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BILL LOOKED OVER HIS shoulder, turning from the horrific open-mouthed, silent screams plastered onto the faces of Lynda and Commander Kupovits. The two horsemen were still approaching. Their horses moved slowly at a steady walk, kicking up little puffs of desert dust as each of the horses’ hooves were picked up and then placed back onto the dry earth. Nature’s choreographer had done a fine job here, moving the wind and the dust, and the beat of the horses’ hooves in perfect time. Step, dust, step, dust, step, dust.
Lost for a moment in the mirage like vision of the horses, warped by the heat rising from the desert and their macabre dance, Bill snapped back to the reality of the moment. He moved quickly over to the mound of rocks. He carefully emptied the contents of his hand—brought with him through eons of time—onto a large piece of the metal foil he found stuck under the scrub brush. He began to dig. He pushed rocks aside and dug into the earth with his bare hands. Soil, which had been baking in the heat of the sun for millennia, formed a sharp desert crust that bit into his hands. But once he had broken through, the sandy soil was remarkably soft. He dug furiously, without regard to his now cut and bleeding fingers.
Bill stood, wiping the sweat from his face, and looked back to the horsemen who had reached the water guzzler, stopping just several yards shy of it. Bill wasn’t sure if they had seen him, but he held out hope that they had not. He waited. Watching.
The riders stood up in their stirrups using their vantage point atop the horses to see all around them. Bill countered by crouching down behind the rocks. He struggled in an awkward bent position to quickly shed the rags of torn cloth from his body, revealing the shiny metallic jump-suite once again. He pulled down the pant legs and rolled down the sleeves of the jump-suit. His shoes were gone, but there was nothing he could do about that, short of taking the ones off Commander Kupovits’ body. He gave it a quick thought, then dismissed it, and decided there wasn’t time and that it would be best to stay barefooted.
He bundled the rags of cloth together quickly. Then he took the large piece of foil that held the contents of his hand and placed it together with the rags and cloth. He lined the hole that he had just dug with more of the metal, then placed everything into the hole and filled it in. He covered it with rock and dirt in a chaotic arrangement that he hoped mimicked nature.
Moments later, after covering the hole and giving the site a quick inspection, Bill climbed up on top of the rocks. He steadied himself and waved his arms in the direction of the horsemen. He yelled, trying to push his voice past the rough, dry sound that his vocal chords produced. But he was quite sure that the horsemen could not hear him over the din of the baying sheep. He continued to wave his arms and yell, until one of the horsemen turned his eyes from what he considered to be a well and the sheep to Bill.
The smaller of the two horsemen pointed in Bill’s direction. The other turned, stared for a moment at Bill, and then, with a quick jolt on the reins of the bridle, whipped the horse’s head around and took off, heading back in the direction that he had come. The smaller horseman spurred his horse into a lope, catching up quickly with the other rider, who looked over his shoulder toward Bill. Then, he leaned forward in the saddle, urging his mount forward into a full gallop.