Nessif's face, twisted with fury, came into focus. A three-inch blackened gash ran across his cheek where the bullet had grazed him. Droplets of blood from the wound dripped off the bottom of his beard. "I would have enjoyed your death, my friend," he said between clenched teeth, "but now I will rejoice in it. Had your plan worked, it would have been my blood instead of Hanik's that dampens the sand. But there is one thing I am grateful for." He reached out and picked up the pistol from where it had fallen. This time he held it by the grip, his finger inside the trigger guard. "You have given me a most powerful weapon. Even though I do not yet fully understand its operation, I shall soon master it. Therefore, there is no reason to prolong your life beyond the time it takes you to bake in my little oven." He laughed as he released his painful grip on Leahy's hair and moved away.
There was some hurried activity to Leahy's left followed by the flaring of a torch. In its flickering light he watched as the men began piling brush into a circle around him. When they finished, Nessif took the torch and held it over his head. He stood gazing at Leahy for several seconds, his face expressionless. The rest of the Morruks stood around him, frozen in anticipation of the spectacle they were about to witness. Nessif's face twisted into a mask of maniacal glee as he rammed the torch into the brush. It flared up like an old, dried out Christmas tree. The fire fanned out in both directions until the entire circle was ablaze. Flames leaped high into the air, completely obscuring Nessif and his men. The Morruks had piled the brush about five feet from him so he would burn slowly, but the initial burst of intense heat came close to blistering his face within a few seconds. He tried to protect his eyes by lowering his head and felt his scalp grow hot almost immediately. The heat did not penetrate where the L-suit covered his body, but there was nothing to protect his head. He knew his brains would bake within a matter of minutes. He clamped his teeth together to keep from crying out, and squeezed as deeply into the neck of the L-suit as possible. Body oil and sweat formed on his brow and trickled into his eyes. Simultaneous fear and rage flooded through him as he thought of Taylor. He had come so far and waited so long. Instead of thinking about his impending death, his strongest emotion was feeling cheated that he would never know a life with her. Blood surged through his overheating brain and hammered in his ears. He bit his lips hoping the pain would blot out the noise inside his skull. Any moment now he knew he would lose consciousness and die. The pounding of his heart changed to a roaring sound, and he began to hear screams. In his pain he thought the screams were his, but soon realized that the cries of terror were coming from beyond the wall of fire.
A geyser of sand flew through the flames and sprayed him in the face. More sand hit the fire when one of the Morruks fell into the fiery circle. Some of the burning brush scattered and shot orange embers into the air as he was dragged back, kicking and screaming. Leahy tried to look up, but the heat forced him to keep his face down. The screams of the men outside the fire intensified and he heard the pistol, crack! crack! crack! The roaring rose in a crescendo of rage, and another tribesman fell across the fire. Blood gushed from his throat, his eyes bulging in uncomprehending terror.
Leahy squinted through the opening in the flames made by the man's body. He saw something big and dark thrashing among other smaller forms, but before he could bring the scene into focus, the flames rose again and blotted out the wildly milling figures. The stench of charred flesh from the Morruk’s burning corpse assaulted his nostrils. He felt nausea rise in spite of the torture from the fire. The dead man's body partially shielded him from the heat, but he knew it was not enough to keep him from eventually burning to death. He threw his head back to cry out against the inhumanity of such agony, but no sound escaped his constricted throat. Then from somewhere deep within him came a burst of supernatural strength. As he twisted and jerked violently, he felt the earth loosen around his shoulders. A flicker of hope arose when he felt the dirt move, but it was not enough to free his arms. "God help me, God help me," he croaked. Again and again he contorted his shoulders as adrenaline flowed into his blood. Finally, when he failed to free himself and all his strength was spent, he slumped over in despair. He retreated inside himself, now only faintly aware of the heat that was draining his life. He remained semi-conscious for what seemed an eternity, and then through the dark haze that enveloped him, he became aware that the screaming had stopped. In desperation he fought his way back from the black pit into which he had descended. Everything had grown quiet. The only sound was the pop and crackle of burning brush.
Without warning something powerful grabbed the back of the L-suit between his shoulder blades and pulled him upward. He cried out as the suit's crotch bit into his groin, then he was free of the pit. There was an instantaneous rush of heat as his body passed through the barrier of flames, then cool air washed over his face. His feet dangled like a puppet on strings as he was carried along three feet above the ground. He twisted against the superhuman grip in an attempt to turn and see who or what held him, but desisted when a strong shake made his teeth clack together. Fetid breath blew over his shoulder, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled as though a static charge flowed through it. Even though he could not turn, he knew that he was in the grip of the huge form he had seen through the flames, and for the second time tonight he felt death close at hand.
The pressure of the material against his groin was painful, but not nearly as excruciating as the fire had been. After another hundred feet his rescuer halted. He remained suspended in the air for a few seconds, and then, almost gently, he was lowered to the ground face down. After a rough push against his back warned him not to turn over, the grip was released. He followed the implied instruction, eyes closed, expecting to die at any second. He remained frozen as the heavy breathing gradually grew fainter and vanished. Taking a risk, he turned his head to one side and opened his eyes. The shadows of nearby boulders danced in the firelight, but otherwise the desert was still. He remained immobile for several more minutes, but there was nothing to indicate that the mysterious entity was still present.
At last, encouraged by the silence, he rolled onto his side and peered in the direction of the fire. It had burned down to a few flickering flames, and a dark form lying in the embers marked the location of the tribesman's body. He got to his knees and did a complete turn-around, but the night seemed to hold no other living thing. He worked the utility belt around with his thumbs and succeeded in opening the pocket that contained the knife. He removed it, and after some tedious work managed to cut the cords around his wrists. He rubbed them briskly for a few seconds to restore circulation. As though in answer to a prayer, the breeze freshened and cooled his blistered face. He ran his hand across his head, feeling the tender scalp and rough bristles of singed hair. After cutting the cords around his ankles he returned the knife to the pouch and walked toward the fire, alert and poised for flight if necessary. As he approached, the sprawled forms of human bodies became visible. He walked around the circle of burning embers and squatted to examine one of them. Dead eyes stared up at him from shadowy sockets. The Morruk's body had been torn open from the base of his throat to the middle of his stomach. Bloody flesh hung in ragged strips on the front of his robe, and his entrails were scattered on the sand beside him. The stench was almost overpowering. Another body lay within a few feet, the spine bent backward at an impossible angle. Other Morruk dead in similar condition were scattered about the area, but he had no desire to examine them up close.
He stood and began walking in a slowly widening spiral. In a couple of minutes he found the spot where the Morruks had dumped his pack. He knew the flashlight batteries would be weak, but he counted on enough power to locate the pistol and some water. He found the light and thumbed the switch on. The batteries had built up a slight charge from inactivity and the beam was surprisingly bright. He thought his luck might be changing, but within a few seconds the light faded to a dim yellow.
He gathered up the garments and concentrated food ratio
ns the Morruks had discarded and stuffed them back into the pack. They had not guessed that the vacuum-wrapped foil packets contained food, and had thrown them aside unopened. He slung the pack over one shoulder and went back to where the bodies were lying. He searched diligently for the pistol but failed to find it. The sand was deep, and he concluded that it must have been dropped and accidentally buried during the brief but bloody struggle with the entity. Moving on, he began searching for Nessif's body. There was always a chance that the weapon might still be on him. He checked the remaining corpses from a discrete distance, but the Morruk chief was not among them. However, several more minutes of searching produced an almost full water skin. He uncorked it and drank greedily. Alkaline water had never tasted so good. The skin was equipped with a carrying strap, and when he had drunk his fill he corked it and slung it over his shoulder beside the pack. The flashlight beam had become so weak that further search was pointless. He turned it off and stuck it in his pocket, hoping the batteries might recharge once more.
The fire had finally burned out, leaving a few glowing coals around its perimeter. As on the previous night, the absence of light and air pollution made the Milky Way gleam like a band of quicksilver. The moon had not risen, but the starlight was sufficient for a few feet of visibility. He groped his way across the ground to the base of the hill where two large boulders leaned close to one another. He squeezed into the niche between them and put his back against the hillside. When he was as comfortable as possible, he drank more water and evaluated his situation.
His weapon was gone; his head hurt from the blows he had taken over the last twenty-four hours; his face felt as though it had sustained second-degree burns, and he was starving. He retrieved one of the food packets and opened it. The contents were dehydrated, so he poured a little water into the foil pouch. After stirring the mixture with a finger he licked at the juice and recognized the flavor of ham chunks and barbecue beans. As bad as it might have tasted under different circumstances, he consumed it with the relish of a starving dog. When he finished the food he drank deeply from the water skin. He knew he was close to the Nile, so he saw no real reason to conserve the water. He poured a stream of it over his head and face. The desert breeze blew over the wetness and helped cool his burning skin. He felt as though he had been exposed to an all-day beach party in the July sun. The thought of a Florida beach brought on a wave of nostalgia, and he fought it off. I am not alone in this time period, he assured himself. Taylor and the others are here, too, and I will find them. There was nothing to do now but wait until dawn. Attempting to cross unknown terrain at night would be foolhardy, and could result in a broken arm or leg. He did not think he could stand another injury and live. Besides, he could not be certain that the entity that had pulled him from the fire was not lurking nearby. Unarmed, he was no match for a being of that size and strength. However, he did not really believe he had anything to fear from it. After all, it had killed the Morruks and saved him from the fire. If it had intended to harm him it would have done so before now. Even so, he had no desire to go wandering around in the dark and come face-to-face with such a creature, no matter how benevolent its intentions might be.
He poured more water over his head and settled back, hoping the breeze would continue to cool his skin. The food had satisfied his hunger, and he felt relatively secure between the boulders. He stretched his legs out and got as comfortable as he could in the cramped space. His mind drifted off to Taylor, and the night they had spent together. He smiled and let out a slow, relaxing breath as he drifted off into a light sleep.
She kept him company throughout the long night.
Chapter 15
Taylor Lee Griffin was born in San Antonio, Texas, the only child of an electrical engineer father and librarian mother. Her parents had realized early on that she had been blessed with an intelligent mind and a fair share of common sense, so had not been overly strict in her upbringing, allowing her the freedom to make the choices that molded her early life; some good, some bad, but always there to support her failures, and praise her successes. Possessed with an outgoing personality and physical beauty, she attracted many admirers who would have gladly sacrificed much to gain her favor. However, in spite of these attributes, nothing of consequence had ever developed with members of the opposite sex. Though she liked men and enjoyed their company, there seemed to be some unidentifiable block within her that prevented her from forming any permanent relationships. Though this puzzled her, she never really worried about it, relying instead on her mother’s sage advice that she would recognize the right man when he came along. With that in mind she found that she was most content while engaged in her studies, analyzing and translating ancient languages, putting little time aside for social activities. She graduated Summa Cum Laude from college, placing near the top of her class at the University of Texas. For the next few years she drifted through life, happy, but unfulfilled. She had no way of knowing that her passion for the study of ancient man would someday lead her into realms of adventure beyond imagination in a place called Apache Point.
Now, she lay on a rickety wooden cot staring up at the rafter poles of an abandoned hut where they had passed the night following the great sandstorm. The roof was in a state of disrepair, and morning sunlight filtered through holes in the thatch. She felt as though she was at the bottom of a deep well looking up at the light. She had never known such emptiness and depression. After the sandstorm abated, they had spent many unsuccessful hours searching for Leahy. She had been like an insane woman, digging in the sand with her hands, calling his name, crying and screaming at the same time. Williams had finally grabbed and held her until the hysteria passed. He soothed her and pointed out that they had to go on, and that if Leahy was still alive he would undoubtedly stick to their plan. He did his best to convince her that their only hope of finding him was to do the same. However, she was an experienced agent who had spent many months in the Egyptian desert, and was well aware of the power of wind and sand. Though her heart was hopeful, she feared he was dead, buried in one of the many crevasses that dotted the land. She had never truly loved a man until Leahy had come into her life, and had not realized how deeply that emotion could burn itself into a person’s soul. Her insides had been ripped away by his loss, and in this place and time she felt nothing but despair. Tears welled up in her eyes and she shivered with grief.
Williams stood a few feet away staring out at the bleak landscape through the hut's doorway. Summerhour, who had gone down to a nearby village to try and arrange boat passage to Thebes, was overdue returning. Williams was beginning to worry.
"You think he's okay?" he asked Taylor.
"Who?" Her reply was so low he barely heard it.
"Summerhour, who else?" He realized the tactlessness of his response as soon as he made it. "I'm sorry, Taylor. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
"It's okay," she answered in the same low tone. "Yes, he’s all right. He knows what he's doing." She continued to stare at the ceiling.
Williams walked over to the cot and sat down on its edge. The old wooden frame creaked under his added weight. He looked at her for a moment without speaking then said, "Taylor, I can't explain how I know it, but I believe Matt’s alive. He's one of the most resourceful people I've ever met. I learned that much about him while we were training in the desert at Apache Point. You've got to believe the same thing."
She took his hand and squeezed it. "I want to, Chuck. God knows I really want to."
They were silent for a little while. Williams chewed his lower lip, seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he let out a long breath and said, "I didn't intend to say anything about this, but maybe I should."
When he hesitated for a few seconds Taylor sat up and grabbed him by the upper arm. Her fingers dug into his flesh. "Say anything about what?" she demanded.
He stared into her eyes without answering.
"Chuck, whatever it is, I have to know. For God's sake, it can't be any worse than it alr
eady is!"
“Okay,” he finally said. He shifted toward her, his voice taking on a confidential tone. “You remember last night after we pitched camp, when Summerhour and I went back out to scout the terrain one last time just for a look-see?"
She nodded, barely breathing.
"Well, we split up so we could cover more ground. After a while I started thinking about what I would do if I were accidentally separated from the team, kind of putting myself in Matt’s place. Anyway, I climbed to the top of a fairly high hill and just sat there, looking and listening. After about a half-hour I saw the glow of a fire start up a few miles to the west. I watched it for a long time, trying to get a ground bearing on it, then went to find Summerhour. I was almost back here when I ran into him. When I told him about the fire he brushed it off. Said it was probably a foraging party from one of the nomadic tribes that live in that direction. Anyhow, the way I described it he said it was too big to be a one-man fire. He thought it best not to say anything to you. I didn't agree with that, but I didn't want to upset you either."
"Chuck, you should have told me last night!" She swung her legs off the cot and sat facing him, eyes ablaze with hope. For a few seconds she sat in deep thought, staring at the floor. "You said to the west? You saw the fire to the west?"
He nodded when she glanced up.
"To my knowledge there are no nomadic tribes in that direction. There's nothing but desert. No water or food for more than twenty miles. It must have been Matt! He's trying to let us know he's alive by lighting a signal fire." She stood up and started pacing the dirt floor, the fingers of her left hand pressed against her lips.