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Nigel followed Devi as fast as he could down the far side of the ship, stumbling as he hit the ground, plunging into the shadow.
Water and wind scraped out a deeper hollow down this side, revealing more of the timbers, bursting open toward the stern. A toppled mast jutted along the sand toward the unreachable sea, creating a barricade with more sand beyond, an effective blind against anyone trying to spot it from that angle.
The engine roared ever closer. Sand and gravel churning and rattling against the undercarriage. If there were other sounds to be heard, the racket of the truck concealed them. On the west side of the wreck, darkness ruled.
Devi raced along the side, the sand moist and firm from the recent rain. Nigel's boots sank in, slowing his pace, but she paused, letting him get close, and ducked under the giant mast, creeping forward.
"We get to the stern, then sprint for the next dune, right?" she whispered. She reached out and clipped the camera to his belt like a badge of honor.
"Agreed."
They crept further, skirting a crack in the hull where barrels spilled sidelong, forming a series of low rounds against the sand, their hoops pitted with rust and pulling away from the sunken slats. Whatever they contained had long since rotted away.
Dune shadows echoed the same rounded forms, except—Nigel caught Devi's arm, pointing. That curious shadow could be a bird roosting at the top of a dune. Or just a stone at a strange angle.
"Sniper," she whispered, then, "Sranje." Her favorite oath, whatever it meant. She started to direct him back, then her eyes flared, and she flung him into the shadow of the fallen mast as gunshots spat along the old wood.
Nigel sprawled full-length behind the mast while she dove under it, back the direction they'd come. What could defend her there save the broken barrels?
"I say!" he hollered. Another shot answered his call.
The wood of the mast twitched under the impact. If not for that beam, he'd've taken the shot to his chest. The man was frightening. Nigel rolled to his side, yanking his arm from his rucksack strap.
Footsteps crunched sand, methodically closer. Nigel pulled his pack and tossed it over his head.
Gunfire slammed into the pack, tufting the cloth and cracking the contents while Nigel scrambled back in the other direction, toward the protection of the hulk.
Devi bounded from the defense of the barrels, clutching a half-ring of rusted metal in her hand. She moved in silence as Flick, the shooter, tracked the origin of Nigel's second-best rucksack.
Flick swiveled, bringing the gun up. Devi swung the barrel ring against his head. Flick staggered, but the old metal shattered.
"Nigel, out of sight!" she ordered.
Gun in hand, her assailant kicked out at her, forcing her back, then swinging his weapon to bear.
She rolled beneath and his shot cracked the wood not far from Nigel's face. Getting his feet under him, Nigel propelled himself into the broken ship, over a scatter of old staves and unknown metal bits. Good work his tetanus jab had been renewed!
In the gap between two crumbling slats, Nigel saw Devi lunge upward, the broken metal in hand. Flick bent around it, the jagged edge gouging into him. Blood spilled down the makeshift blade, but he wrenched free, staggered and tried to face her.
Something flashed on the ground. Not gold, but a reflection. The rising sun glinting from a gun.
"Jessica, there's two!"
She bounded up as rapid burst of automatic weapons fire peppered the hull where she'd been standing a moment before. Something stung Nigel's arm and he scooted away from the sidewall. The ancient wreck groaned around him. No guarantee at all that he'd be safer within, not if they continued to weaken the wood.
Nigel held his breath. No sound betrayed his companion. Had she, too, been sent to an early grave?