Dinosaur Beach

14

I croaked something and grabbed at her; she fended me off and looked stern, like a night nurse not liking her job but doing it anyway.

“Lisa—how did you get here?” I got the words out somehow.

“My name isn’t Lisa—and I got here in the same way I suspect you did.” She was walking me toward a small field tent, regulation issue, that was pitched higher up on the beach, under the shade of the club mosses. She gave me another no-nonsense look. “You are a field man, I suppose?” Her eyes were taking in what was left of my clothes. She sucked in air between her teeth. “You look as if you’d been in an air raid,” she said, almost accusingly.

“Ground-armor attack and a sea chase,” I said. “No air raid. What are you doing here, Lisa? How…”

“I’m Mellia Gayl,” she cut in. “Don’t go delirious on me now. I’ve got enough on my hands without that.”

“Lisa, don’t you know me? Don’t you recognize me?”

“I never saw you before in my life, mister.” She ducked her head and thrust me through the tent fly, into coolness and amber light.

“Get those clothes off,” she ordered. I wanted to assert my masculine prerogative of undressing myself, but somehow it was just a little more than I could manage. I leaned against her and slid down sideways and had my pants dragged down over my ankles. She pulled my shoes off, and my socks. I managed the wet shorts myself. I was shivering and burning up. I was a little boy and mama was putting me to bed. I felt cool softness under me and rolled over on my face, away from the remote fire at my back, and let it all fade away into a soft, embracing darkness.