Surviving in the Gobi Desert
American International School, Jordan Fox, Fiction: Group 2
T
he Gobi Desert was silent as can be. You could only hear the sound of a jerboa’s feet
making its way to his family. Soon the silence was disturbed by a triumphant tribe of
Mongolians marching through the rocky hills. The tribe was travelling back from a
successful trade. They were in a line with the chief at the front and the load in the back.
The desert was cold. So they wore deels and heavy boots. The people in the tribe were almost
identical. They all had black hair, tanned skin, beady eyes, and were all very cold.
“Chuluun,” the chief called to one of his people,” how long will it take to get back home?”
“Another three days.”
“Then we should rest now.”
Everyone heard the plan and found a place to camp. They set out their campsite, and cooked
their dinner. Just as the chief entered his tent, a man barged in.
“Chief, there’s a sandstorm, and it’s heading towards us!”
The chief charged out of his tent a saw the storm. Everyone was panicking.
“Pack your equipment and let’s go!” commanded the chief.
Everyone packed hastily, but they were too late. The sandstorm was right in front of them.
The wind was blowing eighty miles an hour! Bits of sand flew into people’s eyes as they
huddled together. The chaos felt like it went on for hours. Finally it stopped. There was nothing
left except the people.
Everyone looked at their surroundings. The place was empty. No one was sure if they had
travelled somewhere else or if they were in the same place. The chief recovered from his anxiety
and made new commands.
“I know this looks bad, but we are going to get back home safely. Let us continue our journey.”
The beaten up people looked at the chief and formed their line.
For days the tribe continued to walk day and night. They only stopped when rocks were
nearby. They would lift it up and look for water. As for food the men had to strangle animals like
gazelles. Then one day something extraordinary happened.
It had been sixteen days since the sandstorm had wiped everything from the tribe. The people
were desperate for food and water, since it was very scarce.
The chief who was in despair saw something in the distance. He wasn’t sure what it was.
“Chuluun,” the chief said weakly,” do you see anything over there?”
Chuluun squinted and saw an object poking out.
“Yes,”
“What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,”
“I think we should go over and check what it is. We can’t risk not knowing if there is food there”
Chuluun told everyone the news. They changed their direction and headed towards the
mysterious object. The sun’s rays made it hard for them to see where it was. Finally they were
close enough to see what looked like parts of a machine. There was a turbine lying just beside it. It
was a broken helicopter.
The tribe curiously advanced towards it. The chief looked from the helicopter to the damaged
