Foretold

CHAPTER 1

2 pm PST
Saturday, April 7
The Amargosa Desert
Nevada
The fugitive clawed at the hard sunbaked earth, refusing to believe he was digging his own grave.
Over the sound of his labored breathing, he heard the shouts of the hunters as they followed his trail. He dug even more frantically, ignoring the pain of his ripped nails and skin. They don’t know the tracks they’re following are a man’s, he told himself. They’ll think it’s an antelope or a coyote. They’d never believe a human would be way out here. They’re not real Apaches. Not like in the old days. He tore at the earth, forcing his bloody fingers through the gritty soil.
Eons ago, when the Southwest was an inland sea and a Jurassic swamp, this region had been home to countless prehistoric creatures, crustaceans and amphibians, dinosaurs, and flying reptiles. Even after centuries of blazing sun and heat, their fossilized shells and bones could still be found in the rocky earth, the only evidence that rich teeming life had once inhabited this desolate land. But the fugitive had no regard for the history he was destroying. His every sense was focused on the men pursuing him. They were getting closer. He kept digging, clawing the ground furiously, driven by the fear his skeleton could soon join those others, staring soullessly into the glaring sun for the millenniums to come.
Finally, he lay down in the small trench he’d scratched out of the desert dirt and pushed the loose soil of his shoveling over his legs and torso, hiding the outline of his body. With his one free hand he scooped sand over his shoulders and head so that only his nose and mouth were exposed. Then he burrowed his hand deep into the earth beneath him and lay quietly, trying to calm his breathing, afraid the slightest movement would destroy his thin blanket of soil.
Through the ground he heard the hoof beats of the hunters’ desert ponies grow closer. Keep on riding, you bastards. You can’t see me. There’s nothing here.
The sound of hoof beats stopped. The fugitive froze under his cover of dirt. He imagined his pursuers standing in their stirrups, searching the land around them for a moving target. The silence continued. All he could hear was the wind sweeping across the desert and the sound of his heart pounding in his chest.
He screamed in terror as a rough hand suddenly plucked him from his burrow, shedding dirt and pebbles. He struggled helplessly, unable to break the brutal grip ripping him from his refuge and his dream of escape, freedom, and safety. Even through a veil of pain and fear he could see the glint of steel sweeping down toward him.
He screamed again as he felt the sharp knife against his throat.