Chapter 67
ON THE OTHER side of the mountain, an extremely flat and crackled plateau stretched out in front of us for miles. On the far horizon, I could make out a faint dotted line of black-shrouded henchbeasts marching toward the brightly burning sun.
“Um, what’s the sun doing down here?” asked Dana.
“I think it’s Abbadon’s doing,” I suggested.
“How?” said Dana.
“I don’t know. Maybe the same way he magically dissipated my supposedly impenetrable protective dome.”
“True,” said Joe. “The smooth dude always seems to be one step ahead of you, Daniel.”
“Two steps,” Dana corrected. “Maybe three.”
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, you guys. Come on. We need to find his hidey-hole.”
Willy, the best drill sergeant you could hope for, turned to the nineteen military men who were still with us. “Gentlemen, you were awesome climbing that mountain. How do you feel about crossing a desert wasteland?”
“An outstanding idea,” Lieutenant Russell said, working his way out of his harness and climbing gear. “Desert conditions don’t require nearly as much equipment.”
“Hoo-ah!” shouted the rest of the squad as they started shedding their heavy climbing paraphernalia and winter parkas.
“We push on?” Willy asked.
“We push on,” acknowledged Lieutenant Russell.
With Willy and me in the lead, my diminished squad began its long journey across the barren, parched plateau, which was crawling with giant scorpions, rattlesnakes, and poisonous spiders. The ground was riddled with cracks and fissures from baking beneath the withering heat of Abbadon’s underground sun—which, by the way, never budged. Joe pegged the temperature at 110 and holding steady.
After hours of hiking, we noticed that the blazing ball was still holding its high-noon position in the sky. The strike force team members put on their military-issue wraparound shades and fashioned sweatbands out of fabric torn from their uniforms.
Fortunately, I was able to keep everyone’s canteens filled with water just by imagining them full. But all the cool, refreshing water in the world couldn’t stave off the exhaustion brought on by the unrelenting sun.
Eight hours into the desert trek, my lips were as dry and crackled as the ground we were crossing.
You are being tested, Daniel, I heard my father say as he slowly faded into view beside me. This is all part of the game.
You call this a game? I lost six troops back there, and a half dozen more are ready to drop.
That may be true, but this is still the game that’s been played since the beginning of time.
I remembered the games my friends and I used to play. The fun we had jetting around on high-performance motorcycles. Playing with the elephants on Alpar Nok. Our round of extreme horseshoes, right before Abbadon’s henchbeasts slipped through my defensive shield. What I wouldn’t give to go back to Agent Judge’s farm and play round two, only with Mel on my team this time.
My father, of course, could read all my thoughts, including the ones I’d rather keep to myself. He put his steady hand on my shoulder.
There is no turning back now, son. You must finally finish what we were sent here to do.
His words were strong.
His eyes were not.
My father was fading. And fast.