Sandstorm (Page 111)

And bubbling with water.

The headlamp of the bike illuminated the steaming surface.

As Painter watched, the waters receded, draining away rapidly.

What was revealed held everyone silent.

11:23 A.M.

C ASSANDRA STARED, unblinking, through the windshield of the M4 tractor. A minute ago, they had watched a blue flash of fire shoot skyward. It had come from straight ahead.

In the direction of the ruins.

“What the hell was that?” Kane asked from the driver’s seat.

They had halted the tractor a hundred yards off. To the left, the town flickered with a dozen fires. Directly ahead, the ruins had gone dark again, lost in the storm.

“That was not one of our bloody mortars,” Kane said.

It sure as hell wasn’t. Cassandra glanced to her laptop. The glow of the curator’s transceiver continued to shine, though now it flickered, as if some interference fluttered its signal. What was going on over there?

She attempted to radio the only person who might know. “Eagle One, can you read me?”

She waited for a reply. None came.

Kane shook his head. “Both birds are down.”

“Order another two copters in the air. I want aerial coverage.”

Kane hesitated. Cassandra knew his concern. The storm, while already blowing fiercely, was only beginning to ratchet up. Its full might had yet to strike. And the coastal weather system was rushing up from the south, promising even wilder weather to come as the two systems collided. Outfitted as they were with only six VTOL copter sleds, to send up another pair risked half their remaining aerial force.

But Kane understood the necessity. They dared not conserve their resources. It was all or nothing. He passed Cassandra’s orders over his own radio. Once done, he glanced to her, silently asking her how to proceed.

She nodded ahead. “We’re going in.”

“Should we wait until the birds are in the air?”

“No, we’re armored.” She glanced over her shoulder to the men seated in the back compartment, Kane’s commando team. “And we have enough land support with us. Something’s happening over there. I can smell it.” He nodded, shifted into gear, and kicked the tractor into motion. The lumbering tank ambled toward the ruins.

11:26 A.M.

S AFIA KNELT on one knee and reached a hand over the hole’s lip. She tested the heat with her palm. Winds tugged at her. Sand swirled in sweeps, but not as fiercely. The storm had abated slightly, a momentary pause, as if the explosion had sapped some strength from the gale’s force.

“Careful,” Omaha said behind her.

Safia stared down the hole at her feet. The waters continued to recede. It seemed impossible. As the waters had drained away, a glass ramp revealed itself, spiraling deep. The trilith chamber was gone. All that was left was glass, flowing downward in a corkscrew.

The entrance to Ubar.

Safia lowered her palm toward the ramp’s exterior, slowly, bringing it close to the glass. It still glistened with drops of water, radiant against the black surface, reflecting the bike’s headlight.

She felt no searing burn.

Daring, Safia touched a finger to the black glass. It was still warm, very warm, but it didn’t burn. She placed her palm flat. “It’s solid,” she said. “Still cooling, but the surface is hard.” She rapped on it to demonstrate.

Standing up, she reached a leg out and placed a foot on the ramp. It held her weight. “The waters must have cooled it enough to harden.” Painter stepped toward her. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Coral spoke, still astride her bike. She lowered the radio from her lips. “Commander, all Rahim are now gathered. We can bug out on your word.” Safia turned to the upper rim, but it was lost in darkness. She glanced down the throat of the glass spiral. “This is what we came to find.” “If we don’t leave now, Cassandra will bottle us here.”

Omaha joined them. “Where will we go?”

Painter pointed west. “Into the desert. Use the storm as cover.”

“Are you mad? This blow is just starting. And the worst is yet to come. What about that goddamn megastorm? Out in the open desert?” Omaha shook his head. “I’d rather take my chances with that bitch.” Safia pictured Cassandra, the ice in her manner, the mercilessness in her eyes. Whatever mystery lay below would be Cassandra’s to exploit. She and her employer. Safia couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m going down,” she said, cutting off the argument.

“I’m with you,” Omaha added. “At least it’s out of the storm.”

New gunfire suddenly blasted up at the ridgeline.

Everyone ducked and turned.

“It looks like our decision is being made for us,” Omaha mumbled.

Coral barked into her radio, Painter into his.

Along the rim, lights flared, headlamps. Engines revved. Vehicles began to descend into the sinkhole, racing down.

“What are they doing?” Omaha asked.

Painter shoved aside his radio, his expression grim. “Someone up there spotted the tunnel. One of the women.” The hodja, Safia imagined. With Ubar now open, the Rahim wouldn’t flee. They would defend the site with their lives. Lu’lu was bringing the whole tribe down. A pair of dune buggies even bounced across the tumbled rock slide.

Vehicles closed in on their position.

The sudden eruption of gunfire died away.

Coral explained, holding her radio to her ear, “A hostile scouting party got into a sniping position atop one of the towers. They’ve been dispatched.” Safia heard the respect in the woman’s voice. The Rahim had proven their mettle in this skirmish.

In moments, buggies and bikes, loaded with women, braked in the sand. The first buggy bore familiar faces, crammed together: Kara, Danny, and Clay. Barak followed on a bike.

Kara climbed out, leading the others. The winds were growing fiercer again, snapping scarves, flapping cloak edges. Kara held a pistol in one hand. “We spotted lights coming,” she said, and pointed in the other direction, off to the east. “Lots of them. Trucks, big ones. And at least one helicopter took off. I glimpsed its searchlight for a moment.” Painter clenched a fist. “Cassandra’s making her final move.”

The hodja pushed through the throng. “Ubar is open. It will protect us.” Omaha glanced back to the hole. “All the same, I’ll keep my gun.”

Painter stared east. “We have no choice. Get everyone below. Stick together. Carry as much as you can manage. Guns, ammunition, flashlights.” The hodja nodded to Safia. “You will lead us.”