The pyramids receded into the Northern horizon as we rode South on our horses. We rode them hard enough they bled out of their noses and into the sand.
The pyramids behind us are not the ones you know. They are south along the Nile as the river cuts through the desert. They were buried by sand until I found them with satellite photographs. But these weren't pyramids for kings, they were pyramids for criminals, destined to live out their afterlife confined to these chambers. No air-shaft to allow the soul to escape and return. No stash of foodstuffs. No wine and women and slaves and soldiers. Even the word pyramid is generous. They were more like mounds of masonry.
But we were not running from superstition. From dead religions. From nothing.
There were three of us. The horses were slowing no matter how much we whipped them. We guided them toward the Nile so they could drink. And they did. The blood still dripped from their nostrils, dripping and spreading into red clouds and flowing down river.
When we were at the pyramids, there were 5 of us. We read the warnings and ignored them. These were the ones committed to postmortem confinement. Damnation to hell is for amateurs. The glyphs told us they embalmed these criminals as they did the kings to ensure eternal punishment and chained them to slabs. But chains, even in this desert, eventually rust and break. These were the criminals we would use as fuses in our electric chairs and even the anti-death-penalty protesters would just stay home.
It took weeks to even find what would be considered a door on one of the structures. It took another week to clean it up and pull out that stone plug. We were there only minutes after the light entered for the first time in centuries.
They were angry enough to kill 2 of us with rocks and half-decayed fists before we escaped and rode off. When one touched me, it felt like warm jerky. Then we ran. I think the light bothered them. Wouldn't it bother you, to see it for the first time in centuries?
"How could they be alive?" I asked Brandon as we rode off. They had gotten his Eliza. Poor Eliza.
"I don't know." And that was the most honest thing any of us could say now.
I'm only taking this time now to write this as we are near the bank of the river and Muhammad takes time to pray. He is shaken, I can tell. As we all are. I hope he finishes soon. I hope he is putting in a good word for all of us. We are in a valley in this desert with the Nile, but I think I see dust over a dune in the North.
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