Free A Wolf in the Desert by Bj James Page A

to follow.
    â€œWe’ll wake them.”
    â€œNothing will wake them, they sleep like the dead. Only the sentries know we’re here. Only they will know we’re coming in.”
    â€œSentries?”
    He shifted on the seat to face her fully. “They’ve been watching. Two of them, beyond hearing, but watching nevertheless. You will always be watched. Guard yourself well when I am not with you.”
    â€œWho will guard me from you?”
    â€œI will. You have had my word on it.”
    He expected a response. Another trenchant evaluation of the worth of his word. But there was only thoughtful, unbroken silence. As the hush deepened he lifted a hand to her, waiting.
    Patience looked past him to the vast expanse beyond him. There was nothing, no light in the darkness, no sign of human inhabitants, no avenue of escape. Yet in the throes of its death, hope demanded one more probing search. One more assurance there was no hope.
    â€œThere’s nothing out there.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t let me go in any case?”
    â€œNo.”
    Something almost like a smile tugged at her lips for a second. “I had to try, one last time.”
    â€œI know.” He would have done the same. He would keep on trying, as he knew she would.
    â€œDammit, Indian! Why did this have to happen to me?”
    â€œThe wrong place, O’Hara,” he answered. “The wrong time.”
    â€œThe right time will come.” She took his hand. Her clasp was steady and strong. “My time. I promise.”
    Indian said no more. With unspoken words of hate and the pledge of vengeance ringing in his ears, he took her down into the netherworld that waited below the rim of the mesa.
    * * *
    It was morning. When Indian had taken her down a pitch of track strewn with potholes and boulders without regard for waking those below, she hadn’t thought she would ever sleep. Yet she had. Dawn broke and the sun was warm on her face before she woke. With waking came instant recall and alarm. Scrambling from a blanket laid by the separate fire he’d made, she looked frantically around, sure there were dangers lurking at every turn. But little differed from the scene that had greeted her in the night.
    By ones and twos, the bikers and their women slept in the comatose throes of alcohol. The fire was cold, gray ash. Clothing littered the ground, discarded where the mood struck. Bottles lay where they were thrown, some intact, some shattered. In the pale light of morning the camp was suspended chaos, waiting to begin again.
    With her face a mask of disgust, Patience listened to the titter of birds foraging for a first meal. Overhead a black hawk, with white-banded tail flashing in the sun, surfed a rising thermal. Life in the canyon continued little changed, as it had for a millenium, as it would for another. The Wolves were a passing intrusion, a blight endured.
    In her unsettled sleep she’d dreamed that when she woke they were gone. But only Indian’s place by their smoldering fire was empty.
    The one constant in her life for hours was gone.
    Her first thought was of escape. Freedom. But escape to where? Where would she go? How? She gauged the face of a cliff rising thirty feet to the top of the mesa. An incline too sheer to climb, the mixed layers of tawny volcanic tuff and blue-black basalt too rough.
    Yet beyond the tawny walls of her prison lay civilization. Close enough that a howling dog could be heard. Close enough that she could reach it. If she could wend her way undetected through the canyon. If she knew which direction to walk.
    If.
    Pushing a hand impatiently through her falling hair, she considered her options. Spinning around, seeking a hidden trail that might be her secret path to freedom, she found herself face-to-face with Indian.
    â€œI wouldn’t if I were you.” Only his lips moved as he spoke in a low voice.
    â€œWhat?” He was so close, Patience could see her reflection