Close Up the Sky (31 page)

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 rations 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.

T
aylor 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.