The scorching sun was on the verge of setting, radiating a cascading glow of burnt orange over the entirety of the vast, sandy landscape. The moon was in stark contrast of the waning daylight, its white face shining bright, and as flawless as polished silver. When the cacti began casting their long and intricate shadows, the desert started to settle into its deep and quiet rest, simply exhausted after another day of the extreme blasting heat from the sun. Sand foxes nestled into their coves, armadillos rolled into their rocky dens, and the pickled scarecrows stayed ever vigilant, watching over the sand biome as day turned to night.

The Carbonizat Desert lay beyond the Trevormuel Mountains, which were already on the edge of civilization. The last town within the mountain range was Twin Pond, a simple city made up of simple folks. They were fishermen, and the people of Twin Pond caught the largest, heaviest, and juiciest trout known to mankind. The Twin Pond Trout had become a rare and sought out delicacy all over the world. Over the years, frothing, greed filled entrepreneurs had come to the mountain town with promises of limitless money, begging the townspeople to allow factories and farm fisheries to be built, thinking they would be the next food mogul. But each rich person was rejected and sent packing, their capital and resources unwanted by the town.

Like I said, they were simple folks, and they wanted none of the hustle and bustle of city life, or stress that came with it. So they fished, brought their catch to the Twin Pond butchery, and got paid very well. The butchery had no computer system, and handwritten orders were placed from all around the world, thousands of dollars attached to each pink slip. Big Tom would fill as many orders as he could per day, and a delivery truck would arrive by sundown and take the perfectly packaged fish off to their impatient customers. There was currently a two year waitlist to get a shipment of trout, and people still sent the preorders, cash up front.

One customer, however, did not have to wait.

...

Hundreds of years prior, a Twin Pond resident had an itch to explore the Carbonizat Desert, intrigued with the pickled scarecrows that dotted the area longer than oral human history could date. The young lady flew a hot air balloon out above the desert one day, never to return. The townspeople mourned her, and went on with their lives. However, eight years later, they saw a hot air balloon on the horizon, and began banging drums and hollering with joy. As it approached, they saw the balloon had many exotic patches, and had a young boy dressed in white standing in the basket, not the young lady they used to know.

The boy regaled them with stories about the young lady, and how she had found the city where he was from, deep in the heart of the desert. She had crash landed outside of Oază, a gorgeous oasis city that thrived on its coldspring waters. The Oazăns had taken her in, and the young lady had fallen in love, and married, and became one of them. But she never stopped speaking of the delicious trout of her hometown, and had piqued the interest of the oasis city. They began to crave a taste they’d only heard described, and after a few years, decided to send a scout out in her old balloon to try and find Twin Pond and bring them back some fish.

But that wasn’t all the boy had traveled for. The Oazăns finest dish was the elusive twisted cactus pear, and after the young lady tasted one, her mouth began to salivate at the thought of pairing the twisted cactus pear with the Twin Pond Trout. It would surely change the world, those two tastes combined. So the Oazăns had sent the boy with a package of their own, four of the finest twisted pears they had harvested that year.

A panel of three Twin Pond judges were nominated and chosen to taste the pairing of fish and pear, and the Oazăn boy was the fourth. The finest chef in Twin Pond grilled the trout to perfection, and served it alongside the pear which was prepared the four ways he knew how; raw, baked, boiled, and candied. Everyone in the town showed up to the city hall and watched as the four judges began to taste the dish. It isn’t known which judge screamed first, but soon the entire town was rolling on their backs, sobbing, scratching into trees, moaning into the ground... Although they hadn’t got to taste, the townspeople could feel the vibrant and pure energy coming from the judges, as their taste buds began to transcend time and space, the finest possible meal that the world could provide combined and tried that night.

The young boy in white had instantly become a handsome man, stroking a well oiled beard as tears poured from his eyes, his other hand slamming down on the table in unhinged joy. Two of the judges were altogether gone from this place, seeing new places and knowing new things. The third Twin Pond judge never spoke again, and began to walk with a limp, losing all of his hair the next day. The last letter he wrote to his daughter before he passed away read, “I’ve seen all.”

The dish was a smashing success, and the town sent the handsome man in white back to the Oasis with a barrel of ice packed Trout.

...

And so a long standing trade agreement was made between Twin Pond and Oază. After many years of trial and error, modern technology helped regulate deliveries. Hot air balloons were not the best way to travel, so a special Sand Trawler was invented to aid the two locals in the trading of fish and pear. It was a small orange vehicle about the width and length of a kayak, with a triangular cockpit with thick tinted glass windows, a steering wheel, and a lever that either sped up the Trawler or slowed it down. It had large spiked treads that could easily pull it through the sandy terrain. Attached to the Trawler was a small caboose on wooden sleds, which would drag behind the Trawler and glide across the sand. The caboose housed a living quarters, and had enough room to hold four barrels of fish, which would be traded for two barrels of twisted cactus pears. Large tanks of gasoline were connected to the outside walls of the caboose, just enough for a round trip.

A delivery outpost was made on the border of the mountain range and the desert, a small red building with a garage on the first floor and a living quarters above. A white sign hung outside with gold gilded writing that read, “Express Delivery.” It took the Oazăns roughly two weeks to harvest the twisted cactus pears, as finding the elusive plants everyday was a challenge. So every fortnight, a delivery driver was dispatched from the outpost to Oază to deliver the fish and fetch the pears, and it had worked well for many years.

Once a few of the very rare and lucky people in the world got to taste the combination, the dish became priceless, causing even world leaders and the richest CEOs to have trouble tasting the dish. Only one restaurant, Bolt & Svvine, who’s owner had family connections to Twin Pond, was able to get a bi-monthly shipment of the trout and twisted cactus pear. Reservations for the restaurant were almost as hard to get as the trout on its own. There were multiple documentaries about the dish, but nobody was ever granted access to visit Oază, nor did they ask. It was a merciless and nearly unexplored desert that couldn’t support any air travel (other than hot air balloons.)

All of this was about to change, although nobody was aware.

…

A loud buzzing awoke Jane Merrick from a really good dream, her face wet from the drool puddle that formed on the pillow as a result of her deep sleep. Her face looked mindless, she twisted her head left to right trying to stabilize into being awake yet also trying to hold onto that amazing dream. She couldn’t remember it, and dejectedly got dressed and slid down the old fireman’s pole into the garage. “Stop ringing it, I’m awake, I’m here, please,” she said groggily into the intercom at the base of the pole.

Jane slammed her fist into a red button, and the garage door began to loudly squeak as it rose. A red haired man with a huge unruly mustache waited with his hands on his hips right outside the garage, waiting until it was all the way up before stomping into the garage. “Jane, these fish are on ice and you-”

“Are on the clock, yeah, yeah, I get it Tommy. Look, no Trawler has ever gotten through the desert as quick as me, I’ve basically shaved three hours off each end of the journey. So cut me some slack and load up my rig with the fish while I fuel her up,” said Jane, in a frustrated tone.

“You haven’t even FILLED the tank? Jane, we had to turn down the G7 World Leaders Summit two weeks ago because we were out of pears. They wanted us to cater one meal for seven people, and we couldn’t help them out. This is bigger than us, and definitely bigger than you sleeping in. So cut the crap, and take this more seriously,” Tommy said, his brows furrowed.

“Pack the trout, and get back to daddy’s butchery. I’m sure you have a lot of fishy tasting stamps to lick. I’d be done fueling by now if I didn’t have to hear you recite that lecture for the thousandth time,” she said with no amusement.

Tommy bit his lip and walked to the back of his truck, taking one barrel at a time and loading them onto the caboose. Jane fueled the Trawler, and threw her travel bag onto the bed in the caboose. “Well I’m all set to go, waiting on you now, Thomas,” she said.

Tommy finished strapping the last barrel into the caboose and walked straight out, getting into his truck without another word and driving back to the town. Jane strapped into the Trawler and set out on her delivery. She clicked the garage door closed from the cockpit, and headed into the endless wasteland that was the Carbonizat Desert.

She had made the delivery to the oasis hundreds of times now, and knew the route by heart. There were no digital maps, getting to Oază had to be taught. She had yet to teach a new pupil, and would need to soon, lest the information be lost forever.

Half of the fuel loaded into the tanks was used to power the air conditioners to keep the cockpit and caboose at a reasonable temperature. Jane wouldn’t be able to pilot this thing without the sweet relief of the cold fans blowing. The tinted windows were so dark, it was hard to see without the polarized goggles. The sun was her true enemy out here, and the Trawler was equipped with what she needed to survive.

The spiked treads pulled her quickly through the sand, and she steered very carefully, never getting distracted from her path. The winds blew the sands around, and Jane had to follow a very specific bearing to get from checkpoint to checkpoint. There weren’t many landmarks out here to help. The cactus pears were illusive for a reason. The twisted cacti that grew the fruit were corkscrew shaped, and the wind would dig them into the ground, hiding them from view. Some pearhunters would dig for days without finding a cactus. Others would get lucky after an early storm revealed a clump of six cacti right beside each other. It was all luck in the cactus pear hunt.

The scorching sun was on the verge of setting, radiating a cascading glow of burnt orange over the entirety of the vast, sandy landscape. Jane knew this meant it was time to park the Trawler, deploy the harpoon anchors to keep her steady, and crawl into the caboose to sleep. There was no way to travel at night in this desert, it was way too dangerous. Windstorms, freezing temperatures, and shifting bearings would not allow for it. Now that it was twilight, Jane exited the cockpit, finding the desert’s temperature perfectly cool.

She sprayed pepper dusting all over the wooden sled holding the caboose, to deter any teething sand foxes that wanted a chew. Some of the worst delivery accidents that had happened were because of the gnawed wood before a solution was found. Jane began to climb into the caboose when she saw a pickled scarecrow on a dune in the distance. A shiver went down her spine. How long had it been there? Longer than human history, that was for sure. But she had never seen that particular one before, and she had camped in what she thought was this area hundreds of times. She shook off the feeling and entered the caboose.

After finishing a meager ration of dried trout and raisins, she used the wooden toilet. The scents of the dried fish, iced fish, and commode made for a pretty awful way to fall asleep, but Jane managed it.

When she awoke, she was drenched in sweat. “Not good,” she said in a panicked voice.

She put her ear to the air vents, but nothing was blowing. Her face went white and she kicked open the caboose’s door and slid down the latter. Her feet splashed into wet sand. “Not good,” she said again.

A huge damp puddle of sand circled the caboose. It smelled like gasoline. She wanted to puke, and ran towards the gas tanks to check their levels. Right below the meter was a small gash of metal, a drop of gasoline forming on its sharp edge. Next to the gash was a small carving. She squinted to read it, and it just said, “Tommy.” The last drop of gasoline plopped onto her boot, and she looked up towards the giant, burning sun in the sky.