The echo of her voice died down. Again she held her breath, listening. Something—intuition—told her that the cave was occupied. She heard—or thought she heard—a subtle brush of cloth, a slight exhale of air, a faint scrape of flesh against stone. The almost imperceptible sounds came from far in the back. She crouched and shifted to the right, away from the mouth of the cave, simultaneously hiding her silhouette and allowing sunlight to enter the cave.
Now that her eyes were accustomed to the dark, the added illumination was sufficient for her to see the worn sandals on the dusty feet of the scabrous legs of a man sprawled against the rear wall. His tattered robe was tugged above his fleshless knees. The hands stretched out against each thigh looked skeletal.
“Dear God.” The echo of the cave amplified her anguished whisper. “Drew,” she said louder.
She rushed to him, tugging him toward the sunlight, shocked by his matted waist-long beard and hair, by his gaunt ravaged face. “Oh, Jesus, Drew.”
Through eyes that were slits, he studied her. His blistered mouth quivered.
She hurried to unhitch the canteen from her belt, twisting its cap off. “Don’t try to talk.”
But he persisted, his voice so weak she could barely hear it. The sound reminded her of a footstep on dry crusted mud. “Ar …” He made a desperate effort to try again. “Ar … lene?” The tone communicated surprise, disbelief. And something else. Something akin to the awe one would feel when having a vision.
“It’s me. I’m here, Drew. I’m real. But stop trying to talk.”
She raised the canteen to his blistered lips, pouring just a few drops of water between them. Like a sponge, his flesh seemed to absorb the water. She gripped his wrist, his pulse so weak she could barely feel it. She ran her hands along his body, startled by how much weight he’d lost.
“You finally got what you wanted,” she said. “You fucked yourself up. If you weren’t so weak”—she poured a few more drops of water between his parched lips—“I’d be furious instead of sorry for you.”
Amazingly his eyes crinkled. They glowed faintly with …
What? Amusement? Love? He inhaled as if to …
“Laugh,” she said, “and I’ll hit you over the head with this canteen.”
But somehow he did have strength to laugh, just a short stubborn “hah,” and of course she did not make good on her threat. She simply poured another few drops of water into his mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to give him more for a while, lest he become sick to his stomach, but reassured because his attempt at a laugh was a life sign. She’d gotten here in time. His spirit hadn’t failed. He was going to be all right.
4
But when she let him have another sip of water, she stiffened with doubt. Despite the heat, apprehension chilled her. There wasn’t enough water for both of them to walk out of here.
Her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had to drink. The tepid water tasted bitter. Even so, she swallowed, felt less light-headed, took another sip, then poured a few more drops between Drew’s lips.
Gradually his pulse strengthened. He breathed easier, deeper.
But his voice remained a croak. “Misjudged …” He grinned with embarrassment, like a child who’d been naughty.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Should have drunk sooner …” He coughed. Again she shook her head.
“Should have gone for food sooner … Didn’t realize how weak I was … Couldn’t reach the spring.”
“What spring?”
His eyes drooped.
“Damn it, Drew, what spring?”
“Outside … down the slope … to the right.”
“How far?”
“A hundred yards … around the curve of the hill … a cluster of rocks.”
She gave him one more sip of water and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She took off her knapsack, left the dark of the cave, and at once felt the hammer force of the blinding sun. Wincing from a pain behind her eyes, she clambered down the dusty slope and followed the curve of the hill.
But after what she judged was a hundred yards, she still hadn’t found a cluster of rocks at the base of the slope. Panic slithered within her. Had Drew been delirious? Had he only imagined there was a spring?
No, there had to be a spring. Otherwise how could he have survived here? If she didn’t find it, if Drew didn’t become more lucid before the canteen was emptied, there was every chance both of them would die.
She walked twenty-five yards farther, felt her knees weaken, and knew that she couldn’t risk continuing. For as far as she could see along the slope of this hill, no mound of rocks provided a goal. Discouragement weighed upon her. Mustering strength, licking her parched lips, she turned to go back to the cave. Instead of swinging to the right toward the contour of the hill, she pivoted left toward the broad expanse of the desert. And tingled when she saw the mound.
She stumbled toward it. As far as they went, Drew’s instructions had been accurate. But he’d left out a crucial detail. The cluster of rocks was a hundred yards around the curve of the hill, all right. But out from the hill, not against it. And if you looked that way, the cluster was so obvious, so tall and wide, so clear a landmark, that you couldn’t fail to notice it.
She made her feet move faster. The rocks became larger. Climbing over them, down to a hollow, she found a stagnant pool protected from wind, skimmed dust to the side, glanced around to make sure no skeletons of animals warned against trusting the water, and dipped her mouth beneath the surface. Hot, the water did not refresh her. Nonetheless, she felt her body absorb it.
Quickly she filled the canteen. Ten minutes later, she stooped to enter the dark of the cave.
Drew was flat on his back. Eyes slitted, he shrugged and tried to grin. “Forgot to tell you …”
“I know what you forgot to tell me, friend. I found it just the same.”
She raised the canteen to his lips. He swallowed gratefully. She drank as well.
That still left the problem of food. In her knapsack, she’d carried enough provisions for an emergency—peanuts and beef jerky, along with dried fruit. But after she searched the cave and found nothing to eat, she had to conclude that what she’d brought was not sufficient for both of them to cross the desert.
She gave Drew more water, took some herself, and became more hopeful as his energy returned.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
He shook his head.
“Because I love you,” she said.
He breathed deeply, overcome with powerful emotion. “Love … Yes.” It was hard for him to continue. “But how did you find me?”
“Persistence.”
“I don’t understand.” He gathered strength. “I thought I’d hidden my trail.”
She nodded.
“Then how … ?”
“The Fraternity.”
Drew shuddered.
5
“You ran from them,” she said, “to save my brother’s life. Because he saved yours. You thought you’d eluded them. You haven’t.”
She reached in her knapsack and pulled out a bag of peanuts. Chewing, she savored their salt.
He reached for one.
“Promise not to swallow it right away.”
He nodded.
She pressed one between his lips. “If you weren’t so grungy, I’d kiss you.”
“Threats’ll get you nowhere.” He slumped. “The Fraternity?”
“They followed you from the moment you left my brownstone in New York,” she said. “The reason you thought you’d gotten away was they never made a move against you. After England, Italy, and Morocco, you felt it was safe to come to Egypt. But they followed you here as well. They’ve been keeping track of you.”
“You know this … ?”
“Because two weeks ago, one of them came to see me.”
Drew groaned. “Then all of this has been for no
thing?”
“No, it saved your life. The way the priest explained it to me,” she said, “the Fraternity decided your exile here was worse than any punishment they could have thought of. From the looks of you, they were right.”
His pitiful appearance dismayed her—his gaunt torso, his haggard face, his matted waist-long hair and beard. “We have to get some strength back into you. Do you think your stomach could hold down another peanut?”
“It better. I need the salt.”
She gave him one and nibbled on a piece of beef jerky.
“The priest told me the Fraternity’s decided you’ve suffered enough for the death of their operative.”
Drew stared at her.
“You’d return to me sometime in Lent—that’s what you promised.” She tenderly kissed his forehead. “Each day before Easter, I waited, hoping. When you didn’t come this first year, I worried that you’d never come.”
“No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” he said.
“I love you.”
With a tremble, he touched her arm. “And now my exile’s over? They’ve pardoned me?”
She hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not pardoned,” she said. “You’re being summoned. ‘To pursue your calling’ is how the priest described it.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something they want you to do for them.” Troubled, she glanced away. “It’s the only condition under which they’ll let you leave. When the priest told me where you were, I grabbed at the chance to see you again, just to be with you. Since you ran away that night, I’ve never felt so empty. Losing you the first time, and then …” She finally looked at him again.
He studied her eyes. “Arlene?”
She waited.
“What do they want?”
“That’s the problem. The priest wouldn’t tell me. He sent me here. To talk to you. To convince you. To bring you to him.”
6
At sunset, she helped him squirm from the cave. The evening’s lower temperature made the heat that radiated from the rocks feel soothing. In the last light of day, she unsheathed her survival knife and snicked its edge across his hair and beard. When she’d finished, he looked like, in her words, “a sexy ascetic by El Greco.”
She stripped off his robe and sloshed water from her canteen all over his body, washing him thoroughly. She dressed him and cautiously fed him. Before the sun completely faded, she went down the slope toward the cluster of rocks around the spring, refilled the canteen, and returned to the cave.
By then, night cloaked them. In his cell, she lay huddled next to him, her pelvis against his hips, spoonlike, giving him warmth.
“Water’s not a problem,” she said.
“But food is.”
“Right. There’s enough for me, but not enough for you to regain your strength. How are we going to manage to cross the desert?”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said.
7
At dawn, she waited, poised with her knife. When the lizard crawled from beneath its rock, she stabbed it, skinned it, and cut it into strips. The lizard, after all, did have a purpose. The strips of its flesh, spread out in front of the cave, baked in the sun. She brought them inside to Drew, who bit off a piece and chewed until it was like gruel and would not offend his stomach.
“I used to hate the thing,” he said.
“And now?”
“I’m sorry it died for me. It’s a part of me. I love it.”
8
They left at night. He’d gained sufficient strength to stay on his feet, provided he leaned against Arlene. Taking their direction from stars, they plodded across the desert. He shivered against her. With her arm around his back, she felt him sweating. But as long as he was sweating, she didn’t worry. Sweat meant his body fluid had been replenished.
They rested frequently, eating the last of their food, trying not to fall asleep. At dawn, they reached a pass between low hills. She exhaled in distress. The pass was near where her car had failed, halfway between Drew’s cave and the village. They hadn’t walked far enough. In a couple of hours, the heat would be so intense they’d have to stop and put up the canvas sheet. They wouldn’t be able to proceed again until late afternoon. At the earliest, they wouldn’t reach the village till tomorrow morning, provided they maintained the pace they’d set throughout the night. But now that their food was gone, Drew’s strength would diminish rapidly. Already she could feel him leaning more heavily against her. If they didn’t reach the village by the morning, they’d have to stop and rest again throughout the next day, and by then Drew might be so weak that she’d never be able to get him to the village.
I might have to leave him, she thought. To go for help.
But what if he becomes delirious and wanders? What if I can’t find him?
A bullet struck a boulder on her right. A splinter of rock sliced the back of her hand. The report from the rifle followed at once, its echo filling the pass. Ignoring the blood that dripped from her hand, she dove with Drew behind the boulder.
In the same motion, she unholstered her pistol. As she squinted from the edge of the boulder, scanning the rocky slope on the right, searching for a target, she flinched from the impact of a second bullet spewing rock shards behind her.
She realized sickly that the second bullet had come from the left, from the opposite side of the pass. She and Drew were trapped in a cross fire.
“Leave me,” Drew told her weakly.
“No.”
“Listen.” He breathed with effort. “You can’t fight them and take care of me. I’ll get both of us killed.”
“I told you no.”
Almost simultaneously, two bullets threw rock shards—from behind them and from in front—so close her ears rang.
“Their argument’s better than yours,” Drew said.
“I didn’t come all this way to get separated again.” She scanned one slope, then the other.
“Listen to me.”
She was shocked to see the blood streaming from his knees where they’d landed on jagged stones.
“Our friends up there,” he said, “they could’ve killed both of us before we knew it. They’re either lousy shots, or they missed on purpose.”
“So?”
A bullet from the left sprayed pebbles over Arlene’s boots. A bullet from the opposite slope caromed off the boulder.
“They’ve got something else in mind,” Drew said.
“Don’t give them a chance to keep pinning us down.” He struggled to a crouch. “Go after them. Until they get what they want, they won’t kill you unless they have to.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll take my chances. I’d only hold you back. This way, you at least have a chance.”
She shook her head, aiming anxiously one way, then the other, toward the rocky slopes.
“Okay,” Drew said. “I’ll make the choice for you.”
As weak as he was, he hefted himself to his feet and staggered from behind the boulder, knees buckling, rolling into a ravine.
“You bullheaded … !”
Gunshots echoed.
She charged toward the slope on the right, diving below a mound.
But he’d judged correctly. The bullets that sprayed stones before and behind her seemed calculated to box her in, not kill her.
Okay, then, she thought. Let’s dance.
9
Drew winced from the jolt as he tumbled off the rim and down the ravine. He landed hard, losing his breath. The morning sun was still so low its rays didn’t penetrate to the bottom. In shadow, he mustered the little strength he had, took care to keep his head down, and wavered along the bottom of the ravine.
To a certain extent, what happened next was predetermined, he knew. The snipers, having seen Arlene support him and realizing how weak he was, would fear him less than they did her. Granted, in Arab culture, women were not held in
high regard, but the snipers would still have to give her credit for being brave enough, having knowledge enough, to travel through the desert unprotected, and after all, she was an American, an incalculable factor. When she started shooting at them, they’d definitely give her their respect.
So, for the sake of efficiency, they’d eliminate the easy target first. One sniper would distract Arlene while the other went after Drew. Once he was taken care of, they could devote all their attention to her. But not kill her. No. He remained convinced that the snipers could have hit them both if that had been their intention. The purpose of the shots was to play with the quarry, to restrict, to corner, to trap without killing. At least not kill just yet.
He was too weak to fight, but even if all he did was keep moving, he’d still be helping Arlene. Divide and conquer—that’s what the snipers were hoping to do. But that tactic could work the other way around.
10
As Arlene lunged up the rocky slope, dodging from boulder to boulder, the sniper shot at her again. Diving behind cover, she suddenly recognized where she was. This cluster of jagged stone was where she’d hidden the bodies of the two men who’d attacked her. She glanced around, startled.
But this couldn’t be the place. There wasn’t any sign of the bodies. Even allowing for the efficiency of the desert scavengers, the corpses wouldn’t have disappeared completely yet. There ought to be something—bits of flesh, bone, and cloth—crumbs, as it were.
All the same, she was positive that she recognized the spot.
Then how … ?
A bullet ricocheted off shale. She peered upward through a chink between boulders, pistol ready, eager for a target. The shot made her wonder if this ambush in the same spot where she’d been attacked earlier was more than coincidence. Had the bodies been found and carried away? Were these snipers avenging friends who’d been killed? If so, the ambush made sense, as did the way the snipers seemed deliberately to have avoided killing her. Before that eventuality, they meant to do to her what their friends had intended to do. Her chest heaving, she stared harder through the gap in the boulders, straining to see the target.
The League of Night and Fog Page 6