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If she lay where she was, then she would be dead of dehydration within a few
hours. The brains in her skull would finally begin to bubble like gray-pink
oatmeal once the body's temperature regulator gave up the unequal struggle.
Night wasn't that far off, and the woman guessed she could live that long.
Probably through into the middle of the following day.
If she tried to move, she'd be unable to keep a grip on the knife wound, and the
blood would gush out like a scalding geyser. She would be unconscious in less
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than three minutes.
It was a catch-22, all right, but she wasn't ready to give up.
Shade and fluids, those were the two vital ingredients in staying alive in a desert
environment.
The former wasn't impossible. There was a pile of tumbled boulders of Navaho
sandstone only a few yards behind her. Nanci knew that if she was exceedingly
careful she could crawl to its scant shelter without hemorrhaging.
Fluids, her weakened mind whispered to her. She needed fluids, to guard against
the dehydrating heat and at least compensate a little for what blood she'd already
lost.
From where she was lying, she could see the glint of metal at the belt of one of
the corpses. She squinted against the harsh sunlight, making out the shape of a
round metal canteen half beneath the stiffening body.
Nanci drew in several long slow breaths, listening to the silence. The only sound
was the buzzing of large brown-speckled flies that had been attracted by the
exciting odor of fresh blood.
Her light blue eyes opened and closed. "Well, old girl, there is no time like the
present. Or there'll be no time at all." She laughed, a harsh sudden noise in the
stillness. "Well, they say gallows humor is always a help."
The heat was beginning to get to her, and the temptation to lie still was almost
overwhelming. But she could feel the tightness across her forehead and a slight
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fuzziness fringing across her mind.
"Now," she said.
THE ROADS WERE surprisingly clear.
Jeff was able to set the cruise control at seventy-five miles per hour. He relaxed,
feet off the pedals, hands gripping the pale leather of the steering wheel. The air
conditioning was full on, blasting a stream of icy air toward his face. Around
him he was conscious of the baking desert air flowing past him in the sports car.
Occasionally he spotted some obstruction in the shimmering ribbon of heat-
distorted blacktop. Then he touched the brake, dropping out the cruise control,
immediately giving him back total command over the powerful Mercedes.
This time it was a coyote, grizzled, its fur sparkling with streaks of silver gray,
its questing muzzle turned toward the approaching car. Jeff was about to tap the
horn when a sense of caution overcame him. Instead, he gunned the motor,
aiming directly at the animal.
At the last moment it scurried away onto the sandy shoulder of the highway,
jaws open, almost as though it was laughing at him.
Jeff swore and swung the wheel farther, hoping to be able to clip the coyote with
the front fender, but it was too quick.
The blacktop was covered in a film of blown dirt, and the back end of the sports
car started to slide as he sawed angrily at the wheel.
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The rear wheels came off the pavement, kicking up a plume of orange dust. The
nose dipped, making the whole car jolt and shudder. Jeff didn't have time to
worry about what was happening. Split seconds later and he was snaking back
down the road, coughing as he recovered control.
A mile or so down the line and he was sailing again, singing one of his favorite
songs from before the Aquila's flight.
The cruise control was on, the afternoon was closing in toward evening, and
everything was right with Jeff's world.
NANCI WASN'T SO WELL.
She'd crawled slowly, crabwise, trying to stop her lifeblood from leaking into the
dirt, and retrieved the canteen she'd spotted earlier. It was three-parts empty.
The effort of making it to the partial shelter of the pile of rocks nearly made her
pass out. "No," she muttered through gritted teeth. "I will not yield."
The wave of dark nausea slithered reluctantly away from the sixty-year-old
woman.
If she fainted, then she would let go of the artery. And goodbye would be all she
wrote.
" WHAT THE HELL— "
The cruise control had suddenly kicked itself out, dropping the engine revs and
allowing the digital speedometer display to begin steadily falling down the scale.
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Jeff pressed his boot onto the gas pedal, feeling the surge of raw power pushing
him back into the leather bucket seat.
"Better," he said, and smirked. For the first time in over an hour he thought about
Nanci Simms.
By now she was probably dead. The witch-queen's, bitch-queen's heart would
finally have stopped beating, and Jeff could stop feeling scared of her.
That was good… mostly good.
The cruise control clicked out again, and the car began to slow. Jeff's mind was
filled with dark memories and he hardly noticed, automatically stomping down
again to send the Mercedes roaring up the long incline ahead of him.
The air conditioning didn't seem so wonderfully chilled. He put his hand out,
over the narrow black grille, feeling the cool air on his palm. But it wasn't cold
the way it had been. It was almost warm.
Now the speedometer was dropping again, down to fifty miles per hour, though
he was pushing the pedal right to the metal.
"Come on," he breathed, feeling the first pricklings of panic touching the long
hair at the nape of his neck.
The speedometer showed forty, and now the air was hot, hot as the blistering
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