Douglas Preston - Mount Dragon

He found de Vaca lying just as he left her. Kneeling beside her, Carson opened the canteen and dabbed a little water over her face and hair. She stirred, rolling her head, and he cradled it in his arms, carefully pouring a few drops into her open mouth.

“Susana?”

She swallowed and coughed.

He poured another drop into her mouth, and dabbed some more on her crusted eyes and swollen lips.

“Is that you, Guy?” she whispered.

“There’s water.”

He placed the canteen to her lips. She took a few swallows and coughed.

“More,” she croaked.

Over the next fifteen minutes, she drank the entire gallon in little sips.

Carson pulled the piece of alkali salt from his pocket, sucked on it for a moment, then passed it to her. “Lick some of this,” he said. “It’ll help take away the thirst.”

“Am I dead?” she whispered at last.

“No. I found the spring. Actually, Roscoe found it. The Ojo del Águila.”

She sucked on the piece of salt, then sat up weakly. “Whew. I’m still dying of thirst.”

“You’ve got enough water in your stomach for now. What you need is electrolytes.”

She sucked on the salt again; then a sob suddenly racked her shoulders. Instinctively, Carson put his arms around her.

“Hey,” she said, “look at this, cabrón . My eyes are working again.”

He held her, feeling the tears trickle down his own face. Together, they wept at the miracle that had kept them alive.

Within an hour, de Vaca was strong enough to move. They led the horses back to the cave and let them drink, slowly. After the horses had watered, Carson took them outside to graze, first hobbling them to keep them from wandering away in the dark. It hardly seemed necessary, since they weren’t likely to stray far from the water.

When he returned to the darkness of the cave, Carson found de Vaca lying on a verge of sand next to the spring, already asleep. He sat down, feeling an immense mantle of weariness settle on his shoulders. He was too tired to explore. The world drained away into nothingness as he fell back against the sand.

Lava Gate.

Nye played his halogen torch along the immense black wall that reared up beside him. The gap was perhaps a hundred yards wide. On one side the Fra Cristóbal mountains thrust up from the desert floor, a talus of fractured boulders and traprock forming a natural barrier to horses. On the other, an immense wall of lava rose up, the abrupt end of many miles of frozen flow from a volcano whose spark had gone out eons before. It was even better than he imagined; a perfect place for an ambush. If he was heading for Lava Camp, Carson had no choice but to go through here.

Nye hobbled Muerto in a hidden arroyo beyond the gap and climbed up into the lava, carrying his flashlight and rifle, a water bag, and food. He soon found what seemed in the darkness to be a good lookout: a small depression in the lava, surrounded by a jagged escarpment. The lava had formed itself into natural crenellations, and its rough porous surface offered excellent purchase for the barrel of his rifle.

He settled down to wait. He took a sip from the water bag and pared himself a hunk of cheese from the wheel. American cheddar, truly awful stuff. And the 110-degree heat hadn’t improved it. But at least it was food. Nye was fairly confident that Carson and the woman hadn’t eaten in thirty hours. But without water, food would be the least of their problems.

He sat quietly in the darkness, listening. Toward dawn the new moon rose, a bright white sliver. It threw enough light in the clear air for Nye to relax his vigil and look around.

He had found the ideal lookout: a sniper’s nest a hundred feet above the gap. By day, Carson and the woman would be visible to the south for two, maybe three miles. He had clear shooting across, down, and even to the other side. He couldn’t have designed a better blind. Here, he’d have all the time in the world to squeeze off his shots. When the .357 nitro-express slugs connected with human tissue, they would cause so much havoc even the buzzards would have a difficult time finding enough meat for a meal.

Chances were, of course, that Carson and the woman were already dead. If that was the case, it would be some consolation to Nye to know it was his presence that had flushed them out, forcing them to travel during the merciless heat of the day. But whatever the case, this was a comfortable spot to wait. Now that he could remain hidden during the daylight hours, water would not be such an issue. He’d stay here another day, maybe two—just to be sure—before heading south in search of the bodies.

If Carson had found water—which was the only way he would make it this far—he would be overconfident. Buoyant. Thinking he’d shaken Nye for good. Nye popped the magazine out, checked it, and slid it back in.

“Bang, bang,” came the high, giggling voice out of the darkness to his left.

A faint blueness began to creep into the eastern sky.

“Who is that?” Levine heard Scopes’s voice come sharply out of the elevator speakers. The lips of the wizard-image on the screen did not move, and its expression did not change, yet Levine could hear the mild surprise in the voice of his ex-friend. He did not type a response.

“So it wasn’t a false alarm, after all.” The wizard-image stepped away from the door. “Come in, please. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a seat. Perhaps in the next release.” He laughed. “Are you a rogue employee? Or are you working for an outside competitor? Whatever the case, perhaps you’ll be good enough to explain your presence in my building and in my program.”

Levine paused. Then he transferred his hands from the trackball and cursor keys to the laptop’s keyboard. “I’m Charles Levine,” he typed.

The wizard stared back for several seconds. “I don’t believe you,” came the voice of Scopes at last. “You couldn’t possibly have hacked your way in here.”

“But I did. And I’m here¡ inside your own program, Cypherspace.”

“So you weren’t content playing at corporate espionage from a distance, Charles?” Scopes asked in a mocking tone. “You had to add breaking and entering to your growing list of felonies.”

Levine hesitated. He was not yet sure of Scopes’s mental condition, but he felt he had no recourse but to speak openly. “I have to talk to you,” he typed. “About what it is you’re planning to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Sell the doomsday virus to the United States military for five billion dollars.”

There was a long pause.

“Charles, I’ve underestimated you. So you know about X-FLU II. Very good.”

So that’s what it’s called , Levine thought. “What do you hope to accomplish by selling this virus?” he typed.

“I thought that would have been obvious. Five billion dollars.”

“Five billion isn’t going to do you much good if the fools who end up with your creation destroy the entire world.”

“Charles, please. They already have the ability to end the world. And they haven’t done it. I understand these fellows. These are the same bullies who beat us up on the playground thirty years ago. Basically, I’m just aiding them in their desire to have the biggest, newest weapon. It’s an evolutionary artifact, this wanting of big weapons. They’ll never actually use the virus. Just like nuclear weapons, it has no military value, just strategic value in the balance of power equation. This virus was developed as a by-product of a legitimate Pentagon contract with GeneDyne. I’ve done nothing illegal or even unethical in developing this virus and offering it for sale.”