But for now, there was no relief.
There was just the walk. And as time went on, his admiration for Prudence’s tenacity, strength, and endurance grew.
A screech rent the air above. Griffin paused and, shading his eyes, scanned the lavender sky. A large green bird coasted overhead, its wings held out steady as it circled. His first thought was grim: A carrion eater. But as he watched the bird’s graceful flight, he realized this was the first he’d seen. He’d been starting to think there might not be any birds on this godforsaken planet, but perhaps the birds avoided the deep desert, staying closer to more temperate regions. Staying close to food, water, and shelter. He checked out the horizon. There was nothing to see, not yet, but if his theory proved true, they’d be coming upon more hospitable land over one of the dunes in the distance.
He refocused on Prudence. She was getting tired. He could see it in the way her shoulders sagged and her head hung low, her steps grow less sure since midday, and she stumbled more often. The urge to stride over, pick her up, and tell her he was damn proud of her almost overwhelmed him. But she wouldn’t accept him or his praise. She still had fight in her and he wasn’t sure how to apologize. So he’d bide his time.
Above him, the green-plumed bird was startled out of a graceful arc, squawking and darting away.
What the hell had scared it?
*****
Prudence’s mind was consumed with the crazy male following her.
“Why doesn’t he take over?” She flung her arm out to the side as she muttered to herself. “That’s what men do, isn’t it? They take. They manipulate. They control.”
So why did Griffin insist on hanging back?
She was about to swing around and shout her question, when the sand in front of her shifted. She stumbled to a halt and leaned forward, staring at the glittering black grains. Had she imagined the movement? The ground appeared still and solid now. But, as she lifted her foot to take another step, a whole, curved strip of sand about four feet wide jerked to the right. The ground shook and a howl filled the desert twilight. The howl triggered something in her brain and she remembered a creature she’d read about: Sandhowlers.
She jumped over the shifting strip and ran. With every step her feet sank into the sand that seemed to want to suck her shoes right off her feet. She’d gotten a dozen feet or so when something wrapped around her ankle, tripping her. She fell flat on her stomach, the hot sand chafing her chin. The thing around her ankle tightened and flexed. It was a glistening, coral pink tentacle. Tiny pink appendages sprouted from the tentacle, and even tinier appendages sprouted off them. They all whipped around, searching for purchase, seemingly independent of one another.
It must be a Sandhowler, which was a creature that burrowed below the shifting sand—a giant worm-like beast that could grow to be three hundred feet long. The worst part, she’d read, was the mouth. One whole end of the Sandhowler split open into four toothy lobes which could pull prey into its mouth.
She rolled to her side and kicked out with her other foot, trying to dislodge the appendage that had her within its grasp. She stomped down on the thin tentacle, scraped the sole of her shoe against her ankle, everything she could think of to try to dislodge it from her leg.
Goddess, protect me.
She searched the horizon for Griffin. He wasn’t moving. From this distance, with the sun in his eyes, he couldn’t possibly see what was happening. He was too far away to be much help at all. Even if he started running now, the Sandhowler could gobble her up before he even got within shooting range.
The Sandhowler began dragging her foot below the surface of the sand, with slow, steady pressure.
Oh, no. Goddess, please no. Not like this.
She flopped to her belly to use her hands and other foot to try to stop her descent, but the sand offered no solid handhold and she lost more ground. Sand, hot and scratchy, spilled into her shoe as the Sandhowler pulled her foot beneath the surface. This wasn’t happening. Goddess, no! She hadn’t survived Alfred, Randolph, a ship fire, a room full of ravenous fiends, and this horrible desert to be taken out by an overgrown worm in the middle of nowhere. Twisting, she pulled off her pack and grabbed the folding knife in the front pocket of the bag. Her hands were slick with sweat and sand and her fingernails were down to the quick from rooting around under the occasional boulder for roots or signs of water. She couldn’t grasp the tiny indent to pull the blade out.
Griffin must have realized something wasn’t right. He strode toward her over a distant dune, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Helllllppp!”
He paused, then set out at a sprint.
The Sandhowler had dragged her foot below the surface of the sand. Her mind filled with the image of the creature gnawing on her leg, its teeth snapping right through the bone as it tore off her foot. She had to get the thing off her before the rest of it showed up. She went back to work trying to get the knife open. Her hands shook, but she got the blade up. She cupped her hand, scooping the sand from her foot so she could see what she was doing, slashing at the appendage. The only visible part of the creature was that small tentacle wrapped around her leg. She cut it again and again until she hacked through.
The wounded tentacle receded and another howl rent the air, so loud and deep it seemed to vibrate inside her. The ground rumbled, causing individual grains of sand to jump on the surface. She pulled her pack back onto her shoulders and stood up. She held up her hands in a signal for Chief Payne to stop.
He stopped.
The book she’d read said the Sandhowlers found prey by feeling them pass over the surface of the sand. If they both held still a little while, the creature might leave.
The rumbling continued.
Maybe even increased.
She waved Chief Payne away and turned to flee in the opposite direction. After a few strides, the sand began to slide under her feet again. Shifting toward the place she’d been, slowing her progress as she fought the tide.
The rumbling grew into a cacophony. The Sandhowler breached the surface amid a great eruption of sand.
Prudence backpedaled. The Sandhowler’s thick, pink body rose segment by segment, its tentacles spread out, each with smaller appendages growing from those, giving the creature the lacy, ornate quality of a leafy sea dragon. Unlike the cute sea creature of Earth, the Sandhowler’s body was as wide as an old elm tree and for a heartbeat or two, the creature shaded her from the sun. The four lobes at the end of its head split apart and the Sandhowler roared.
Beneath her, the sand began sinking around the Sandhowler, filling the spaces below where it had just been. Flopping onto her belly, Prudence grabbed at fistfuls of the grains to keep herself from being swallowed up by the sifting earth.
“Angel, run! Get out of there!” Griffin’s voice was still so far away. He ran to her in long ground-eating strides, but he wouldn’t reach her in time. The report of his gun sounded small and flat over the howl of the creature and the static rain of sand.
The sand slowed, but she crawled as fast as her shaking limbs would carry her, terrified the creature’s mouth would descend and bite her clean in half. “Oh, goddess, please keep me safe. Goddess, please—”
A shadow fell over her. Time was up and Griffin was too far away to help. She was on her own.
Prudence gripped the blade in both hands and rolled onto her back.
The Sandhowler rose high above her, its fat, pink body glistening in the sun. This creature was young, a baby—there were just three sizes of tentacles sprouting from its body. From what she’d read the adults could sprout hundreds of tentacle-buds.
She hacked at anything that came close. Slashing the appendages that whipped the sand next to her and stabbing at those trying to grasp her legs. The Sandhowler reared back in response and she scooted away as fast as the shifting sand would allow. The air grew so oppressive with heat and dust each breath she took felt like it stagnated in her lungs. Her eyes burned from the sand and sun. Her
heart thudded in her chest and her overexposed skin burned from the chafing sand. Each movement seemed to take more and more energy, making her increasingly lethargic.
Another flat blast of Griffin’s gun sounded in the distance.
The Sandhowler dove for her. The lobes of the creature’s mouth spread wide, revealing the corrugated ridges of its inner mouth and rows upon rows of teeth.
Oh, goddess, I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die and I’m not ready. Not yet.
She held her arms straight up, knife pointing to the creature and waited.
The Sandhowler drove itself right onto the knife, coming down until her elbows gave out. For terrifying seconds she didn’t think she’d done enough, the Sandhowler was still coming for her.
The creature flung its head back, whipping its head to the side, trying to dislodge the blade. Prudence held onto the knife and went flying through the air to land in a heap on the hot desert sand. She glanced back in time to see the creature sink below the surface with a wounded roar.
Griffin slowed his approach, holding his arms out to the side as if to say, What did you do now?
I don’t need him.
Prudence dragged herself up onto shaky legs. Her ankle burned from cuts, now dirty and caked in sand.
I am not weak.
She wanted to be gone from here in case the Sandhowler’s momma showed up. She needed every ounce of determination to ignore her thirst, her hunger, and her pain, but she grabbed her pack and started walking again. Sort of.
Behind her, Griffin cussed profusely. He always cussed. He was crude. Belligerent. Uncivilized.
She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone, damn it. She was a strong, independent woman.
Now that the danger had passed, her body began reacting to the adrenaline. The shakes set in, her empty stomach roiled and tears blocked her throat. Half a dozen steps and she dropped to her knees again. It might have been the most humiliating experience of her life, to fall on her knees while he watched. Griffin thought she was weak—he told her so—and she’d proved him right.
Unable to look at him, she kept her head bowed when he approached. His dusty boots appeared in her line of vision. He waited for something—an apology or an admission of failure—she wasn’t sure, but she’d be damned if she gave him anything of the sort. She waited for his teasing and taunting. Held herself braced for whatever bit of nastiness he spewed.
But it seemed the desert dried up his reserve of set-downs. “Don’t fight me, sweetheart.” He bent down and lifted her into his arms.
Prudence wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face beneath his chin and even after four days on Asteria sweating and dirty, somehow, he smelled good.
A hot lump burned her throat and she had to choke out what she needed to say. “You don’t have to tell me, I already know.”
He rubbed his cheek against hers as he started walking. “What’s that?”
Why was he being so gentle with her? “That I’m weak.”
Chapter 13
Weak?
He’d never met anyone as strong. He might be in better shape than her after three days in the desert, but he’d been trained. He was used to going without. He was used to tough treks. She was soft. Small. She had no training or practice. He wasn’t so sure had their positions been reversed if he would’ve fared so well.
“I’m weak.”
Anger simmered in his gut. She’d taken down that . . . that . . . whatever the hell it was all by herself. She was bleeding from one leg and both shoulders. Damn it, he wished to hell they still had that med-wand. His arms tightened around her. “Don’t say it again. You defended yourself against that thing. Christ, I couldn’t get to you in time. The fucking sand kept sliding under my feet and this old Lockheed Martin’s got no goddamned range. You were amazing, so don’t you call yourself weak.”
“Why not?” Her lips moved against his skin as she spoke, sending shivers rolling through him despite the heat. “You’ve said it yourself.”
He had. He’d been trying to goad her into doing minor surgery on him at the time, but he’d never apologized. “I was being an ass. You’re not weak. Neither of us will say it again.”
She scoffed, or sniffed, he wasn’t quite sure which.
“I’m serious, Angel. I’m shooting the next person who says you’re weak and I always keep my word, so don’t test me.”
She pulled away enough to look at him, her face was dirty and tear-streaked, those lavender eyes wary and watchful. “Why are you being nice?”
He snorted. “I’m always nice. Besides, you’re bleeding—I never tease people who are bleeding.”
Tears welled in her eyes. The tiny drops were tinted lavender, too. It was like watching a fairy princess weep.
“Christ, don’t do that.” He looked away, unable to bear the thought of being the cause.
She sniffed. “What?”
“Don’t cry, damn it.” He lifted her higher in his arms, balancing her weight more evenly while he treaded sand. His legs were starting to burn like hell, but he’d be damned if he’d set her down. “You’ll make me cry, too.”
A startled laugh jolted through her small frame. Low, and husky, the sound went straight to his groin.
For the first time in days, a smile curved his lips. “Come on, now. Tuck you face under my chin and be still. My big ol’ head will give you some shade.”
She did as he asked, but he still felt wetness on his neck and chest. He couldn’t say if tears or sweat caused the moisture. “For a society miss, you’ve got brass.”
“I keep telling you, I’m not society. My mother was alien and my father was a Marine.”
She had denied being society before, but he hadn’t believed her. “A Marine? You were raised in the grunt class, too?”
She sniffed. “Went to public school and everything.”
“Really?”
“Until my parents were killed in the Chicago attack. From then on, I lived in an orphanage.”
“How the hell did you end up with the Parnells?” He tried to pull away enough to see her face, but she tucked her head beneath his chin.
“Alfred picked me out of a line up. Just lucky, I guess.”
Lucky? Maybe when Alfred had been alive, but based on what he’d seen, luck had nothing to do with her time with Randolph. At least she’d only been subjected to the brute for three months before she’d run away.
He crested the dune and there, not a hundred feet away an oasis sprawled in the sand. “I’ll be damned.”
Prudence gasped, and a wail tore through her. “I was so close. I would’ve made it on my own if I’d kept going.”
She was killing him. “Stop it. Everything’s all right now. Everybody needs help now and again.” He headed straight into the soft-hued foliage and into a rainbow of pastels. The sun glinting off all those colors dazzled his eyes after staring at so much black for the last few days. The trees weren’t anything like they were back home. Here they had spiked layers like a palm tree, except they looked more like opaque, glittery diamonds than any kind of bark he’d ever seen. The layers went from the base of the trees all the way up, growing smaller and smaller down to the thinnest branches. The leaves were wide and cupped, spanning the range from deep reds to pastel blues and yellows. If he’d ever bothered to imagine what the biblical Eden might be like, he might have pictured this. A clear, red-tinged pond sat in the middle. The water looked deep, might even go all the way up to his neck, and it appeared empty of wild-life. He pointed. “What’s the red? Is it safe?”
“It’s from Deridium deposits. The mineral is safe, we’ve been using it in antiseptics on Earth since its discovery, but—”
“Good.” They could both use some antiseptics for their sunburns and cuts. He walked straight into the water, shoes, clothes, Prudence, and all.
“No.” Her arms tightened around his neck and she shifted in his arms until her legs were wrapped around his chest. She seemed to be trying to climb right up to balance
on his head. “I—I can’t.”
“You’re fine.” He coaxed her arms from his neck so he could breathe again. “I’m not letting you go.” His words didn’t have much effect. She still clung to him, her hands fisting clumps of his shirt, her breath coming in needy little gasps. “Close your eyes and hold your breath.”
“Why?”
“I’m gonna dunk us.”
“No, don’t—”
She came up sputtering, sobbing and fat, lavender tears dotted her cheeks. “Oh, please don’t. I won’t resist. Don’t drown me. I swear I won’t—”
What the hell? Griffin gave her a hard shake, but her eyes weren’t focused, they were wild with fear. Her hands had white-knuckle grips on him—one at the nape of his neck and one at his chest, she didn’t seem to realize she had skin as well as shirt fisted in her hands.
“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna drown either of us. I’m standing. We can’t drown. I just want to get the dirt off that sunburn of yours.”
The way she stared at him tore at his heart. Had she almost drowned as a kid?
“Hey, look at me.”
Her eyes met his, but she wasn’t seeing him. “Don’t put me under. Don’t drown me. I can’t breathe.” One of her hands went to her throat and seemed to want to claw at her skin. He pulled her hand away from her neck and remembered how bruised her throat had been on the ship. What all had Randolph done to this woman?
Randolph and his buddy Bronsen had led several waterboarding sessions in the prison with Griffin as their star attraction. They’d tie him down to a slanted table, cover his head, and pour water over his face. They’d hold him there, let him struggle while his sinus filled with water. Then, they’d hold him there some more until that water backed up, dripping down his throat into his lungs. After a while he wouldn’t be able to restrain his need for air, and his body reflexively sucked the water deeper into his lungs as he attempted to breathe. Water burned like hell when it filled his lungs, especially if was ice cold. But nothing was worse than being brought back, knowing one of Randolph’s fucks would give him CPR and flush the water from his lungs, give him time to catch his breath, time to remember every detail of what happened, then do the whole thing over.
The Last Marine Page 9