Maya Rook had promised the desert children a school, and now sand filled the doorway to her chest. The last schoolhouse still standing in Heatdeath sat half-swallowed by drift. Its sun-baked walls leaned under the weight. The front steps had vanished. Maya pressed her chalk-stained hand to the warm wood and felt the building groan. Thirty children had nowhere else to learn. She had one day before the wind buried the rest. She dug with a flat board until her arms shook. For every scoop she cleared, more sand slid down to replace it. The drift was taller than she was. By noon she had moved a trench no wider than her hips, and the door stayed sealed. Maya stepped back and looked at her camel. The old brute stood chewing, its pale fur bleached near white by years of sun. It had carried water for her since the wells went dry. She uncoiled a rope and tied one end to the saddle. The other end she looped through the door's iron handle. "Pull," she said, and clicked her tongue. The camel leaned into the harness. The rope snapped taut. The door creaked, then held fast. The camel strained, slipped, and sat down in the sand. The handle had bent but not broken. Maya wiped grit from her eyes and knew the camel alone could not do it. Then she heard hooves, six of them, striking the hardpan in a strange doubled rhythm. A creature came over the rise. It had the body of a horse and a segmented tail that curled above its back like a scorpion's. Its coat was deep brown, its eyes yellow and watchful. A length of broken chain dragged from its neck. It had slipped someone's rope and run wild. Maya did not move. The beast circled the buried schoolhouse, snorting at the drift. She spoke low, the same calm voice that steadied frightened children. She held out her flat palm. The creature stamped, tossed its head, and came closer. Its tail hovered over her, the stinger wide as a hand. "Easy," Maya said. "I need those legs more than you need that chain." She worked the broken chain free from its neck. The beast let her. Then she knotted her rope to the creature's harness beside the camel's line. Two animals now. She clicked her tongue twice. The camel pulled. The scorpion-horse dug in all six legs and heaved. The iron handle screamed. The door tore loose from its frame and burst outward in a spray of sand. The way inside stood open at last. Maya looked through the dark doorway. Desks sat buried to their seats. Sand covered the floor in long dunes. A snake's dry track wound across the teacher's chair. The building was open now, but it was full of the desert she had just let in. She set down her rope and reached for the broom.