Nightrise

well out of his depth when he realized that the current was too strong and he wasn't going to make it. The river had him in its grip and it was carrying him downstream, sweeping him along between banks that rose up ever higher, blocking out the light. Worse still, his clothes were weighing him down, threatening to drag him beneath the surface. Jamie began to panic. He turned around, wondering if he could call out to Matt for help. But Matt was far away by now and the moment he opened his mouth he found himself swallowing water. Desperately, he thrashed around. If he couldn't reach the bank or catch hold of something, he was going to get pulled under. It was crazy. Had he come through so much simply to drown?
    The eagle was still watching him, perched in another tree. Jamie caught one glimpse of it and guessed that what had happened had been quite deliberate. He had been invited into a trap and like a fool he had walked into it. The water — freezing cold —churned and foamed all around him. He went under.
    Gasping, using all his strength, he managed to break through the surface and breathe again. Ahead of him, he saw a cave, a jagged hole in the rock. The water was rushing into it and Jamie was being dragged along too.
    He managed to scream once and then he was sucked into utter blackness. He was pulled under again —
    and this time there would be no coming back up. Water flooded into his nose and mouth. He was spinning round and round. How had he allowed this to happen? He was certain that this was death.
    And then nothing.

    ***
    He opened his eyes.
    He was lying on his side, wrapped in a blanket: He was in the Mojave Desert and it was dusk. There was a small fire in front of him and he could feel a burning pain between his shoulders. Joe Feather was leaning over him. The intake officer was smiling, his face filled with relief.
    He was back.
    TWENTY
    Back to Reno
    "How long have I been here?" Jamie asked.
    "Two nights and two days," Joe Feather replied.

    "And where exactly are we?"
    "We're south of Boulder City. In the mountains. Nobody's going to find us here."
    Jamie made a quick calculation. His time unconscious in this world seemed to equate with his time fighting and surviving in the other. He watched as Joe poked a stick into the campfire, making the sparks leap up. The sun was setting and soon the evening would grow cool, but the fire was really there to boil water, to cook their meal, and to provide them with a little light once the night came. There was no sign of Daniel. He was asleep in the tepee.
    "There are things I need to ask you," Jamie said.
    "Are you well enough to talk?"
    Jamie moved his shoulder blade. The moment he had returned to his own world, the wound had come back. He could feel where the bullet had hit him. He would probably feel it for years to come. But it wasn't hurting too much now.
    "We had to cut you open," Joe said. "We took the bullet out and dressed the wound with willow bark."
    Jamie looked puzzled. "It's traditional. But it also makes sense. Willow bark contains salicylic acid —
    it's a natural painkiller."
    "Who did it, Joe?"
    "Me and a friend."
    Jamie nodded. "Well, thanks…" He certainly wasn't going to complain. He'd seen much worse injuries in the last forty-eight hours.
    "Here." Joe lifted a kettle from the fire and poured boiling water into two tin mugs. Whoever had driven them here had left them with plenty of supplies. Joe had made a rose-colored tea that tasted slightly bitter. "Meg gel tea," he explained. "It purifies your blood. Maybe it'll push some of the toxins out of your wound."
    "Thank you." Jamie took the steaming liquid but he didn't drink. "Are you sure we're safe?"
    'Yes. The authorities won't be looking for you here, and if they are they won't find us. My people are Washoe. We know how to hide."
    'You're Washoe too?"

    'Yes. Like you and your brother."
    'You knew about the Five." Jamie remembered what Joe had said when he came to the isolation cell.
    "Do you know about the Old Ones?"
    Joe fell silent for a moment. "That is not what we call them," he said. "Each tribe has a different name for them. The Navajo call them the Anasazi. That means 'ancient enemy.' We speak of them as the People Eaters. They are the same."
    "How did you know who I was?"
    "I had been waiting for you." Joe sipped his tea, inviting Jamie to do the same. "How do I begin to tell you everything you want to know?" he said. "Perhaps I should ask you how much you know about the