Cress

Chapter 24

     The  creature  balked  and  tumbled  down  the   dune,  blood dribbling  from
     the wound in its  side. Cress  cried  out  and  fell backward. Thorne  pulled
  her  down into the sand. "Cress! Are you all right?"
       She was shaking, watching  as  the  animal  fell  and  rolled  the rest  of  the
       way,  gathering clumps of sand on its hide.  She  wanted  to  scream,  but 
any  noise  was paralyzed inside  her,  and   she  could  think  of   nothing  but
that the animal  had wanted to say something to  her and now  the world 
        was  titling  and  fading   and she was going to be sick and there  was  blood
   in  the  sand  and  she   didn't  know what had happened and—
           "Cress! Cress!"
         Thorne's hands were on  her, searching, and  she  realized  dully that  he
    thought she had been shot.  She grabbed his  wrists, holding  them  tight 
         and  trying  to  convey the truth through her grip when words wouldn't
    come to her.
    "I'm—I'm all—"
       She paused. They both heard it.  Panting,  along  with  the  slip  and
         scramble  of footsteps.
                   Cress cowered, pressing into Thorne's  embrace  as  terror  washed over
             her. A man  appeared at the top of the dune, carrying a shotgun.
                       He saw the  animal  first,  dying  or  dead,  but  then  spotted  Cress and
           Thorne from the corner of his eye. He yelped,  barely  keeping  his  balance, 
           and gaped at    them.   His eyebrows disappeared beneath a gauzy head-
           dress. His  brown  eyes  and the bridge of his nose   were all   she could
       see of his  face,  the  rest  of  him  covered in a robe that draped nearly to  his 
    ankles,  protecting  him  from the harsh   desert elements. Beneath the robe
           peeked a pair of denim pants and boots that  had  long been sun bleached and
              caked with sand.
          He finished his own inspection of Cress and   Thorne and lowered   the
          gun. He began to speak  and  for  a  moment  Cress  thought  that  the  sun and
       exhaustion had driven her mad after all—she  didn't understand a   word
he said.
Thorne's grip tightened on her arms.
For a moment, the  man  stared  at   them  in  silence. Then  he  shifted,  his
         eyebrows lowering and revealing fleck of gray in them.
"Universal, then?" he said, in a thick accent that still  made it  a  struggle
   to  capture the words. he scanned  their  ragged clothes  and  sheets. "You
     are  not  from here."
     "Yes—sir,"  said  Thorne,  his  voice  rusty. "We  need  help. My ...  wife
  and  I  were attacked and robbed two days ago. We have no  more water.
      Please, can  you help us?"
       The man squinted. "Your eyes?"
       Thorne's lips puckered. He'd been trying to hide his new disability,  but
       his  eyes still looked unfocused. "The thieves gave me a good blow to  the 
            head,"  he   said, "and my sight's been gone ever since. And my wife has a
      fever."
The man  nodded. "Of  course. My—" He  stumbled  over  the language.
  "My friends are not far. There is an oasis near here. We have a ... a camp."
    Cress swooned. An oasis. A camp.
     "I  must bring the animal," the  man  said,  tilting  his   head toward  the 
    fallen creature. "Can you walk? Maybe ... ten minutes?"
    Thorne rubbed Cress's arms. "We can walk."
     The ten minutes seemed like an  hour  to  Cress  as  they followed  the 
      man through the desert, treading in the wake carved out by the animal's
      carcass. Cress tried not to look at the poor beast, keeping  her thoughts 
    instead  on  the promise of safety.