The Third Man Factor

The sun bakes us, and we try not to moan.

We try not to do anything, for even opening our mouths costs precious moisture.

The dunes shimmer, there is no breeze.

Heat lines and shimmering sands, as far as the eye can see.

But when I look closer, I see: there is a shining puddle, maybe a pond away in the distance!

I think I have enough energy, maybe, to walk there.

If I can just drag my feet under my knees and push against gravity, one more time…

All I need to do is stand, and walk and push myself out and away from my stranded car.

Dad tells me no. Tells me to stay where people might look for me.

He says I should lie back down and save energy.

Save moisture.

I shake my blistered head, and crack my parched lips. My voice is hoarse.

I raise a trembling finger, “Water. There.”

Dad shakes his head. “No. It’s a mirage.”

I keep trying to push for my feet. I mouth the word, “water.” But no sound escapes my throat, except the gentle hiss of air poorly spent.

My dads voice is firm. I don’t know how he manages to speak in this hell.

“Lay back down. It’s a mirage. If there was really water there, there’d be trees, or plants of some kind.”

I squint.

There are no plants, only the shimmer of water.

I need there to be water.

I can see it, shining in the sun.

It’s right fucking there! Maybe a quarter of a mile away.

Close enough that I could get there.

I could dunk my head under the surface and suck down new life.

I could wash my sunburns.

I could sooth my tear-less eyes.

But no.

I know my dad is right. There should be some green, at least a little, if there was really water there.

It’s just my eyes playing tricks on me. The sun reflecting off some hot air, at just the right angle to dance like waves.

I slump to my knees and groan.

I force myself to look away.

I climb back under the makeshift tent I made, with the tarp from the trunk of my car after it broke down.

I groan.

It’s a horrible sound, even to my own ears. I am defeated, the sound is the call of despair.

I fall to the sand and gasp.

I would cry if my eyes weren’t so damn dry.

My dad sits next to me, he pats my shoulder.

I don’t know how he has the strength to sit.

Or to speak.

Or to hug me.

He says “hang in there buddy, it’s gonna be okay.”

When I wake up, the sun is gone and so is the heat.

The moon is cool, like a bowl of milk.

Or melted ice cream.

I look up and I wish I could drink it.

I wish it would rain.

But there’s not a cloud in sight, the stars are shining brighter and clearer than they ever have.

And there’s another thing, crystal clear in mind:

I know I’m going to die out here in this desert.

I just wish it could be sooner.

I wish it could be right now.

If only my dad hadn’t stopped me from walking towards that mirage. If I’d gotten out from under this goddamned tent.

I’d have fallen down under the sun instead of under the tarp.

And I would have baked away, like a worm on the pavement.

I’d have been gone by now, if not for his cautions.

Blessed relief! If not through water, then through death!

I prop myself up on one elbow, and the whole world tilts like a capsizing ship.

Well it won’t be long anyhow.

These are the last legs of my life.

I can’t do anything aside from slump back to the brutal, uncaring earth.

This little patch of hell has been like sand paper on my raw skin. But I’m slipping away,

And right now all it feels like

Is a cloud.

My father snaps his fingers. “Don’t go to sleep.”

I think ‘Why? I’m ready to sleep. Forever.’

And he says “Listen. Do you hear that? They’re calling your name.”

I ask, in an a whisper light as burnt paper, “who?”

Dad says: “Wake up. They might not find you in the dark. Turn on your flashlight.”

I cannot shake my head. I cannot answer him. But I think: ‘no. I don’t want them to find me, I’m tired. I want them to let me sleep.’

But my dad presses his face against mine, his eyes are big and livid, he doesn’t yell but his voice is stern and I have to obey him even though I don’t want to.

“It’s time to get up!”

I don’t want to go to school.

“Get the fuck out of bed, and turn your flashlight on.”

I’m too tired to ask him why, so I just do as he says. I manage to roll out of bed, every part of my body feels heavier than lead.

I click on my flashlight, and fall back into my pillows.

***

I wake up thinking I’m late for school, and that my dad is gonna be so mad.

I try to sit up, but my body is sluggish.

Something is pinching my arm, tugging at my skin. There are snakes biting my veins.

I try to tell my dad but I don’t know where he is.

***

I wake again, and wonder where I am.

My vision is overwhelmed, the sunlight is so bright. But it’s not hot anymore.

I don’t hurt.

And my mouth doesn’t feel like cracked old cardboard.

***

Someone’s calling my name.

I mutter, “Did we make it out?”

I open my eyes and see I am in a hospital bed, with IV’s in my arm. For a brief moment they look like desert vipers, slithering up my arm.

I breath and sigh and open my eyes a little wider.

A nurse is smiling down at me, and next to her, my brother and his fiancé.

He says “when you didn’t show up on time we started looking for you. I’m so sorry we weren’t there sooner. You must have been living through hell. But we didn’t know your route, and there’s lots of ground to cover. Those desert highways out there are endless.”

His fiancé says “We were so panicked. When we got the call, from the authorities we thought the worst. But it turns out some good Samaritan passed you on the roadside. One in a thousand chance. Almost nobody ever drives that way. They said they saw your face in the beam of a flashlight— and they probably wouldn’t have seen you at all if you hadn’t turned it on.”

I say “It’s a good thing dad told me to do it, he heard ‘em coming. Where is dad anyway, is he okay?”

My brother frowns and puts his hand on mine.

And as I wake a little further my life comes back to me— our dad died when we were kids.

My brother’s eyes are watering. His fiancé gives me a hug.

She says it’s a miracle.

***

To this day, I wonder if it was. A friend of mine shrugged when I told him. He said maybe that was God— or maybe that was God letting my dad keep an eye on me from above.

My therapist says there could be more mundane explanations. “A hallucinatory manifestation of my inner strength.” He gave me some reading materials about the “Third Man Factor”, a phenomenon where people in extreme survival scenarios report the presence of another body— they report memories of someone— or some entity— lending them vital guidance or life saving support.

I don’t know what to believe.

I know I’d be dead if something inside or maybe beyond, hadn’t guided me through. Something stopped me from wandering out after a mirage. And something made me turn my light on.

I try to replay it all in my head but it doesn’t make sense. It felt like dad was really there, physically there. But how? How is that possible; and how reliable could my memories even be?

I was dying of dehydration.

Only….

I stayed alive.

***

***

***

Authors note:

I wrote this story trying to envision what it might be like to personally experience a reported phenomenon that I find very interesting but also, kinda simultaneously comforting and creepy: The third man factor…

You can read more about it here:

Also, I wrote this as an entry for a vocal+ contest. If you’d like to write something on this prompt or read other submissions, there announcement is here: