Tunisia, 1942
The sun was just setting when Max, a soldier in his early twenties, with curly dark hair, made a careful exit from his company’s camp. His regiment had been fighting for weeks in the desert, for control of towns and villages he’d never heard of. But the war against the Nazis and their fascist allies had spread across the globe, and Hitler had interests in places that were far-flung from the fatherland.
Max hadn’t started his deployment in Africa. As an expatriate German, he was more useful as they pushed into his former homeland, where his knowledge of the culture, towns, and so on could come to great benefit.
But since fleeing his country, Max had stayed in contact with his father, a scientist and former professor named Werner. He was just thirteen when their family was torn apart, and he had to say goodbye to him for what he believed was forever. But Werner had left Max a note, hidden within the stitching of his coat. It contained details of where he was going and instructions for how to contact him.
Their correspondences were coded, reading as colleagues from separate universities, and even then it was delivered to an intermediary, a friend of Werner’s, who would then forward it to another, and so on, before eventually reaching him, wherever he might have ended up.
Through rows of tents, Max moved swiftly but quietly as he avoided his fellow soldiers, shouldering a bulky pack containing a long, narrow rope, climbing gear, a rifle, plenty of ammo, a canteen, explosives and other necessities. For good measure, he kept a pistol and a knife on his belt as well.
In recent days he’d attempted to convince his superiors to send a mission to rescue his father and shut down the Nazi site where he was working. But aerial reconnaissance reported the location of little value, with only a few soldiers present and with no strategic value to the greater war effort. It was deemed a low-priority target, and one unremarkable German scientist, whose allegiance was unknown, was not worth the risk of sending in troops. Indeed, if it were worth any attention at all, his senior officers told him, they’d just blast it to pieces with artillery or bombers.
Not the response Max was hoping for and forcing him into a desperate position.
For the time being, however, the site was out of artillery range and not worth the trouble of sending out bombers. But that could quickly change, as the battlefield was always evolving, as was the position of their artillery. Max had to act on his own, and soon, despite the danger it put him. Abandoning your post in the middle of a war never ended well. If he could return with some valuable intelligence, and a cooperative scientist with knowledge of German operations, then maybe he’d be spared the worst.
This time of night, this far from the battle, there wasn’t an abundance of security focused on the direction Max needed to go. It was barren for hundreds of miles, with only the occasional dune or rock outcropping to give any definition to the land.
Clear of the camp, it was a hasty trot through the dark; the night carried an eerie silence, his boots clomping on the hard, dry ground. Holding his compass to guide his way, the bright moon giving him a convenient source of light, Max made it to his first marker, a boulder where he’d hidden a requisitioned motorbike under a brown canvas tarp. He righted the vehicle, wrapped a scarf around his nose and mouth, pulled on a pair of motor goggles and fired up the engine and sped off into the night, headlamp off and optimistic he would drive right into a ditch or over a ledge.
After thirty minutes of barren land, his motorbike leaving a billowing wake of dust, Max saw rising along the horizon a rock formation. His father had described it in one of his letters — roughly two hundred feet wide, half that in height with a flat top, unmistakable in an otherwise desolate stretch of desert. As he came closer, he could see the lights of the Nazi operation on one side of the mesa, and Max steered away from it, coming in from behind the rock formation. He slowed to a stop at the base, pulled down his face-covering and removed his goggles as he stared up at the cliff face with dread. Setting the bike stand, he got off and removed a rope and climbing gear from the back of the motorcycle. He steeled himself and got the climb underway. It was slow and tense up a jagged wall some hundred feet tall.
Resolved that surmounting the mesa would provide him with essential intelligence on the layout of the camp, Max had found a man in his unit with experience in rock climbing. After some convincing, the two put together a makeshift climbing wall in the remains of a bombed-out building. It was apparent to his teacher that Max possessed an overwhelming fear of heights, an atypical quality in most climbers. But Max insisted, became competent in all facets of climbing, other than the heights.
After an exhausting, dangerous climb, Max finally pulled himself over the top and rolled onto the flat, windswept surface, his heart pounding. After a minute of rest, he got back on his feet, entire body aching, and shuffled over to the far edge of the mesa, light from the Nazi camp glowing from below. Looking over, he spied two rows of tents and temporary shelters flanking a wide pathway to the base of the rock formation, where the ground descended to an opening, out of Max’s sight. This was the dig site — an ancient underground structure that was the focus of this camp, and why his father was here.
Elsewhere in the camp were a vehicle bay near the far edge, and two banks of generators puttering away, powering lights and other equipment. Several Nazis marched about, far fewer than at a proper encampment. These men weren’t here for defense, but to hold their prisoners - namely his father and any other laborers or scientists.
A senior officer strode into view from the subterranean site under the mesa, recognizable by his distinct uniform and the subordinates and armed goons keeping pace. Max pulled a pair of binoculars from his bag. It was General Weber. The man responsible for his family’s upheaval. He watched him interact animatedly with someone just out of sight, hidden from view under a canvas shelter. Before the night was done, Max meant to kill Weber. As he viewed the tense conversation, another man hurried out from the dig, shouting. He was in a lab coat, dark skin. Weber turned to him and slapped him with the back of his hand, knocking him to the ground. The General barked a command, and two soldiers hurried over and dragged the man back into the dig site.
“What an asshole.” Max said to himself.
The other person Weber had been yelling at stepped out from under the shelter. It was an older man, graying hair, dressed in green pants and a white button-up shirt. Max inhaled sharply. It was his father, Werner Eberhardt. He hadn’t seen him in person for nearly ten years. From his body language, he could tell he was trying to talk the General down.
His father started walking toward the dig entrance, while Weber continuing to shout. Werner ignored him as he disappeared from view. Max looked back at the angry General. The man pulled a snuffbox from a breast pocket and took a snort. Drug use among Nazis wasn’t uncommon; perhaps it was the only way so many of them could cope with the horrors they committed.
Max scanned the edges of the camp, looking for a point where he could make his way down and sneak inside. There wasn’t much guard activity, as expected. Examining the tents and working out a logical layout for where the barracks, the armory, pantry and so forth would be, Max had a rough idea of how to execute his plan.
Crawling to the left along the mesa edge, beyond the light of the dig site below, Max secured his rope to the stone surface. Using carabiners and gloves, he rappelled down the side of the cliff, racing toward the earth faster than he had practiced, landing with a thud but avoiding injury or attracting attention.
Max moved in closer to the edge of the camp, hiding behind a tent near the mesa, focusing his attention on what he could hear, listening for the slightest hint of a nearby soldier—the shuffle of a foot, the clearing of a throat. At this time of night, most of the men were settled in, either sleeping or going about their leisure quietly. With a man like General Weber in command, you could understand the men wanting to avoid his attention and keeping their activities quiet.
From his position at the back corner of a tent, Max could see the entrance to the underground structure. An archway, ancient and unmarked, was below ground level, with the surrounding area having been excavated out and track laid for the removal of rock and sand. Near the entryway were several generators, their power lines leading inside the tunnel, powering the lights inside.
Setting his bag down, Max sorted through the tools and supplies he’d brought and pulled out a grenade. He moved further up the perimeter of the camp, away from the dig entrance, pocketing the grenade.
Sticking to the shadows, he approached another bank of generators, these must have powered the outer camp. Near the rattling machines, a tent was set up, where Max figured they stored gasoline. And hopefully munitions, weapons and other things that exploded. He sank to the ground and crawled over, lifting the bottom of the fabric. Shelves covered each wall, crates and racks of weapons filling them. Also were two soldiers sitting at a table in the center, playing a game of chess.
He moved into a crouch, checked his surroundings and took out his knife. Sticking his knife just slightly through the fabric, only enough to penetrate, he cut across a few inches and peered through the opening. There was a wooden box blocking his view. He made another cut, higher, checked and could see the box contained a long belt of ammunition for a machine gun. That would come in useful. Max moved over and cut again. More ammo. And then another, finding what he really wanted, grenades. He cut the hole wider, just big enough to pull one through. German grenades were derisively referred to a potato masher by the allies for their shape. Max moved back to the box of machine gun ammo, shoved the head of the grenade through, leaving the handle and detonator cord exposed.
Standing upright again, and taking his own grenade from his pocket, Max moved down to the far edge of the tent. He took a breath, pulled the pin and tossed it to the center of the generators some ten feet away and then hurried back to the exposed potato masher and pulled the detonator cord. Sprinting back to his backpack nearer the dig entrance, the first grenade exploded a second later, sparking a much louder blast from the generators and knocking out the exterior lights of the camp, plunging it into darkness. A split second later another detonation, followed by a cascade of gunfire and more blasts. Screams and shouting filled the formerly quiet night, along with violent spasms of bullets and explosives.
Max grabbed his backpack and ran for the entrance of the dig, the generators powering the lights inside still running. The archway was tall, at least a dozen feet if not more, and twice as wide. All of it was flawless. From what Max had seen of digs, often the excavators had to build support structures to reinforce ancient architecture. That wasn’t the case here. Not far inside crates, wheelbarrows and disorderly stacks of digging tools were cluttered near the entrance.
Max hurried inside. Bright lamps on tall metal stands lit the corridor. Not a hundred feet inside, he came to the beginning of a very wide ramp that descended and circled underneath itself, burrowing deeper into the earth. This place must have accommodated hundreds, maybe thousands of people to warrant such a wide passageway. He ran downward, feeling his ears pop as the pressure changed. The air was growing cold and damp, accompanied by an unpleasant, foul smell. The circuitous ramp went on and on. Minutes passed as Max ran in wide circles. But eventually he reached the bottom, and the passage straightened out to a long hallway. In the distance he could see into a chamber, and at the far end of that, a hub of lights and the distant sound of generators powering them and any other equipment. He continued forward and emerged from the hallway into a colossal chamber. The proportions were beyond what he could even guess at, with the distant walls and the ceiling disappearing beyond the darkness. None of the scattered light fixtures illuminating vast swaths of space could reveal the dimensions.
Directly ahead, what seemed to be nearly a quarter mile away, lamps lit a modest camp situated before the far, unremarkable wall. Max pulled a pair of binoculars from his pack and knelt to steady his view. He could make out two tents, a couple of soldiers, his father, and the other man in the lab coat from before. He put away the field glasses, removed the rifle strapped to his bag, and hustled forward, moving just out of the lighted path. The unpleasant smell was far more intense here. It was like death. Something rotten and wet. He sped closer, the noise of the generators masking his approach. A few hundred feet closer, he stepped in something. It was soft, wet, and seemed to retract in reaction. He looked down, but darkness hid whatever it might have been. A rat or snake would have made a cry or hiss and acted out aggressively. Max held up his boot to the light and saw what looked like blood dripping from it, but thicker. He lowered his foot again, and held there for a moment, staring into the pitch black. He waited for something, anything, to respond. A sound, a movement, but nothing happened. The darkness only grew bleaker. A chill came over him and Max hurried on faster.
As he approached the camp, moving further into the darkness, he could see a series of tables with various scientific apparatus and equipment. He spotted the two Nazis smoking, sitting on creaky wooden chairs, talking, their weapons hanging loose at their sides.
He moved into the light, aimed his rifle and fired in quick succession at the unaware soldiers, killing them before they could react. The sound of gunfire bellowed through the chamber. Another soldier scrambled out of one of the tents, wearing only pants and an undershirt, confused and alarmed. Max gunned him down and lowered his weapon, letting it hang from the strap at his side. He looked to his left, at his stunned father, who, along with the man in the lab coat, had held up their hands in preemptive surrender.
He walked to his father, smiled, and said in German, “Hello father.”
Max saw the slow realization on Werner’s face as he recognized his now-grown son. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he ran to him and embraced him tightly.
“Oh, my boy! My boy!” he cried with relief, happiness, and anguish.
Max squeezed his father, a feeling he’d been without for far too long.
Werner took a breath and held his boy at arm’s length, looking him over. “You’ve grown! You’re a man now.” He cried harder and hugged him again. “I can’t believe it. You’re real. You’re here!”
Max cried as well, cheeks streaked with tears. He didn’t know what to say. Their communication over the years was in such stilted code. But now they could talk in earnest, speak like a real father and son again, and yet he was at a loss for words.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
His father held his gaze, his face with a smile his son had never seen before. Max realized then that he could never fathom what his father had been through.
Werner shook his head, resisting the beckoning urge to linger in this occasion. “Come on, we’ve no time to lose.” He dashed back toward the tables. Switching to English, he said, “This is Ravi, my colleague. He speaks very poor German, but we get by in English.”
The man, Indian, mid-twenties, nodded to Max. “Hello.”
Max walked over to him and shook his hand. “I hope my father hasn’t been too much of a bore for you.”
Ravi awkwardly laughed. He felt out of place at this remarkable reunion.
“Ravi is brilliant,” Werner said as he sorted through papers and notebooks on a table. “Though he needs someone to keep him focused.”
“We can’t all be as single-minded as the typical German,” the man joked in return.
Werner shook his head. “Point taken.”
Max looked at the wall where they had set up their camp. It was smooth and completely unmarked, with no sign of age or wear. The light washed over it, highlighting how perfectly straight and unblemished it was. Max walked over and laid a hand on it. It was colder than the rest of the room.
“What is this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Ravi responded, standing beside him. “I’ve spent my life in geology. But this defies anything ever recorded. It’s not naturally formed, obviously, but it’s flat to a precision beyond what we can calculate. We don’t know how big it is exactly, or what its overall shape is. It’s not very cooperative with many of our instruments. We have no idea what it is made of how it was made. It could be solid; it could be a millimeter thin. We don’t know anything beyond this,” he put his hand, fingers spread wide, on the surface. “It’s just magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Incredible,” Max said. “But you haven’t seen it all? You don’t know if there’s an entrance?”
“That’s correct,” Ravi said.
“Come on, we haven’t time to chat,” Werner interrupted, packing folders of papers into a backpack. Max followed his father as he hurried to the tent opposite where the dead Nazi had emerged. Inside were a set of two lockers, a bookshelf, and two uncomfortable canvas cots. Werner pulled a box out from under one of them and opened it. Inside were sticks of dynamite, wrapped into three bundles with dials and wires. “We each take one.” He handed one to Max. “The timer is set for ten minutes. Leave it at the entrance to the chamber.” Behind his son, Ravi arrived and was handed another set of explosives. “Five-minute timer. Halfway up the ramp,” Werner instructed him. “And mine, we’ll set off at the entrance.” He took a breath. “Assuming we get that far.”
Max took a deep breath. All this time apart, only to be put at risk immediately. “Ready?” he asked.
Gunfire answered from the far entrance. Ravi and Max dove inside the tent. Max pushed over the lockers, providing bulletproof cover. Bullets tore through the tent and shattered on the surrounding ground. Max pulled his binoculars from his bag and crawled over, peeking out of the tent as the rounds continued to whizz by, impacting on the stone floor, kicking up dust. Behind him, Max heard sharp pings. He glanced back and saw it was the gunshots hitting the wall, with no reaction from the surface, bullets ricocheting away. Turning back, he looked through the binoculars and counted five soldiers advancing.
Max dipped back inside. “Just stay down. We’re out of range.” Moving into a squat, he pulled his knife from his belt and slit a small vertical slice in the tent in front of him, sheathed the knife again and then aimed the barrel of his gun through the opening, the fabric pulling just wide enough to see through. He waited, the incoming fire getting closer, honing in on them inside the tent.
One round hit the locker barrier with a bang that startled Ravi. “What’s the plan? Is there a plan?!” he questioned urgently.
“Yeah,” Max responded coolly. “There’s a plan,” he said as much to himself.
Using the locker for support, Max aimed at the closest soldier, now some hundred feet away, and pulled the trigger, firing a brief burst. He hit the soldier; the man crying out and reeling to one side. He didn’t fall but limped off into the darkness, looking for refuge out of sight. Max aimed at another soldier, and started to squeeze the trigger, but a hideous cry suddenly cut through the chamber. Everyone, including the advancing Nazis, froze.
One of them pulled a flashlight from his belt and aimed the beam into the blackness where the injured soldier retreated too. He called out the man’s name. Walking forward, the three other soldiers accompanying him held their position in confusion, their concentration split between their target and the darkness.
Two of the men started arguing. Max could hear mention of a curse and a monster. The other shouted he was a gullible idiot and then opened fire again on the tent. Max aimed carefully and fired a burst at the attacking soldier, his shots impacting into his chest, red mist spraying into the air and dropping him to the ground, leaving him gasping and gurgling as blood pooled around him.
The long line of lamps from the chamber entrance to the wall flickered, the generators near the tent choking and then halting. Darkness enveloped everyone, save for the beam of light from the one Nazi’s flashlight amidst the black void. The soldiers were scouting, panic overwhelming them. Max fired again and hit the holder of the flashlight, sending the light spiraling to the ground. More screams. Then the generators surged to life again, the lamps glowing continually brighter, flooding the entire chamber with light. Max could see the horrified looks on the soldier’s faces as they stared at something out of Max’s limited view through the slice in the tent. They ran to the entrance, howling in terror. The lights and generators exploded, and the Hall was plunged back into pitch black.
“Jesus Christ,” Max swore, “we need to go right now.” He felt around for his bag and reached inside, finding his flashlight. He flicked it on and illuminated the tent interior.
“What the hell happened?” Werner asked as he opened the door of the locker they’d been hiding behind and retrieved two flashlights, handing one to Ravi.
“I’m not sure. But there’s something in here,” Max responded as he shouldered his rifle and picked up his bundle of dynamite.
“Of course there is,” his father responded as he pulled on the straps of his pack, Ravi grabbing his own prepared duffle from beside his bed
“What?” Max responded.
“That smell,” Werner said, as the three men rushed from the tent, flashlight beams guiding their way. “That’s the organism I was sent here to study. It’s all over this chamber.”
“What the hell is it?” Max asked.
Werner shook his head. “An amorphous mass of biological material. I’ll spare you science, but it’s incredibly dangerous. It’s frighteningly adaptable. The potential to create disease, viruses, bacteria that could wipe out millions in days. It must be destroyed.”
They approached the point where Max had shot several Nazis before their retreat, the discarded flashlight marking the location. But there was no sign of the bodies, nor blood. Max slowed to a stop. “Where are they?”
Werner and Ravi, several paces ahead, turned to him.
“Sorry?” Ravi asked.
“I shot at least two of them here. One was dying. Bleeding out on the ground. There’s no body,” he searched the stone floor. “Not even blood.” He looked at his father. “This life form…”
“No, it’s like a fungus, but of tissue. Organs without a body. It doesn’t move, doesn’t have intelligence.” Werner shook his head. “We don’t have time for this,” he demanded. “Let’s go!”
Max lingered as Ravi and his father set off again. He shook his head and quickly caught up with the other two as they reached the entrance to the chamber. The lights further inside the entry hallway and going up the wide ramp had also been destroyed by the electrical surge.
Max knelt on the stone floor and set down the dynamite and flashlight. He armed the explosive. His father stared back into the chamber, pointing his beam of light into the darkness. Feeling a mix of regret and relief. He was free of his prison but also of his greatest discovery. And he had to bury it. Hide it forever.
“All set. Let’s go.” Max announced, shouldering his pack again.
The three men ran down the hall toward the spiral ramp. They could hear shouts from above echoing down through the darkness.
Max took the lead, reloading his rifle and sticking close to the center wall, his father and Ravi a few feet behind him, the beam of his light pointed low as not to give away their approach. As they circled upward, soldiers marched down, giving themselves away with their disorganized fervor. Max used short bursts of fire to take them out, preserving bullets and making quick work of the enemy’s haphazard assault. The chaos above and the terrified retreating soldiers had no doubt left the camp in a state of confusion.
Some ways up the ramp, Werner halted. “Here, Ravi.” he instructed, and his assistant set his pack of dynamite to the ground, Werner helping the nervous man.
Max continued upward, fleet-footed, catching a few more Nazis off guard as they ran headlong into darkness and danger. He could hear arguments above, talk of monsters in the dark eating their comrades.
As Werner and Ravi armed the dynamite, a warm gust of air rushed up the ramp, engulfing them and moving past. On the periphery of their vision, something had moved past. The two men exchanged silent looks, and Werner shook his head. “Come on, no time to be frightened.”
Reaching the top of the spiral ramp, Max emerged well ahead of his father into the straight passageway leading outside. Immediately he came under fire from a firing line at the archway entrance. Bright lamps set to blind them, powered by generators used to illuminate the passage down. Max dove for cover behind a wooden crate of supplies. He heard shouting ahead and the gunfire stopped.
As Werner and Ravi emerged up the ramp, they hurried over to Max’s position and a German voice called out, “This is General Weber. You have no hope of escape. We will take Werner back into custody, kill his assistant and you.”
“They’re not giving us much to negotiate with,” Max said with shrug.
“He’s an asshole,” Werner said. “He knows I’m more valuable to command than he is, and that pisses him off.”
“Oh. Good.” Max leaned out and sprayed a round of bullets at the line of lamps and flashlights pointed in their direction. Fire immediately returned, and shouting followed as the General angrily commanded his men to stop.
“How much time do we have left?” Ravi asked.
Max looked at his watch. “Let’s see…”
There was a rumble beneath them, a cracking of the earth followed by a booming wave of air gushing up the ramp as the surrounding tunnel shook, dust filling the air.
Max coughed, “Any moment now.”
“What have you done?!” General Weber screamed. “Men, advance!” Weber charged forward, his soldiers, nearly a dozen of them, following his lead, opening fire. Max pulled a grenade from his pack as the crate they were hiding behind disintegrated under gunfire. He pulled the pin and tossed it toward the soldiers and followed by another, his last one. He heard shouts, an explosion, more gunfire and then another explosion. Max leaned out again, aimed his rifle, the air filled with smoke and dust, and he opened fire. Below them, another explosion went off, much louder this time, the passageway shaking much harder this time and the walls around them splintering, and then more eruptions, the ground unstable as the structure beneath them began to crumble. The corridor was plunged into shadows, and a gust of hot air blew past them. Max fired toward the advancing Nazis, crying out as adrenaline filled him.
“Dad! Ravi! It’s time!” he shouted, getting to his feet, holding his flashlight under the barrel of his gun as he unloaded his gun into the dark.
Werner, his light tucked under one arm, set his bundle of dynamite and timer. “Let’s go!” he shouted over the chaos.
Screams and cries of Nazis filled the passage, muzzle flashes sparking brief light as confusion reigned and terror swept over the men. Max ran forward, Ravi and Werner right behind him. As Max fired and moved forward relentlessly, he realized something else was happening in the darkness, more than the chaos they had caused, the same as he’d witnessed in the chamber below. He ran harder. “Run! Run!”
Then, he heard a cry. He recognized it. It was his father. The chaos went silent.
“Max,” Werner said and then coughed. Max turned, shining his light on his father, seeing him hold his bloody chest. They looked at each other, and Werner slumped to the floor. He gestured to Ravi. “Take my bag.”
“What?” Max said in disbelief, kneeling before him. “No, come on, Dad!”
Ravi did as he was told, pulling the bag from Werner’s shoulders, understanding he was about to die.
“No! No, stop! I came here for you! Not this!” Max shouted.
“I’m sorry,” Werner said and fell forward into his son’s arms, their flashlights falling to the ground, darkness overtaking them.
There was a warm rush of air, and just as quickly he felt his arms were empty. “What? Dad! Dad!” he screamed.
“Max! We’ve got to go!” Ravi shouted at him, grabbing his arm. “The dynamite! It’s going to blow!” He pulled him to his feet. Max reluctantly turned and ran. The two men raced out of the passageway, through the archway and out into the open. Seconds later, another, final explosion ripped through the desert, the mesa itself gradually collapsed in on itself, filling in the void beneath it. An enormous wave of sand blasted outward. The two men ran as sand enveloped them. They reached the far end of the camp before slowing, exhausted. Ravi fell to the ground. Max stood, waiting for the sand to clear, the rumbling continued as the earth collapsed in on itself.
Looking at the destruction, he clenched his fists in frustration and anger. He’d come so far and left with so little. His moment of reflection was short-lived, a bullet tearing through his left thigh, sending him sprawling to the ground as he cried out in pain. Ravi rushed to him on the ground, found the wound and applied pressure.
“You disgusting half-breed,” came an angry German voice. Out of the haze of swirling sand, General Weber emerged, holding his Luger. “You’re Werner’s son. He married a Jew whore.” He sneered at Max. Ravi glared at the general on the opposite side of Max’s body, his hands tight on his bleeding thigh.
The General continued, “Your father was a true example of the Aryan ideal - brilliant, strong, committed. But that pitiful weakness for the lesser races. The slaves. You are his shame. The shame of an entire people.” He aimed his gun at Max’s head. A gust of sandy, hot air behind the General distracted him momentarily, and Ravi pulled free Max’s pistol from his belt, aimed and fired, the bullet tearing through the General’s right eye. He screamed in agony and stumbled, clutching his face. Another roar of the earth followed, and the sand plume grew and enveloped the General. Ravi and Max could hear his screams, his gun firing wildly for several seconds before suddenly halting.
“Thanks.” Max said with a grunt, his new companion ripping off a length of his lab coat and tying it around his bleeding thigh. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Ravi pulled Max to his feet, supporting him on one shoulder, Werner’s bag hanging from the other. “I’m sorry about your father. He was very kind to me.”
“Thanks,” Max answered, a lump in his throat.
The pair straggled off toward the motor pool through the haze of sand kicked up by the destruction. Eventually the desert would settle again and a dark, quiet solitude would return.
