Stones of Fire

84

Edie sat up and hacked, the frigid sea air scouring her lungs.

Damn Cædmon Aisquith.

Her head ached. Her body ached. And, not unexpectedly, her heart ached, Cædmon not having trusted her to pull her weight. So what did he do? He cut her adrift. No warning. No discussion. Just wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Rolling onto all fours, she awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She glanced at her left wrist. No watch. Since the cheapo Timex wasn’t waterproof, she’d left it behind at the hotel.

She wondered how long she’d been out. Hopefully not too long.

With a groan, she bent down and picked up the torch.

‘How considerate,’ she muttered, wishing her AWOL partner had instead left her a bottle of aspirin.

Knowing her anger wouldn’t get her off the strip of beach, Edie tilted her head back and peered up, the cliff like an impregnable fortress wall. One that she intended to ascend. Just a few months ago she’d mastered the rock wall at one of DC’s largest sporting goods stores.

So, I’m good to go.

She searched the rocky shoreline, recalling that Cædmon had said something about a path. Switching on the torch, she followed the footprints that he’d left in the sand, tracking them about forty feet.

Right to the foot of the path.

Afraid the torch might attract attention, she switched it off, securing it to one of the elasticized loops on the waistband of her trousers. Hands free, she carefully began the steep climb up the incised stone steps. She wondered whether Barbary pirates or the Knights of St John had undertaken the task of carving what amounted to a staircase into the cliff. No doubt Cædmon would have been able to pull that particular factoid out of his hat. Had he been there.

Damn him, anyway. The man actually thought that he could take on the doomsday prophet all by himself. MacFarlane would fight him tooth and nail. And his loyal followers would use far deadlier weapons.

That thought spurring her on, Edie glanced behind her, able to see that she was only at the halfway mark. Her breathing noticeably laboured, she struggled to keep on climbing, realizing she was pitifully out of shape.

Finally, sheer willpower taking over, her leg muscles having long since turned to rubber, she reached the summit. There being nothing she could do about the scrape on the palm of her hand, she wiped the blood off on her trouser leg.

She could see that she was standing on a flattopped ridge, a pitiless place that in the light of day probably resembled nothing so much as an asteroid. Only the faint whiff of rosemary indicated that it could actually sustain some sort of vegetation.

In the distance she made out a tall tower. That being the only building in sight, she headed in that direction.

As she got closer to the tower, she saw a large canvas-covered truck parked outside, the kind of vehicle one might see on a military base. Hoping it wasn’t loaded with armed soldiers, she headed towards it. Trying to keep as low as possible, she hunched over, running in a crouch. The way people scurried about in the movies.

She hadn’t gone far when she saw a bear of a man emerge from the tower and head towards the truck.

Boyd Braxton.

Terrified, Edie came to an abrupt halt. Needing a weapon and needing one quick, she snatched a jagged rock from the ground.

Give me strength, God.

The same kind of strength that had enabled Samson to slay a thousand foes with the jawbone of an ass.

Edie glanced at the pathetic stone clutched in her hand.

If only she had the jawbone of an ass.