Read Online The League of Night and Fog by David Morrell - Free Book Online
Authors: David Morrell
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the added illumination was sufficient for her to see the worn sandals on the dusty feet of the scabrous legs of a man sprawled against the rear wall. His tattered robe was tugged above his fleshless knees. The hands stretched out against each thigh looked skeletal.
“Dear God.” The echo of the cave amplified her anguished whisper. “Drew,” she said louder.
She rushed to him, tugging him toward the sunlight, shocked by his matted waist-long beard and hair, by his gaunt ravaged face. “Oh, Jesus, Drew.”
Through eyes that were slits, he studied her. His blistered mouth quivered.
She hurried to unhitch the canteen from her belt, twisting its cap off. “Don’t try to talk.”
But he persisted, his voice so weak she could barely hear it. The sound reminded her of a footstep on dry crusted mud. “Ar …” He made a desperate effort to try again. “Ar … lene?” The tone communicated surprise, disbelief. And something else. Something akin to the awe one would feel when having a vision.
“It’s me. I’m here, Drew. I’m real. But stop trying to talk.”
She raised the canteen to his blistered lips, pouring just a few drops of water between them. Like a sponge, his flesh seemed to absorb the water. She gripped his wrist, his pulse so weak she could barely feel it. She ran her hands along his body, startled by how much weight he’d lost.
“You finally got what you wanted,” she said. “You fucked yourself up. If you weren’t so weak”—she poured a few more drops of water between his parched lips—“I’d be furious instead of sorry for you.”
Amazingly his eyes crinkled. They glowed faintly with …
What? Amusement? Love? He inhaled as if to …
“Laugh,” she said, “and I’ll hit you over the head with this canteen.”
But somehow he did have strength to laugh, just a short stubborn “hah,” and of course she did not make good on her threat. She simply poured another few drops of water into his mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to give him more for a while, lest he become sick to his stomach, but reassured because his attempt at a laugh was a life sign. She’d gotten here in time. His spirit hadn’t failed. He was going to be all right.
4
B ut when she let him have another sip of water, she stiffened with doubt. Despite the heat, apprehension chilled her. There wasn’t enough water for both of them to walk out of here.
Her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had to drink. The tepid water tasted bitter. Even so, she swallowed, felt less light-headed, took another sip, then poured a few more drops between Drew’s lips.
Gradually his pulse strengthened. He breathed easier, deeper.
But his voice remained a croak. “Misjudged …” He grinned with embarrassment, like a child who’d been naughty.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Should have drunk sooner …” He coughed. Again she shook her head.
“Should have gone for food sooner … Didn’t realize how weak I was … Couldn’t reach the spring.”
“What
spring?”
His eyes drooped.
“Damn it, Drew, what spring?”
“Outside … down the slope … to the right.”
“How far?”
“A hundred yards … around the curve of the hill … a cluster of rocks.”
She gave him one more sip of water and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She took off her knapsack, left the dark of the cave, and at once felt the hammer force of the blinding sun. Wincing from a pain behind her eyes, she clambered down the dusty slope and followed the curve of the hill.
But after what she judged was a hundred yards, she still hadn’t found a cluster of rocks at the base of the slope. Panic slithered within her. Had Drew been delirious? Had he only imagined there was a spring?
No, there
had
to be a spring. Otherwise how could he have survived here? If she didn’t find it, if Drew didn’t become more lucid before the canteen was emptied, there was every chance both of them would die.
She walked twenty-five yards
“Dear God.” The echo of the cave amplified her anguished whisper. “Drew,” she said louder.
She rushed to him, tugging him toward the sunlight, shocked by his matted waist-long beard and hair, by his gaunt ravaged face. “Oh, Jesus, Drew.”
Through eyes that were slits, he studied her. His blistered mouth quivered.
She hurried to unhitch the canteen from her belt, twisting its cap off. “Don’t try to talk.”
But he persisted, his voice so weak she could barely hear it. The sound reminded her of a footstep on dry crusted mud. “Ar …” He made a desperate effort to try again. “Ar … lene?” The tone communicated surprise, disbelief. And something else. Something akin to the awe one would feel when having a vision.
“It’s me. I’m here, Drew. I’m real. But stop trying to talk.”
She raised the canteen to his blistered lips, pouring just a few drops of water between them. Like a sponge, his flesh seemed to absorb the water. She gripped his wrist, his pulse so weak she could barely feel it. She ran her hands along his body, startled by how much weight he’d lost.
“You finally got what you wanted,” she said. “You fucked yourself up. If you weren’t so weak”—she poured a few more drops of water between his parched lips—“I’d be furious instead of sorry for you.”
Amazingly his eyes crinkled. They glowed faintly with …
What? Amusement? Love? He inhaled as if to …
“Laugh,” she said, “and I’ll hit you over the head with this canteen.”
But somehow he did have strength to laugh, just a short stubborn “hah,” and of course she did not make good on her threat. She simply poured another few drops of water into his mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to give him more for a while, lest he become sick to his stomach, but reassured because his attempt at a laugh was a life sign. She’d gotten here in time. His spirit hadn’t failed. He was going to be all right.
4
B ut when she let him have another sip of water, she stiffened with doubt. Despite the heat, apprehension chilled her. There wasn’t enough water for both of them to walk out of here.
Her swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had to drink. The tepid water tasted bitter. Even so, she swallowed, felt less light-headed, took another sip, then poured a few more drops between Drew’s lips.
Gradually his pulse strengthened. He breathed easier, deeper.
But his voice remained a croak. “Misjudged …” He grinned with embarrassment, like a child who’d been naughty.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Should have drunk sooner …” He coughed. Again she shook her head.
“Should have gone for food sooner … Didn’t realize how weak I was … Couldn’t reach the spring.”
“What
spring?”
His eyes drooped.
“Damn it, Drew, what spring?”
“Outside … down the slope … to the right.”
“How far?”
“A hundred yards … around the curve of the hill … a cluster of rocks.”
She gave him one more sip of water and stood. “I’ll be back.”
She took off her knapsack, left the dark of the cave, and at once felt the hammer force of the blinding sun. Wincing from a pain behind her eyes, she clambered down the dusty slope and followed the curve of the hill.
But after what she judged was a hundred yards, she still hadn’t found a cluster of rocks at the base of the slope. Panic slithered within her. Had Drew been delirious? Had he only imagined there was a spring?
No, there
had
to be a spring. Otherwise how could he have survived here? If she didn’t find it, if Drew didn’t become more lucid before the canteen was emptied, there was every chance both of them would die.
She walked twenty-five yards