Camel Riders

[Northern Cooperative Unions]

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A camel slowly trudges along the desert floor, kicking up dust as it lifts each foot aloft. The arid land boils around the camel's scrawny legs, both humps upon it shield the Sun from view at either side of the desert creature. The peaceful creature's trudge is interrupted by the faint putter of an engine in the distance. A jeep from many years ago approaches, struggling upon a make-shift road nearby. As it approaches, the figures of men mounted upon the back begins to shape. The jeep comes into view of the camel. A crackle fills the desert, the camel falling into a heap of itself. The figures are villagers from South Boliatur, the places beyond the steppes. A cheer erupts from the vehicle as it passes the dead camel, about six men having mounted themselves on the back of the lorry. With them are several improvised and old rifles. Following this lorry are a stream of various trucks and other assortments of vehicles, kicking up dust along the road as they passed at 45 miles per hour. Among them are several stolen military-grade vehicles, and even many deserters from the conscripted Boliaturian Army.

Dilabri was a young man of 19, having no education but that of knowing how to herd various cattle and sheep herds. Only a week ago did he volunteer to join the Boliaturian Freedom Party, a party dedicated to abolishing the Communist regime in Boliatur and bringing peace through war. He was illiterate, eager, and rebellious. It was all too common to find young men like Dilabri in the deserts. Each man in the lorry was young and armed with their hunting rifles, scavenged rifles, or - in rare cases, foreign rifles. Dilabri squinted as dust stung his eyes, staring in the distant desert as the lorry brought him north. He was leaving his home for the last time.