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Authors: Richard Matheson
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undone.
Moving on rubbery legs, he circled the car and walked across the sand to where Nelson had disappeared.
He stared down into a shallow arroyo, looking at Nelson’s back, praying that there’d be a sign of movement. There wasn’t any movement though and, underneath the agent’s body, Chris saw blood soaking into more and more dry sand.
“Jesus,” he murmured. A killing now. A
killing
.
He jerked up his head and looked around, expecting to see someone rushing at him to arrest him for the murder of the agent.
I didn’t murder him
, his mind pleaded with the unseen man.
He was trying to kill
me
; it was an accident.
Chris covered his eyes with his left palm. Deeper and deeper, he thought. Dear God. Every minute that passed was driving him deeper into this inexplicable nightmare.
After a while, he drew down his hand and looked at Nelson’s body again. What was he going to do now? Drive away, try to escape? Take Nelson’s body back to Tucson, give himself up to the police?
“
No
,” he muttered. The man had tried to kill him, which meant that the CIA wanted him dead. The thought was chilling. How could he escape the CIA? No matter where he went, they’dfind him. He shuddered, terrified.
Goddamn it, what have I done to deserve this?!
He had to know more.
Bracing himself, he slid down the wall of the shallow arroyo and stopped beside Nelson’s motionless body.
He hesitated; then, pulling in a deep, tremulous breath, squatted down. Placing his hand on the agent’s body, he tried to turn it over. He could scarcely budge it.
Dead weight.
Grimacing, he bent over and reached under Nelson’s body, trying to slide his hand under Nelson’s coat to reach his billfold.
He couldn’t do it; the man’s weight made it impossible. With a faint groan, he straightened up, hissing, teeth bared, as he saw blood on his fingers. “
God
,” he muttered, shuddering.
Just get out of here, he thought. He shook his head. If he did that, he’d be as much in the dark as ever. He simply had to get some answers. Drawing in a quiet breath, he put both hands on the agent’s right shoulder and used all his strength to turn over the inert body.
He jerked back with a wince of sickened dread as he saw that Nelson’s eyes were open, staring. He couldn’t take his gaze off the agent’s eyes. They seemed to be made of glass. The stare of a dead man, he thought, lowering his gaze with a convulsive shiver. Reaching down without looking, he felt under the tweed jacket until his fingers touched the top edge of Nelson’s billfold.
A hollow cry of shock wrenched back his lips as Nelson’s fingers clamped onto his wrist.
Snapping his head up, he saw that Nelson’s eyes were looking at him, that his chest was moving faintly with labored breath. He stared at the agent’s pain-twisted face. He hadn’t seen Nelson reach beneath his coat; he stiffened as the red-haired man raised a .45 and pointed it between his eyes.
I’m dead
, he thought. He closed his eyes abruptly, waiting for the muzzle blast, the blinding pain and darkness.
When they didn’t come, he opened his eyes a little, looking at the agent apprehensively. Nelson was trying to say something. His breath was thin and ragged. “Take me… Tucson,” hewhispered. The grip on Chris’s wrist tightened slowly and the agent pushed the gun so close to Chris’s eyes it made him blink uneasily.
“
Now
,” Nelson ordered in a weak, hoarse voice.
Chris nodded. All right, all right, he thought. Let it be. He couldn’t go on anymore; he was too tired and confused. At least he wasn’t going to be killed. Nelson needed his help now.
“I’ll help you up,” he said.
“
No
,” Nelson muttered. He released Chris’s wrist and waved Chris back with his bloody hand. Chris stood up, wavering, almost falling back against the arroyo wall, then regained his balance. He stood, breathing with effort, as Nelson started to get up. The agent made sounds of agony in his throat as he
Moving on rubbery legs, he circled the car and walked across the sand to where Nelson had disappeared.
He stared down into a shallow arroyo, looking at Nelson’s back, praying that there’d be a sign of movement. There wasn’t any movement though and, underneath the agent’s body, Chris saw blood soaking into more and more dry sand.
“Jesus,” he murmured. A killing now. A
killing
.
He jerked up his head and looked around, expecting to see someone rushing at him to arrest him for the murder of the agent.
I didn’t murder him
, his mind pleaded with the unseen man.
He was trying to kill
me
; it was an accident.
Chris covered his eyes with his left palm. Deeper and deeper, he thought. Dear God. Every minute that passed was driving him deeper into this inexplicable nightmare.
After a while, he drew down his hand and looked at Nelson’s body again. What was he going to do now? Drive away, try to escape? Take Nelson’s body back to Tucson, give himself up to the police?
“
No
,” he muttered. The man had tried to kill him, which meant that the CIA wanted him dead. The thought was chilling. How could he escape the CIA? No matter where he went, they’dfind him. He shuddered, terrified.
Goddamn it, what have I done to deserve this?!
He had to know more.
Bracing himself, he slid down the wall of the shallow arroyo and stopped beside Nelson’s motionless body.
He hesitated; then, pulling in a deep, tremulous breath, squatted down. Placing his hand on the agent’s body, he tried to turn it over. He could scarcely budge it.
Dead weight.
Grimacing, he bent over and reached under Nelson’s body, trying to slide his hand under Nelson’s coat to reach his billfold.
He couldn’t do it; the man’s weight made it impossible. With a faint groan, he straightened up, hissing, teeth bared, as he saw blood on his fingers. “
God
,” he muttered, shuddering.
Just get out of here, he thought. He shook his head. If he did that, he’d be as much in the dark as ever. He simply had to get some answers. Drawing in a quiet breath, he put both hands on the agent’s right shoulder and used all his strength to turn over the inert body.
He jerked back with a wince of sickened dread as he saw that Nelson’s eyes were open, staring. He couldn’t take his gaze off the agent’s eyes. They seemed to be made of glass. The stare of a dead man, he thought, lowering his gaze with a convulsive shiver. Reaching down without looking, he felt under the tweed jacket until his fingers touched the top edge of Nelson’s billfold.
A hollow cry of shock wrenched back his lips as Nelson’s fingers clamped onto his wrist.
Snapping his head up, he saw that Nelson’s eyes were looking at him, that his chest was moving faintly with labored breath. He stared at the agent’s pain-twisted face. He hadn’t seen Nelson reach beneath his coat; he stiffened as the red-haired man raised a .45 and pointed it between his eyes.
I’m dead
, he thought. He closed his eyes abruptly, waiting for the muzzle blast, the blinding pain and darkness.
When they didn’t come, he opened his eyes a little, looking at the agent apprehensively. Nelson was trying to say something. His breath was thin and ragged. “Take me… Tucson,” hewhispered. The grip on Chris’s wrist tightened slowly and the agent pushed the gun so close to Chris’s eyes it made him blink uneasily.
“
Now
,” Nelson ordered in a weak, hoarse voice.
Chris nodded. All right, all right, he thought. Let it be. He couldn’t go on anymore; he was too tired and confused. At least he wasn’t going to be killed. Nelson needed his help now.
“I’ll help you up,” he said.
“
No
,” Nelson muttered. He released Chris’s wrist and waved Chris back with his bloody hand. Chris stood up, wavering, almost falling back against the arroyo wall, then regained his balance. He stood, breathing with effort, as Nelson started to get up. The agent made sounds of agony in his throat as he
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