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"So what's the plan?" Devi asked. As she moved briskly along the gully, she scanned left and right, up and down.
Nigel's sore ankle throbbed in protest of all of this activity on uneven ground, not to mention the hurry and the strain. As the sun rose gradually behind, his shadow stretched inch by inch before him, trying to catch up to her as he realized he might not do so.
So close to the salt flats and desolation of the old lagoons, plant growth faded near to nothing, and he felt increasingly exposed. The walls to either side sank away as they entered the dunes proper, vast mounds of sand arranged by the wind and weather like a meditation garden for some ancient gods. She glanced back, and he thought she'd pause.
Instead, she swept him with a glance, still moving, but this time circling back. "It's your ankle. How bad is it?"
"Not terrible. I did wrap it while I waited for my army."
A frown pinched her forehead. "What did you do back there, to distract them? For a minute there, I thought you were shooting at them."
"Scorpion bomb. An early form of biological warfare, involving locally sourced materials." He flashed a smile. "Arryo's house included some baskets, and my kit included some boots. Shake the one into the other, and voila!"
"Nice." Her own bare feet shifted a little in the sand, as if the mention of scorpions made her twitchy. As well it might. "The ankle's not terrible, you said, but you're favoring it pretty bad."
He'd have to explain later about the bats and the bugs. Perhaps then she'd grant him greater acknowledgment than a simple, "nice."
Nigel straightened on his feet, thumbs tucked beneath his pack straps. "Indeed, I'm weary, but I'm sure you've had a worse time of it than I in the last few hours. And any road, it hardly matters. When the others return to the truck, they'll all be after us, and moving faster than we, unless we find some other means of delay."
"Right. We need a way to shake them. What do you know about the land ahead?"
He pressed into motion, and this time, she matched his pace, his usual long strides hitched by the recovering ankle. "These dunes flatten out to the old coastline, where the sea bed has silted in over a period of centuries. I'm afraid it's mostly more of the same, though the terrain will have altered in the recent storm."
"Sounds like miles of bad cover." They wove through the soft sand between the shrouded dunes as the sun sought to pin them in its rising arc.
"Indeed...and yet." He shrugged, and her gaze lingered on him.
"What's up there?"
"As Howard Carter famously remarked when he peered through the wall into Tutankhamen's tomb, 'Wonderful things.'"
"Cut the crap, Nigel. I don't want either of us to die out here."
"Likewise. However, I may be prevented my revelations before the world, let me keep at least an audience of one in suspense. I swear it shan't be long." He crossed his heart with a finger.
She sighed. "At least tell me your grand surprise can help us live."
"I've got a distraction practically guaranteed to halt our pursuers in their tracks while we make our escape." He pulled out his compass and took a bearing. "Turn to your left."
Her dark gaze flicked away with a shake of her head. Her tidy braid now hung ragged with tufts of hair pulling free, and if his eye did not deceive him, she, too, limped a little. However they'd taken her, it hadn't been easy. "How's Monty?" he asked lightly.
"Said he was in trouble, that Gator didn't trust him anymore." A pause. "That Gator would treat him like they had Joe."
"It's a compelling story."
"I could do without the 'I told you so.'" She drew a little further ahead of him, rounding the tapering end of the dune.
Nigel pushed himself to her side, shaking his head. "Not at all, Devi. We both saw what happened to Joe. No matter if Monty's our adversary, I wouldn't wish that on him." Her face remained in shadow as the bare glow of the sun reached her back. "Given the faintest hope of his redemption, I'd've taken that call."
"Redemption's a strong word. Not everybody earns it." She kept walking.
"Grace, then." His voice felt small in the expanding day, as, perhaps, it should be. "Grace isn't earned, it's given. To anyone, at any time."
A huff of cynicism and a shake of her head. Was it Monty she doubted, truly, or herself? Curiosity drove him forward, ignoring the pain at his ankle. Coming fully from behind the dune, she froze, and he twitched, fearing they'd been discovered, then she said, "Is that what I think it is?"
Nigel kept his gaze upon her. "I made them a promise, in trade for your life. I intended to keep it." He drew a longer breath. "Have I?"
"Oh, Nigel," she said, in a voice that barely broke the silence.
He couldn't bear to look beyond the dune just yet, to see if, as Arryo feared, he'd found only an empty hole, and one even he couldn't fill with anything but corpses.