Hot Zone

by Cindy Dees

  Rustam was indomitable. He never wavered, never became fatigued. When she flagged, he offered her a hand and half dragged her up the next slope. But he never stopped.

  In a perfect world, they’d have moved off perpendicular to the path of the Greek patrol ahead and the Persian patrol behind. But the terrain was horrendous as they traversed the face of Mount Oeta. They were lucky to have even one direction of possible travel. For better or worse, they were all making their way inexorably east. Tessa might get to see Thermopylae after all, as all three parties were stuck following the exact same course.

  The shadows lengthened around them. The two patrols were evenly matched and moving at approximately the same speed. Whether each knew of the other’s existence was anyone’s guess, but both groups were advancing at a brisk pace. It was grueling work trying to maintain a reasonably equal distance between the two. But the alternative—being caught by either patrol—was unacceptable.

  With sunset, she hoped the teams would stop or at least slow down. But neither did. Exhausted, Tessa dragged herself up yet another near vertical cliff, blindly placing her hands and feet in the holds Rustam sent her mentally. As long as they stayed within a foot or two of one another, they could send each other their thoughts telepathically. But as the trek dragged on and her fatigue deepened, she had to be practically brushing against him to hear him.

  The moon rose. And then the unthinkable happened. The Greeks in front of them stopped…and the Persians behind them kept on coming. Rustam and she were about to be trapped between the warring parties.

  The two of them looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. They stood on a relatively flat stretch of the narrow trail. The Greeks were less than a hundred yards ahead now, just over the crest of the plateau.

  “The West Gate,” Rustam breathed.

  Her breath hitched. In her study of this period prior to time-jumping, she’d learned that the pass at Thermopylae was a narrow path with three choke points along its length. The Spartans had made their famous stand at the middle one. The West Gate was the first of the three, when approached from the northwest. If Rustam was right, that meant there’d be a vertical rock face climbing to one side of them—yes, there it was, just yonder. And on the other side…

  She gulped. There should be a sheer drop-off to rocks hundreds of feet below.

  As if sensing something amiss, the Persians behind them slowed, easing cautiously up the slope toward this open area.

  Rustam grabbed her hand and sprinted for the only cover along the path, a few knee-high boulders with a little scrub beside them. They dived behind the bushes, plastering themselves against the ground just as the first Persian poked his head up over the north lip of the plateau.

  She watched for the rest of the patrol to join him, but surprisingly, they didn’t materialize.

  And then Rustam stiffened beside her.

  She reached out to touch him. Her fingertips encountered his forearm, but it was enough. The contact and shared auras were all it took. An image flooded her brain that made her blood run cold.

  At least fifty more Persians were closing in behind their advance patrol. Fast.

  Panicked, she cast her mind to the south. Of course. More Greeks were streaming in this direction. Great. This might not be a rock and a hard place but it was just as bad. They were caught between a cliff and a death plunge with two war parties closing in on them. It appeared that she was going to witness the first skirmish in the battle of Thermopylae.

  Tessa felt Rustam’s frantic thoughts sifting through and discarding various options. He, too, understood the seriousness of their predicament.

  The night took on a tense, waiting quality as the two forces massed on either side of that plateau. No creatures disturbed the silence—no chirping insects or nocturnal birds, not even a breeze ruffled the stillness. She and Rustam dared not move. Each faction had lookouts posted just below the ridgelines, and any movement whatsoever would be spotted in a second.

  The fifty soldiers from each side massed, weapons bristling. Tension grew until the air crackled with it.

  If she and Rustam were lucky, this skirmish would happen at the far side of the plateau, and no one would stumble across their hiding place. Ideally, the Greeks and Persians would kill a few of each other’s men, and then retreat to lick their wounds and let their superiors know where the enemy was.

  If they weren’t lucky, Tessa’s mission might end tonight.

  Careful not to touch Rustam as she did it, she fingered her belt pouch and the all-important cuff inside. Worst case, she would use the armband and bug out before she got killed.

  But what about Rustam? If he was touching her when she used the cuff, would he come back to the future, too?

  Problem was, she didn’t know for sure. Would his powers mess up the time jump for both of them?

  She would give anything to save them both, but she knew what his take on her dilemma would be—he would insist that she save herself and not risk killing them both to make a try at saving him. But the idea was a bitter one.

  She hated to abandon Rustam to die alone, and she hated to admit defeat. But she wasn’t stupid enough to die for no reason. If nothing else, she had important information about the current location of the Karanovo stamp fragment that she could relay to the next time traveler who came back here to try to find it.

  Rustam spoke, a bare breath of sound, “Here they come.”

  Her blood ran cold. The two of them were out of time and out of options.

  A mighty roar erupted on their right as the Persians charged. Two ranks of men raced forward, shouting at the top of their lungs. The soldiers held round shields and short, thick swords.

  The Greek reaction was immediate. They came charging over their side of the ridge, yelling their heads off. The din was impressive. The lines crashed into one another, and the clash of steel on steel, the grunts and groans and screams of the wounded, rose to join the battle cries of both sides. At first the combat stayed mostly over by the cliff—well away from the drop-off. But gradually, the Persians wheeled to the right and the outnumbered Greeks were forced left to face them. Tessa and Rustam were now behind the Greek line.

  The Persians gradually began to press forward, forcing the Greeks step by bloody step toward the precipice. The Persians were intending to drive their enemies over the cliff—with Tessa and Rustam among them!

  Rustam’s hand gripped hers. Get ready to retreat. Stay flat on your belly and crawl backward like a centipede. And keep your head down.

  They’ll push us over the edge, too!

  He responded, If we’re lucky, there’s some sort of a ledge or toeholds on the cliff face.

  They hadn’t been particularly lucky so far, however. Several more Greek soldiers went down. Tessa’s military training told her that a critical shift had happened in the balance of the battle. The Persians now held a distinct advantage over the Greeks, and pressed their attack with renewed frenzy.

  Tessa winced at the viciousness of the fighting. This was no Hollywood-choreographed play of swords and shields, politely clanging against one another. Men shoved and kicked and bit and hacked brutally. Soldiers were disemboweled, while others slipped and slid through their comrades’ bloody entrails. The thick, metallic smell of blood filled the air.

  Rustam inched backward beside her. When he tugged on her tunic, she started to crawl backward, too. It was awkward and painful as her forearms and palms scraped across the rocky ground.

  Thankfully, no Greeks were looking back over their shoulders to spot the two strangers sprawled behind them. The Persians, although clearly winning, still seemed fully occupied with their opponents, as well.

  Tessa’s feet abruptly popped out into open air. She stopped crawling at once. She’d almost pushed herself backward off the cliff!

  Turn around and help me search for a way down, Rustam told her mentally.

  A few seconds later, she lay on her belly, staring out into space. Her head spun. The ground was so
far below she couldn’t see it in the dim starlight. Oh, God. Worse, the cliff below slanted inward a good six to eight feet. They were lying on an outcropping of rock, suspended in space. Tessa suddenly felt as if she were trapped in a bad cartoon. This wedge of rock could give way at any second and she would plunge to her not-so-cartoonish death on the rocks below.

  Anything? Rustam asked silently.

  No.

  Slide to your left. Look there.

  But no matter where along the cliff they searched, they could find no way down. They were trapped. Worse, the Greek line was starting to buckle. Any minute now, the Persians were going to overrun the their enemies. It appeared that the invaders did intend to toss the Greeks over the cliff.

  It was not looking good for the home team.

  And then the unthinkable happened. The Greek commander shouted an order to his men that made Tessa’s jaw open in shock.

  He’d just told his men to fling themselves off the cliff rather than be taken by the Persians.

  Appalled, she and Rustam turned to look over their shoulders. Here they came, some twenty soldiers, running grimly straight at them. If the Greeks hadn’t spotted them yet, they soon would. And they would no doubt sweep her and Rustam over the edge with them.

  This was it. They were about to die.

  “It’s been a pleasure knowing you,” she murmured. “Had we met in another place and time, I would have fallen desperately in love with you. As it is, I’ve relished every moment with you. You’re one hell of a man.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “It’s not ove—”

  The Persians, as if sensing the intent of their enemies, roared with glee just then and charged, lest the Greeks change their minds at the last minute and balk.

  Rustam looked down at her.

  Tessa expected despair. Instead, she saw grim determination. He had an idea of some kind. But she couldn’t fathom what he planned to do. Whatever it was, it would have to be soon. The Greeks were close enough to spot the two strangers who had been behind them all this time. As clear as day, she saw the soldiers’ indifference to the fact that she and Rustam were going to be pulled over the cliff with them.

  “Hug me,” Rustam shouted over the cries of the Greeks, who were now calling out greetings and prayers to their favorite gods. “Hang on tight to me!”

  She turned into his chest, reaching blindly for her belt pouch. The Greeks were almost upon them. The precipice loomed no more than a foot away on her left.

  “Give me all your power!” Rustam shouted. “It’s our only chance!”

  Dammit, she really wished he would stop saying that. Her fingers groped for the crystal.

  And then, his arms crushing her against him, Rustam stepped off into space.

  A scream tore from her throat as they plunged into the abyss.

  Thirteen

  Athena Carswell looked up sharply from the desk in her makeshift office as a loud alarm bell rang out in the main lab. The emergency recall.

  She bolted from her desk, scooping up the headband and putting it on her head as she raced for her chair. She sank into it and quickly went through the mental routine to prepare herself for a time jump, while a technician worked frantically at the new computer console.

  “It’s Captain Marconi,” the tech reported tersely. “All systems ready. Go!”

  Athena nodded, already deep in trance. She reached out, seeking urgently with her mind, following the signal of Tessa’s armband. Hang on, girl. Almost there.

  And then a violent burst of energy exploded in front of Athena, both visually and mentally blinding. An indigo flash threw her backward, slamming her back in her armchair and mentally ripping her out of the time stream.

  “What the hell was that?” the tech exclaimed as the console lit up like a Christmas tree in front of him.

  Horrified, Athena reached out again. No. Not another one. She’d lost twelve travelers, but that was before they worked out the bugs in the system. Time travel was safe now, dammit!

  Nothing.

  Tessa’s signal was gone. Whatever that massive energy flux had been—and the professor was dead certain it hadn’t been a random glitch in the time stream—it had snatched her right out from under Athena’s nose, ripping her signal away and tossing it God only knew where or when. For all the world, it looked as if the link between them had been attacked.

  Athena sagged in her chair, drenched in sweat. In the reflection of the newly cleaned and polished time-travel booth, her face looked gray.

  Finally, she roused herself enough to order, “Call Beverly Ashton. We’ve got a problem.”

  The sickening sensation of free fall nearly paralyzed Tessa. But then awareness that she had only a few seconds to activate her cuff spurred her past the horror of what was happening.

  As she and Rustam fell through space, she plunged her hand into the bag. Cool metal met her fingers. She felt for, and found, the smooth, round crystal of quartz. Her fingertip touched it. Pressed.

  Screams erupted above her. The first Greek soldiers had leaped.

  A shout erupted from Rustam’s own throat.

  Without warning, Tessa was ripped from her body and thrown into a blackness so intense and so cold, she couldn’t breathe. It crushed her, immobilizing her in frozen terror.

  What was Athena doing to her? This wasn’t what her first jump, coming to Persia, had been like at all! Pure panic claimed Tessa then and she could form no more thoughts. She struggled desperately to move. To breathe. To catch herself and stop the horrible falling sensation that went on and on and on.

  And then there was nothing. No sound. No light. No taste or smell. No sensation of body or not-body. No passage of time. How long she hung out in this featureless void, she had no idea. She was aware of existing, but had no capacity to form conscious thought beyond I am.

  And then all of a sudden, a painful impact slammed her back into her body. She was assaulted by sensations—hard ground tumbling sharply beneath her. An unpleasant taste of soil in her mouth. Dirt. Sky. Dirt. Sky. She was rolling over and over. She caught momentary flashes a of rock-strewn, sloping terrain in the dark. She began to register the alternating cushion of a big body beneath her, and then its smashing weight as she and another person tumbled together down the hill.

  Conscious thought began to return. Rustam. He was still clutching her against his chest. Were they alive, then? Shock coursed through her. How had they managed that? They’d just fallen off a five-hundred-foot cliff into a boulder-filled gully below.

  Their rolling progress slowed, and she glanced around at the mild slope they lay upon. Where in the heck were they? This wasn’t the terrain at the bottom of that cliff. There were no dead Greek soldiers around her. Had she passed out? Had they survived the fall by some miracle, and had Rustam carried her here?

  As she continued to return to her senses, her awareness of time came back next. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d stepped off that cliff only an instant before. So how had they ended up here? And where were they? Or maybe the pertinent question was when were they?

  Had Athena rescued them from that plunge toward death and sent them to this place instead? Tessa had never heard the professor mention being able to do such a thing. In fact, she seemed to recall Athena commenting longingly that someday she hoped to learn how to do more with the headband than just send people back in time, and then retrieve them again.

  Deeply alarmed, Tessa sat up. Or at least tried to. Powerful arms held her in a viselike grip, preventing her from going anywhere. Sprawled on top of Rustam, she stared down at him now.

  “Are you all right?” he rasped.

  “Yes. You?”

  He was breathing shallowly. Like someone in severe pain or bad respiratory distress. Or both. Even in the scant starlight, he looked deathly pale, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sunken in their sockets. He looked terrible.

  “Let me go. I’m crushing you and you’re obviously hurt,” she ordered sharply.

  His
arms fell away without protest, which was a glaring admission from him that he was in serious trouble. He never obeyed her like that.

  She scrambled off of him and quickly ran her hands over his body, searching for mortal wounds. His limbs were intact. His rib cage was not collapsed. He seemed to be breathing normally, if she discounted the fact that he sounded as if he’d just sprinted a marathon with a bunch of broken ribs.

  She found no bumps on his head, no gashes, nothing to indicate a serious injury there. He had the same minor cuts and scratches that she did from their pell-mell roll down this hill, but that seemed to be the extent of his visible wounds. Why then, did he look like hell? He must have some sort of internal trauma.

  “Tell me where it hurts,” she urged him. She began pressing gently on various parts of his abdomen. He didn’t answer, but neither did he flinch at any of her pokes and prods. A brain injury, maybe?

  Squinting in the dark to see his eyes, she made out his pupils. They were large and black—but then it was really dark out here. They should be fully dilated. She pulled out her fire-starting stones.

  “Look at these.” She struck them together, throwing off a shower of bright sparks. Momentarily, his pupils contracted—quickly and symmetrically. Not a concussion, then. She leaned back on her heels and stared down at him. Then it hit her. She was looking at the wrong thing.

  She gazed at the ground beside him, so that her peripheral vision encompassed him.

  Dear Lord. His aura was practically nonexistent. It was a pale, shell-gray color, and paper-thin, barely clinging to him. Even as she watched, more of it faded, until she could barely make out any energy at all around him.

  She lurched, laying her hands on him urgently. “Take my energy, Rustam. I don’t know how you do that, but it’s yours. Take all you need.”

  She stared down at her own hands in shock. She saw nothing when she looked directly at them, and had to remind herself to turn her gaze away from where her palms lay on his chest. Only a thin layer of lavender clung to her hands. It wasn’t as depleted as Rustam’s aura, but her energy field wasn’t in a whole lot better shape than this.