Authors: Cara Crescent
Damn it. He shouldn’t have made that threat.
*****
She was being hunted.
That old adage about Marines never giving up was proving to be true. Griffin was tracking her. Every now and again she’d pause and look back the way she came and every time she saw a heat-misshaped splotch in the distance. The heat rising from the desert floor made it impossible to discern her pursuer’s identity, but she had no doubt it was him.
Oh, part of her wanted to run right back to him. This hike might be easier with someone to talk to, someone to depend on. But Chief Payne was a tortured soul and she wasn’t so sure it would be wise to get close to him. When she’d left during the night, he’d been dreaming in his restless sleep and it had been impossible to miss the tears on his face, glistening in the moonlight.
Prudence paused, took off her pack and set it down.
Somehow, she needed to get out of this desert and find water. With her skin blistering and sore, she lost more energy every hour. The map she had couldn’t be drawn in proportion. The cartographer must’ve taken liberties with the size of the Black Desert, assuming no one would be foolish enough to attempt to traverse the barren wasteland.
But she wouldn’t give up. She’d rather die out here than go back to Randolph.
Prudence shouldered her pack, wiped the sweat from her brow and set off again.
Randolph brushed off a bucket and sat to watch Bronsen work. He didn’t trust himself to do the questioning; he was far too angry. Bronson, though, always kept a tight leash on his temper.
They’d located the pod Prudence had been in; she’d left a couple of sweaters behind he recognized. They had also found traces of blood in the pod, but after analysis, they’d discovered the blood belonged to Chief Payne. As far as they knew, Prudence landed safely.
Except she was gone.
Black Desert Outpost was the logical next stop. The buildings were the only sign of civilization near the escape pod. They must have come this way, but so far the denizens of the outpost weren’t being cooperative.
Bronsen, with the help of a few Blue Helmets, had three men strung up by their feet, their arms tied behind their backs and their heads swaying a bare inch from the floor. He sat on a stool in front of the three men and watched their faces grow red as the blood pooled in their heads.
One of the Blue Helmets walked over and placed two large buckets of water on either side of Bronsen.
“Now, boys, as you can see there are three of you and only two buckets here.” Bronsen smiled. “That means one of you gets to live.”
The men glanced back and forth at each other.
“So, let’s see who here is going to be talkative today.” He leaned forward on the stool. “Has a woman come through here in the last week?”
The big one in the middle stretched his lips in to a semblance of a smile, revealing a silver tooth. “A woman? Why didn’t you ask? Sure, a woman came through here.”
Randolph shook his head. They’d been asking about Prudence since they’d arrived. The ex-cons who lived in BD Outpost made it clear they wouldn’t talk to Blue Helmets. These men . . . these men were the reason he had to succeed. They represented everything he hated. They were criminals. Dirty. Sick. They were manipulative and dishonest.
Bronsen’s attention traveled to the man on Silver Tooth’s right, then to the man on his left. “You boys don’t want to play?”
“It’s like he said,” the man on Silver Tooth’s left said. “She came through, what, two or three days ago. Her and her man.”
Bronsen pushed one of the buckets toward the man on Silver Tooth’s right and a Blue Helmet shoved it under the man’s head. The water came up to his chin.
Both Silver Tooth and his chatty friend watched in horror as the other struggled, water splashing out of the bucket. He’d have upturned the pail by now had the young Blue Helmet not held it in place. The man’s struggles slowed, then stopped. It was all over within a handful of moments.
Randolph wet his lips. He loved this, the absolute total control. The brutal truth of pain and death. They were two facts of life that never changed, never lied. And these men, these thieves, liars, and murderers, they deserved the ultimate punishment. He’d never agreed with Alfred’s demands that these people be sent off-planet. They needed to be annihilated. Only then could there be true order.
The Blue Helmet regarded Bronsen. “You want him revived?”
“No, thank you.” His attention turned to the two prisoners. “One bucket is still in need of a head. So, she came through two or three days ago. What did she look like?”
Both men spit out their answers frantically. “Black hair, tiny bit of a thing.” Silver Tooth shouted at the same time the other stammered, “Short hair, purple eyes, real purdy.”
Randolph harrumphed. Not even ten minutes had passed and they were already turning on each other. They had no pride, no compassion for their fellow man. These men were selfish. Bronsen easily wielded all the power in the room. He was by far superior to these ruffians. Randolph shifted in his seat as his body began to respond to his lover’s show of dominance.
Bronsen glanced back at Randolph and winked before turning back to the prisoners. “Was she alone?”
“Big fella with her,” Silver Tooth said. “Shot one of my boys.”
“Yeah,” the other agreed. “He stole a pack with a bunch of our stuff. Ran off with some of our booze and our shaker of salt.”
Chief Payne was a thief on top of everything else. He was no better than these lot.
Bronsen nodded. “Good. You’re both doing real well. Now, which way did he go?”
The two men shared a look. “Don’t know,” they said at the same time.
Randolph shifted in his seat, his cock growing hard.
Bronsen slid the second bucket to the young guy on the left, who started screaming as the Blue Helmet approached, twisting and fighting as the young soldier placed the bucket under his head.
“That’s my son,” Silver Tooth’s cry ripped through the room, the anguish in his voice palpable. “That’s my boy.”
Randolph pressed his hand to his cock. His heart raced and his breathing jacked up a notch as pleasure shot through him. Oh, sweet heaven, he was gonna come.
Bronsen got down on one knee in front of Silver Tooth. “Then talk. Tell me what I want to know.”
“The son of a bitch locked us in here!” Silver Tooth yelled, staring with wide, teary eyes as his boy struggled. “It was windy, by the time we got out, there weren’t any tracks. We checked out the pod, but anything worth something was gone. They were nowhere around.”
Bronsen nodded to the Blue Helmet who pulled the kid up and moved the bucket out from under him. The young man sputtered and coughed.
“What else can you tell me?” Bronsen forced Silver Tooth to look him in the eyes. “Did they talk to each other while they were here? What did he take with him?”
Silver Tooth bawled in gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. He had a gun. Said the woman was his. He was looking for someone, asked if there were any other men in the outpost. Took a pack, some food, liquor and night goggles.”
“You did good, big guy.” Bronsen stood. He removed the bucket from under the dead man, nodded to the Blue Helmet. They both stuck their buckets under the two prisoner’s heads at the same time.
Randolph moaned as he watched father and son find their ultimate truth together.
He admired her.
Yeah, she was still a pain in his ass, but damn, the woman was tough as week-old rations. He’d followed her for the last two days, staying close enough to watch, close enough to help if she needed it, but far enough away to keep her from noticing him.
He had no desire to deal with a wounded female, but he couldn’t allow himself to interfere unless she needed help. It took him six hours to catch up to her, and by then, he was angry. Furious, actually. He’d hung back, wanting to avoid a confrontation until he’d had time to calm down. But, as he’d walked behind her, watching her silhouette waver in and out of focus in the heat-baked distance, he got curious. What would she do now? How did she expect to survive? How far was she willing to take this little suicidal streak of hers?
He didn’t know many full grown men trained in survival who could walk out into the desert not knowing where they were going, or how to get to resources. The fact that she’d been going in a straight line, only stopping to rest when the sun hung at its highest and most deadly point in the sky, told him not only did she know where she was going, but she also had grit.
Her embarrassing second attempt at catching dinner informed him she didn’t have a clue what she was doing, nor did she have a weapon other than the Swiss Army knife.
Lastly, he knew she was hurting. Whether physically, mentally, or emotionally, he couldn’t say, but when the skies grew dark and he had no visual, he’d close the gap between them and off and on throughout the night he’d hear the occasional sniffle, the random sob. The first night, he thought she was afraid. He kept expecting her to come flying back in his direction screaming his name. But she didn’t. She kept right on trekking, no doubt leaving a trail of tears in her wake.
Part of him wanted to shout at her to stop with that nonsense—crying stripped her body of needed water. But if he were to tell the truth, out there in the pitch of night, stepping one foot in front of the other in the stifling heat with nothing but those mournful cries to follow, he may have let fall a tear or two as well. The sound of her hurt damn near broke his heart and made it impossible to ignore his own pain. At night, with nothing to distract him, he couldn’t hide from the faces of his past. He couldn’t shy away from his punishing thoughts.
A time would come when he’d be called to account for his sins, when he’d either have to find a way to redeem himself or succumb to the bitter hatred roiling inside him. And as he followed Prudence, their walk for survival sometimes felt more like a pilgrimage toward his atonement. Hopefully, at the end of this walk, he’d find Lucan. Certainly, at the end, he’d find the spaceport. And one way or another, soon after, he’d either die, or find relief in destroying Randolph Parnell.
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.