Wild Wolf

It was a tight fit. Misty held her breath and inched along, promising herself she’d go back if it got too tight. She couldn’t afford to get stuck, and if Graham couldn’t fit, the shelter would be useless to him.

Once more step, and Misty popped through. She stopped, looking around in surprise.

A giant cave opened out from the rocks, lit by sunlight streaming through a hole in the granite wall high above. Reflections danced everywhere, caused by a burbling spring that spread out into a pool at the far end of the cave.

“A nice cool cave with an underground spring,” Misty whispered. “What do you know?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Misty moved forward cautiously. The sound of trickling water made the thirst she was trying not to think about soar to life. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips were aching and cracked. She needed that water.

Misty wasn’t stupid enough to rush to it, scoop it into her hands, and gulp it down. Water in wild places was likely to be contaminated, especially out here, between a city and a nuclear testing site. Misty might be dying for the water, but she’d be foolish to drink it.

The cave, however, was blissfully cool. If she could get Graham this short distance, they could wait for Dougal here.

The cavern was gigantic from what she could see, as though the whole inside of the mountain had been carved out. The cut in the rock high above, letting in light and air, kept the place from being too damp, but the water cooled it. The faint chill felt like the one in her flower room, always pleasant on a hot afternoon.

Her flower room was nothing but smashed glass and petals now, Misty thought in sorrow. But she’d have to deal with her destroyed shop later. First, she needed to get Graham here where he could rest and cool down.

“Hey,” a voice said.

Misty jumped, her hand going to her chest, her heart banging. A man rose from the other side of the pool of water, where he’d been crouching in the shadows. He wasn’t one of Flores’s gang boys, she saw to her relief. He was a hiker—tall, with blond hair messy from perspiration, wind, and dirt, and wearing a T-shirt, canvas shorts, thick socks, and hiking boots. A backpack, one of the huge kind that could hold supplies for a multiday hike, lay on the ground near him.

“You lost?” he asked, peering at Misty. “Want some water?”

Yes, she wanted water. “You didn’t drink from that stream, did you?” Misty’s voice came out a croak.

“Didn’t have to.” The man held up a bottle. “Brought it with me. You sound terrible. You need help?”

“My friend does.” Misty went toward him, stepping carefully, her sandals not made for desert walking. “Some gangbangers shot him.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, jeez. Are they still around?”

“No, they ran off. Leaving us stranded.”

His eyes remained wide. They were dark eyes, a nice contrast with his light-colored hair. The man wasn’t much older than Misty, she realized as she reached him. And in great shape. He was tall and lean, his muscles ropy, his skin tanned a liquid brown.

He handed Misty the bottle and watched while she took a sip. Then a gulp. The water tasted good, silken and smooth, cool from the insulated canteen. Misty kept on drinking until the last droplet flowed into her mouth.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Didn’t mean to drain it.”

“It’s all right. I have more. The water is supposed to be inside you, not the bottle. Did you call for help?”

“Another friend went. We couldn’t get a signal.” Misty looked hopefully at the cell phone on his belt.

He shook his head. “Lost contact about five miles back. Let’s get your friend in here, out of the sun.”

“Thanks.” Misty felt better, first with the water wetting her mouth like sweet nectar; second, because she had someone to help her with Graham. This guy was strong. Everything would be all right.

She handed the canteen back to the hiker, and he gave her another one. “Keep it. You need it, and so will your friend. Show me where he is.”

The hiker followed Misty out through the crack in the rocks. The heat hit her like a wall, the sunshine seeming more intense after the cool relief of the cave.

“This way,” Misty said as the hiker emerged behind her.

The shack was still in sight. Misty picked her way back down the wash, rocks rolling under her feet and those of the hiker behind her. Misty’s soles were burning by the time she reached relatively level ground, her toes bloody from loose rocks.

Graham lay where she’d left him, on his back, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. Misty jogged the last few yards and dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed by the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. The blood had dried around the duct tape, but the flesh looked swollen and angry.

Graham cracked open his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he could barely raise the lids. “You came back.” He sounded surprised, pleased, relieved.

“Like I have anywhere else to go. I found some help. There’s a cave not far away, out of the sun. There was a hiker there, and he gave me some water.”

Graham blinked a few times. He sniffed once, twice, then turned his head and inhaled in Misty’s direction.

“I don’t like the way you smell,” he growled.

“Thanks a lot. You’re pretty rank yourself.”

Graham didn’t smile. “I mean you smell . . . wrong. What hiker?”

“Him.” Misty looked up to point at the thin guy, but he wasn’t there.