Panic!

and Lennox becomes aware of her body now, moving, the rippling of her muscles under his fingers, and he understands, he understands what must be happening inside her, the confusion, he doesn’t want to hurt her but he doesn’t know what will hurt her the most—capitulation or rejection, he wants to help, he wants to reassure her, he knows she is normal, he feels it, he has to communicate it to her and there is really only one way now, but he is so tired, the toll of the past two days has been too great, he can’t, and he focuses on her movements, on her body, and his hand slips down and touches her buttocks and then he is lengthening, growing, impossibly and wondrously coming alive

and Jana feels him erect against her, oh no, no, and her hips move faster under his hand now, under his hand, I don’t want this, “No, please no,” and she is burning, she is burning, Love me, no, love me love me love me

and Lennox says her name, “Jana,” and hears her moaning and wants her desperately and his fingers on her clothing are deft, quick, gentle

and Jana helps him, helps them both, the wind blowing cold over naked flesh, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her lips saying “No” and her mind saying Yes, yes! and she is afraid, she is terrified, but he is whispering to her now, calming her, stroking her, and the fire, the need, the need

and they are one, murmuring, clinging, moving, and it is savage, it is tender—together, reaching upward, reaching the zenith, together, together, it happens together, incredibly, perfectly, the way it had to be ...

They lie silent, holding tightly to one another, and there is no need for words. Jana knows, and inside she weeps—but the tears are clean and good, purging. Lennox knows, and inside there is a peace, unstable but rich and promising. They are one now, in many ways.

In many ways.

The Final Day..

One

Vollyer came awake just before dawn—and he was blind.

A soft, strangled cry bubbled in his throat; he sat up, pawing at his eyes. Darkness, darkness, with light shimmering faintly at the edges, with light flickering a long way off like candles at the end of a long, dark tunnel; but there were no images, no colors, there was only the light and pain, pain hammering behind the swollen lids, pain pulsating at the core of each eyeball. He shook his head and kept on shaking it, scratching wildly at the mucus-crusted sockets with the tips of his fingers.

Di Parma had been sitting on a rock nearby, watching the eastern horizon turn a dusty gray with the approach of dawn, eating the last of the tinned meat with chilled fingers. He came running over to Vollyer and knelt beside him. “Harry, what’s the matter? Jesus, Harry, what is it?”

“Get away from me!” Vollyer snapped at him. Control, control, get control of yourself, don’t panic, only the losers panic. Hands away from your eyes, only makes it worse rubbing at them, that’s it, blink now, blink, blink, light growing brighter, yes, taking away the darkness, force those lids up all the way, blink, blink, the sky, you can see the sky now and Di Parma, fuzzy but it’s Di Parma, concentrate, blink, his features, eyes, nose, mouth, blink, concentrate, blink, fuzziness fading, focus coming back, you’re all right, you’re not really blind, only temporary, bad strain that’s all, you can see now, you can see as well as before ...

Vollyer dragged cool air into his lungs and sat up again, looking around him. The solid objects had faint, dancing perimeter shadows until he stared at one in particular and then the shadow went away. His head ached massively, malignantly, and there were searing needles probing at the retinas of his eyes. He got shakily to his feet and held his hands out in front of him and stared at their backs; the hands were trembling, but there were only two of them and they had no dancing shadows.

Di Parma said, “Was it your eyes, Harry? Mine have been giving me hell, too. It’s the glare of that sun ...”

Vollyer said nothing. He walked slowly to the rock on which Di Parma had been sitting and took the binoculars from it and then went to where he could look out over the desert to the north. He lifted the glasses, squinting through the lens. The moon was gone now, the stars fading, and the landscape lay cold and starkly quiet under the retreating gray-black of the sky. He could see a long way, he could see cactus, rocks, bushy shrubs, distinct and identifiable forms. He released a long, soft breath, turning, calm again.

“Come on,” he said to Di Parma. “It’s time to be moving. We’re close to them, I can feel it. Even with you shooting at that snake last night, we’re close to them. It won’t be long now ...”

Two

Brackeen said, “I can’t take any more of this sitting around. I’m going out and check with the deputy I posted at the junction.”