“Life’s not like the vids, Carrie,” said Jim.
“Never was.”
He stooped and picked up the fluttering pages of the computerized list from where it lay, sodden in the spreading pool of blood by the clawed hand of the leader.
It was mainly page after page of names, broken up into what looked to be arbitrary sections, some with only three or four people identified on it. Most sheets carried the superscription “Not Wanted.”
The last couple of perforated sheets were marked “Wanted.” A further notation stated “Refer to HoSHQ. Attention F.”
“Look,” said Carrie, pointing with the four-inch barrel of her Smith & Wesson.
The gun was touching the word “Aquila.”
Beneath it was an alphabetical list of all the crew’s names, beginning with Cortling, Marcey, ending with Turner, Peter.
“Least somebody wants us,” breathed Kyle.
Jim Hilton clicked the full cylinder into place on the Ruger. “Let’s move out,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
Nanci Simms had forgotten more about survival techniques than most people ever learned.
The best way to die was to do something stupid, like leaving your vehicle in the desert and wandering off into the wilderness. But she also knew that you could do everything correctly and still get dead.
She lay back and listened to the sound of the Mercedes’s powerful engine fading away across the endless stillness.
“Bastard,” she said with a gentle venom.
As the day advanced, every now and again she eased her grip on the deep arterial wound in her thigh for a second, looking down with a dispassionate interest as a bright crimson trickle immediately appeared between her fingers and thumb. It flowed smoothly down her leg, into the hot, thirsty sand.
“What they used to call a catch-22,” she whispered.
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 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 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.