Death is Forever

away the dirt beneath some boulders, leaving them half suspended over air.
    He dove toward the little cave as the chopper tipped and charged like an angry bull. The engine sound was loud, but not loud enough to cover the staccato burst of an automatic weapon. Bullets thumped in the sand and whined off the rocks.
    Cole pressed his back against stone and lifted the shotgun. The sound of its blast was deafening in the enclosed space. He pumped in another shell and fired, pumped and fired, working as fast as he could, not bothering to aim because the chopper was too close to miss.
    The helicopter pulled up and leaped away like a startled bird.
    Cole dug shells from his pocket and fed them into the magazine one after another until it was full once more. He threw the gun to his shoulder and took slack off the trigger.
    “Come closer, you son of a bitch,” he said. “Just a little closer. That’s it…that’s it. Come and get it.”
    The helicopter hovered nervously just out of range, feinting from side to side in sudden darts, trying to draw fire.
    Cole waited with the patience of a predator at a waterhole, leading his cautious adversary as the chopper swept across the front of the rock slide once more.
    The pilot was either overconfident or misjudged the distance. The instant he was within range, the shotgun erupted, spewing round after round of lead shot in a pattern that must have been too close for the pilot’s nerve, for the helicopter jumped upward and kept climbing until it vanished.
    Automatically Cole reloaded until his pocket was empty of shells. The sound of the helicopter thinned until nothing remained but the ringing in his ears. Cautiously he rolled out of the shelter and looked around. Nothing moved between him and the Rover. He knew he should wait quietly for half an hour just in case an assassin had been dropped off, but he doubted Erin’s patience would hold out that long.
    Using the trees for the small shade and cover they offered, he worked his way back up toward her. He found her precisely where he had left her. When she saw him, she jumped up and ran into his arms. For a moment she clung to him fiercely. Then she took a ragged breath and stepped back.
    “Are you all right?” she asked, watching him with luminous green eyes. “I thought I heard shots.”
    “Nobody connected.”
    “Who was it?”
    “I didn’t get close enough to see. But it was the station helicopter.”
    She didn’t ask any more questions as she followed Cole down the baking dry wash to the place where they’d left the Rover. She was relieved to see the vehicle. Its burning interior was better than the unshielded rays of the sun.
    Cole looked at the dark stains spreading out from the Rover. Even though he’d been expecting sabotage, the reality of seeing it was no less grim.
    “Cole?”
    “It’s just what it looks like,” he said roughly. “Radiator fluid.”
    Silently she watched while he checked the Rover’s engine compartment, dashboard, and equipment cupboards.
    “The son of a bitch was thorough,” he said, slamming the Rover’s door. “Not one bit of hose left, and no water to use in any case.”
    “He took our water?”
    “No. He took the food. The water he poured on the ground.”
    She took a harsh breath. “The radio?”
    “Gone. So are the maps.”
    Her breath came out in a rush. She looked away, not wanting to show Cole how frightened she was. “I see. Now what?”
    He looked at the blazing sky and then at the woman whose skin was pale beneath the flush of tropic heat.
    “Drink your fill from the canteen, honey.”
    “Shouldn’t I save it?”
    “You’d be surprised how many people have been found dead with water in their canteens. Dehydration is like hypothermia. It saps your judgment before it kills you. Drink while you can. Thirst will come soon enough.”

39
Kimberley Plateau Afternoon
    Erin looked at the contents of the rucksack Cole had spread out on top of the thin survival blanket. He took the rock hammer off his belt. Without hesitating he set the hammer beside the steel pan, sample bags, and rock samples he’d collected. The thermal bag she carried film in lay nearby. The compass was beside the canteen he’d carried. So were matches, shovel, three boxes of shotgun shells, the shotgun itself, the knife in its wrist sheath, and several large, folded sheets of plastic.
    As she watched, he kept pulling things from the rucksack and sorting them according to their usefulness as basic