Later, on the plane, Nick looked down and saw the houses and cars were small as toys and the people were so tiny he couldn’t even see them. The man didn’t look out of the window. He just smoked his pipe and kept glancing at Nick. And once, he grabbed Nick and held him tight. He smelled like tobacco. It was a good smell.

“I love you, Nick. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought of you,” the man whispered in a thick voice. Nick felt warm all over. It felt good.

Except that now his father was dead. They all were. The black-robed riders had dismounted and were running towards him. He didn’t know what to do. There’d never been a time when there wasn’t a grown-up around to tell him what to do. The men with the guns came closer and he was afraid. He turned and began to run.

One of the terrible black-robed figures chased him. Nick ran wildly without direction, half-blinded by the sweat stinging his eyes. Around him the sandy plain lay flat and endless and blinding white as a linen-covered table. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Arab only a few steps behind him, stabbing the air with a long curved dagger. Nick ran even harder, but it was hard running in the sand and he stumbled. He scrambled on all fours like a monkey and then a hand yanked him off his feet.

He looked up to see the black figure towering above him, the knife blade glittering like fire in the sun. Nick closed his eyes. His ears filled with roaring like the sound of the surf near Gramps’ house on the Palos Verdes shore. His body tensed for the blow, but nothing happened. At last, he opened his eyes. The Arab lay beside him in the sand. In the center of his forehead was a small black hole oozing blood. It looked like a third eye.

He became aware of the sound of gunfire. He saw an Arab bending over his dad suddenly straighten up and then crumple to the ground. The black-robed Arabs were running away. Nick turned in the direction of the gunfire but he couldn’t see who was firing. The desert was empty all the way to the horizon. When he turned back, the black-robed figures had mounted their horses, spurring them into a desperate gallop. They fled like shadows disappearing in the blinding light.

Nick ran back to his dad, who was lying there exactly as Nick had left him. Nick had never felt so alone. Who’s going to take care of me now, he wondered.