“I know Jarman is a close friend,” Howell continued. “And I also happen to know he's done a good deal of big-game hunting, Should come in handy.”
Randi stared at him in alarm. “Hunting?” she exclaimed. “Are you going to hunt Tom? Like — like some wild beast?”
“Of course not.” Despite himself, Howell sounded irritated. “But Paul's experience in tracking down and trapping wild animals may be of value. Don't you see?”
Trafford broke in, his voice reassuring. “You mustn't forget, Randi, that your husband at this moment acts more like an animal than a man.”
“He is not only dangerous to himself,” Howell added, “but to others. Like a wild animal, he may even kill, if he believes himself in danger.”
Randi sat up, her face determined. She brushed a tear from her cheek. “What can I do?” she asked. “I won't be left here. Waiting. Not knowing.”
“As a matter of fact,” Howell said, “Major Trafford already suggested that you accompany us.”
“We don't know the exact state of your husband's mind, you see,” Trafford explained. “It is quite possible that the sight of you — the sound of your voice, perhaps — might break through to him. It's a chance that seems worth taking.”
Randi nodded. “Of course. I'll go.”
Howell looked at her, his face serious. “I've just had a report from Paul,” he said. “Tom is headed for the desert. In the direction of Death Valley.”
Randi looked at him, her eyes shocked.
“But — they lost his trail,” Howell finished.
“The desert…” Randi was deeply troubled. “This time of year. Death Valley… Oh, Jon, the most desolate, the most hostile place he could have chosen.”
“I'm sure he'll never get that far, Randi. We'll find him long before. Death Valley is over eighty miles from where he was last seen.” Howell stood up. “You'd better get your things together,” he said. “We'll take off for the area first thing tomorrow morning. We're using the Ranger Headquarters in Death Valley as our base of operation.” Randi shot him a questioning glance. “There's an airfield there,” he explained. “We can cover the entire terrain between the mountains and the valley.”
Randi stood up. She looked straight at Howell, her eyes haunted. “The desert… Oh, Jon, why the desert? The worst place of all…” She gave a small sob. “He won't have a chance!”
Howell looked away, busying himself with the papers on his desk. He could not bring himself to contradict her. He knew she was right.
Survival in the desert in the heat of Summer could be measured in hours for the hardiest of men.
And Tom had sustained a severe injury.
3
Like a tarnished, titanic devil's mirror shattered into an intricate network of cracks by some giant's blow, the vast expanse of one of the many dry lakes at the edge of Death Valley lay stretched out all around him, its surface of scorched silt and mud baked by a blazing sun into a myriad weirdly shaped fragments.
Tom was trudging across the desolation, his long shadow moving ahead of him, licking the crazy-quilt pattern of parched dirt. He was headed for a range of low mountains in the distance, purple and indistinct in the last rays of daylight. He was nearing the edge of the dry lake, making his way toward a stretch of desert dotted with withered weeds and misshapen Joshua trees. Obviously uneasy at being out in the open, he kept glancing back. But there was nothing to be seen except emptiness.
By the time he had crossed the dry lake and reached the sparsely vegetated desert beyond, at the foot of the mountain range, darkness had fallen. The bright, round disk high above had once again gone away. This time he had watched it disappear into the ground. And once again he had been filled with apprehension. He was exhausted, but his fear drove him on. He came to a small rise in the desert floor and sank down to rest against it. His mind swam with fatigue and pain; he dozed fitfully…
Suddenly he jerked upright with a start — fear instantly awakened in his eyes once again. He strained to listen. From the distance a low, rumbling thunder reached his ears, growing louder with each passing instant. Quickly he scrambled up onto the embankment. He stared into the darkness toward the growing rumble that filled the night. In the distance a bright point of brilliance was rushing toward him. As he watched, it rapidly grew into a round spot of blinding light. In horror, he began to back away from the onrushing blaze. He was terror-stricken. The searing round light from above had come down to chase him! He whirled away from it and began to run from the blinding monster.
The rumble became a clattering roar that drowned out all else. He raced along the embankment as the demon from the sky hurtled down on him, holding him imprisoned in its blazing beam of light. His breath was like sharp stabs in his lungs, his head was racked with pain. He ran…
Ahead of him, the monstrous light pursuing him was reflected in the shiny smoothness of two straight, narrow rails that reached into the darkness as far as he could see, mesmerizing him to race between them.
Suddenly, howling above the thundering rumble, an eerie, piercing blast of a horn shrieked through the night. Tom screamed. The blazing monster was upon him. In stark terror, he tumbled from the rise, eyes wild with fear, mouth split open in a harrowing scream — drowned out as the train thundered past in a crescendo of noise.
Raw panic seized him. He rushed headlong, aimlessly, through the night desert as the roar of the train slowly died in the distance. In the grip of terror, he imagined that the distorted limbs of misshapen Joshua trees that reached and groped for him were the huge, deformed arms of misbegotten demons. He pounded through the darkness, finally to fall in terrified exhaustion; to lie prostrate among the shadowy, warped shapes that loomed over him like ghoulish guards, their grotesquely twisted limbs faintly silhouetted against the dark sky.
He was gulping air, each breath a searing pain in his chest. He was trembling. With a deep-throated sob of ultimate despair he buried his face in the sand.
For a while he lay motionless, the pain slowly leaving him. With a great effort he lifted his tortured head and peered into the gloom around him, his eyes still haunted with abysmal dread. Ahead of him he could make out a jagged, dark shape among the shrubs. He crawled toward it, seeking its protection.
The black, quiet interior of the broken, rusty car wreck promised to be a snug and safe hiding place. Cautiously he peered into the empty iron cave. Carefully he crawled inside. He shrank back to the far corner and, drawing his knees up toward his chin, he settled down, his back against the protective wall.
He had quieted down. Lulled to a sense of security by the steel womb of refuge, he fell into a coma-like sleep.
Only a shadow of pain — or fear? — flitted across his face.
He was two days old.
His ordeal of terror had just begun.
Day Three
1
When he awoke, gray dawn was seeping into his refuge. He was instantly alert. He crept to the opening and cautiously peered out. The blinding light was nowhere to be seen. He stretched. His body was cramped and his muscles ached. He crawled from the wreck and stood up. He looked around. The low mountain range was close, and he started to walk toward it. He was utterly alone…