing drops of blood.

"I'll keep waiting. Mom will definitely come."

I bolted upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat.

The tent was pitch black, and the wind rattled the corrugated iron sheets.

"Zachary? You alright?" Arthur asked.

"I'm fine."

I reached under my pillow for my water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a heavy swig.

"Go back to sleep," I said to the darkness.

I wasn't sure if I was talking to Arthur or to myself.

At noon the next day, a helicopter landed just outside the camp.

The rotor wash kicked up a massive cloud of dust, nearly ripping the corrugated iron sheets right off the shack.

Arthur cursed under his breath and ran back inside. "That Ruby woman is here. She brought a whole crew with her."

I sat in the tent without moving. My fingers traced a frayed piece of red string.

It was the string tied tightly around Joey's wrist when I finally found her.

"Zachary, do you want to hide for a bit?" Arthur asked, poking his head in.

"No need."

I stuffed the string into my pocket and stood up.

By the time the tent flap was pulled back, Ruby was already standing a short distance from the entrance.

Her oversized sunglasses covered most of her face, but they couldn't hide her heavy makeup, which looked absurdly out of place in this desert.

She glanced my way, then turned her head and frowned in disgust.

"This is him?" she asked her assistant.

The latter nodded. "Zachary Porter, 43 years old. Desert guide. The only local who can cross the deep interior."

Ruby looked back at me through her sunglasses.

My face was weathered with wrinkles, my skin tanned almost black, and my entire body was coated in sand.

I looked like a completely different person from the man she had divorced eight years ago.

Besides, my real name was Jack Porter. After Joey died, I changed it to Zachary.

Ruby didn't recognize me.

"Let's hear his terms," she said, waving a hand at her assistant before turning to find some shade.

The assistant walked over. His polite demeanor was laced with arrogance as he said, "Mr. Porter, Ms. Shaw is being exceptionally generous. We can negotiate the money.

"50 million dollars is just the starting point. We can also arrange a Bellmont residency permit or study-abroad slots for your children—"

"I don't have children."

The assistant froze for a second before checking his tablet.

"Then we can offer something else. Real estate, top-tier medical access, or…"

Just then, David Webb, an old guide, walked past. His son, Kieran Webb, was following behind, carrying a bucket.

Kieran had a loose tongue. He jerked his chin toward the assistant and muttered to David, "Zachary's got it rough. His wife abandoned him, his only daughter died, and now he's just rotting away out here in the desert all by himself. He doesn't even have anyone to talk to."

It wasn't loud, but Ruby caught it. Her gaze swept over from behind her sunglasses.

She let out a cold snicker. "With a man like that, no wonder she couldn't leave fast enough."

Arthur's fists clenched.

I reached out and held him back.

Ruby walked back over, looking down at me like she was handing out charity.

"I get that you're hesitant. The desert is dangerous. But my brother's safety is paramount. Name your terms. As long as you go in and bring him back, everything is on the table."

"I said I'm not going," I replied firmly.

"You want more money?"

"It has nothing to do with money."

She frowned, clearly annoyed at having to deal with an ungrateful idiot.

"Then what does it have to do with? That dead daughter of yours?"

The air instantly turned to ice. Arthur caught his breath.

Ruby smirked, completely unfazed, and pressed on. "Did you drag your daughter into the desert and get her killed? Is that why you're too chicken to go back out there now?"

My hands balled into tight fists. The veins in my neck bulged, and my temples throbbed violently.

"Shut up."

The whole camp went dead silent.

The smirk froze on Ruby's face, and her bodyguards immediately stepped forward to shield her.

But she recovered quickly, her expression twisting back into that deep-seated arrogance.

"Looks like I hit a nerve. You couldn't even keep your daughter alive. No wonder you're stuck playing tour guide in the desert. My brother is nothing like your daughter. His life actually matters."

I stared straight into her face.

It had been eight years. She was just as beautiful as she used to be.

And just as heartless.

"You need to leave, Ms. Shaw."