The Nightmare begins

Chapter Eighteen

"Wait here in case it's a trap of some kind," Rourke said.

"What do you mean—a trap?" Rubenstein asked.

Rourke looked at him a moment. "Could be those paramilitary guys, could be anyone—put a woman's body down beside the road, most people are going to stop, right? Plenty of cover back by those dunes, right?"

"Yeah, but—she's awful still. Hasn't moved since we spotted her."

"Could be dead already, maybe just a bag of rags stuffed into some old clothes.

Keep me covered," Rourke almost whispered. He swung the CAR-15 across the front of the Harley and started the bike slowly across the road, throwing a glance back over his shoulder, seeing Rubenstein readying the German MP-40 subgun to back him up. Rourke cut a wide arc across the opposite shoulder, going off onto the sand and running a circle around the body—it was a woman, dark hair covering half her face, her right hand clutched to her left arm, dark bloodstains seeping through her fingers. Rourke stopped the bike a few yards from her, dismounted and kept the CAR-15 pointed in her general direction, his right fist bunched around the pistol grip, his first finger just outside the trigger guard.

He walked slowly across the sand, the sun to his left now starting to sink rapidly, because, technically—despite the heat—it wasn't quite spring. Darkness would come soon, and Van Horn was still miles away. Water and food were virtually gone— and, of more immediate concern, so was the gasoline. His bike was nearly empty and he doubted Rubenstein's bike would make even another twenty or thirty miles.

He stopped, staring at the woman's body inches from the dusty toes of his black combat boots. Rourke pushed the sunglasses back from his head and up into his hair, staring at her more closely. She was incredibly beautiful, even dirty and disheveled as she was now, and somewhere at the back of his mind Rourke knew he'd seen the face before. "I wouldn't forget you," he murmured, then pushed the toe of his left boot toward her, moving her body a little and finally rolling her over. The limpness of her body spelled recent death or a deep state of unconsciousness. He dropped to one knee beside her, swinging the scoped CAR-15

behind his back, bending down to her then and taking her head gently into his left hand, his right thumb slowly opening her left eyelid. She was alive. He felt her pulse, weak but steady. Her skin was waxy-appearing and cold to the touch. "Shock," he murmured to himself. "Heat prostration." Rourke looked up and called across the road.

"Paul—do a wide circle to make sure she doesn't have any friends, then come over—we've got to get her out of the sun."

Rourke scanned the horizon to see if there were any natural shade, fearing she might not survive until darkness. About a hundred yards off to the opposite side of the road, he spotted an overhanging outcropping of bare rock. Quickly feeling the woman's arms and legs and along the rib case to ascertain that there were no readily apparent broken bones, he stood up, bringing the unconscious girl to her feet, then sweeping her up into his arms. As Rubenstein completed his circuit and drove up alongside, Rourke, the girl cradled in his arms like a child, said, "I'm heading over toward those rocks on the other side of the road.

Bring your bike over there, then come back for mine." Rourke didn't wait for an answer, but started across the concrete, his knees slightly flexed under the added weight of the girl in his arms. As he reached the opposite shoulder he looked down, felt her stirring there. She was moving her lips. "… find Sam Chambers… get to jeep," and she repeated herself, over and over again as Rourke reached the shelter of the rocks with her. The sun low, there was ample shade.

Rourke set her down in the sand as gently as he could. Rubenstein was already coming back with Rourke's Harley. Rourke looked up as Rubenstein ground to a dusty halt. "We've got to normalize her body temperature. Get me the water—she needs it more than we do."

Rourke looked down at the girl's face. He nodded to himself. It was a face he wouldn't forget and he remembered it now but couldn't yet make the connection.