was on the ball and ready for her. He was standing astride, his sabrette raised ready to strike. And he had that crazed look of expectation and excitement again. "Don't come any closer," he rasped, then closed his eyes and seemed to be fighting for breath. "If you try to touch me this time, I'll kill you! I won't be robbed again....!"
6
Holder stared from his patient to the ECG willing one of them to show a response. Damn it! What was wrong? She'd come back before. Why was now any different? Holder knew without really having to ask: last time Agostini had performed the resuscitation. How come God always seemed to favour arseholes?
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second. Praying, maybe? Wouldn't hurt. Nothing else seemed to be going right for him. He stooped over Karen, brought the paddles in. "Clear!"
7
LaRoche gasped, straightened with a jerk. His back arched. He bucked, effected a spastic pirouette. Then he was jack-knifing, pitching into the scrub. He lay where he had fallen. Face down. Unmoving.
Mireille hesitated briefly, then was advancing on him cautiously. He looked dead. She nudged his boot with her own. What was she afraid of? They were soul-mates, right? A minute ago she would have laughed at the notion. Kneeling, she reached out to place fingers against his neck, feeling for something - she wasn't sure what. There was a slight throbbing like a bug trying to get out. Without knowing why, she took it as a sign that LaRoche was alive.
She tried to turn him over. He was dead weight and just flopped back into the sand. The second time he was almost over when the ground beneath her started to give way. Like subsidence, quicksand. Suddenly, the bottom was dropping out of the world.
She recalled crying out, falling, grabbing a handful of crumbling soil in passing. Then something hit her. Or she hit something and time seemed to stop.
8
It was dark, pitch black. Yet she could see. Weird - like a reverse Void.
Nothing can exist without its opposite.
She could feel something too. No place in particular. Just around, everywhere. An ambient nervous sensation more than anything. Like.... the tingle of an approaching orgasm! She felt warm within it. All-over warm. Inside-warm. And she felt weightless as if she was floating.
She wasn't, though. She was sitting on the ground. Or at least something that supported her weight. Something soft. It seemed to move beneath her, rippling sensually. She giggled. The sound left her mouth, went nowhere, was stunned in mid-flight.
Now she knew how it was to be deaf. Just as well she hadn't lost her other senses. She could see, sort-of. And taste - the flavour of rancid fat. She could also feel more acutely than ever before. Her nerve-endings were alive with sensations, growing hungry for more.
The clothes were a hindrance, so she began to strip, revelled in the excitement as the pungent, humid air found her naked flesh and caressed it. Wow! Was this slick, or what?
Then she seemed to be drifting. Forward, back; within time and without. A neat experience. She was young, and everything was new, untried. Yet her memories were those of countless seasons. The fresh chill of early-morning dew sprinkled her feet as she ran through fields of gold stretching to eternity. There she loved, laughed, belonged. Where or when was a mystery. Her own special place, though. Had been once, perhaps? Or would be one day soon.
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" she whispered. The intangible ambience devoured her voice, sighed in answer to it. "Am I dead, or what?"
"So many questions." Another voice! "So little time."
Thoughts should have been confused under the circumstances, yet were as clear as those halcyon days she knew so well. "LaRoche." No surprise. She'd been expecting him, took his outstretched hands. "Is this why we came to Lonfay - for this moment alone?"
LaRoche crooned softly: "And more. Whatever is meant for us, we will do."
She moved into his arms, pressed herself against him, felt the charge as their bodies moulded together. "Yes," she hissed. "Destiny shouldn't be ignored."
His lips enveloped hers, kissed gently, broke away. "Neither will it be."
The strength of his hands was sliding down her back, over her buttocks. She tensed. He gripped her thighs and lifted her. Curling her legs behind him, she tipped sideways slightly, reached down and felt beneath her to position him. He lowered her gently, gently until she had taken him completely.
Then he began to raise and lower her. She held him close, kissed him, murmured to him. And, needing to be a part of this wonderful act, she rode his hips with her thighs. Each time she tensed, he sighed. Each time she relaxed, he thrust deeper.
Her head was starting to swim. Ecstasy spiralled inside her. She hugged him closer, kissed more passionately, rode him harder. And he thrust deeper. Faster.
Soon they were beyond control. Senses took over, a million years of evolution too strong to resist. Panting, squeezing, moaning, thrusting, crying out. Almost.... almost....
They climaxed in a sudden surge of emotion, held each other tightly, afraid to let go. Not wanting to. Never.
Then they were coming down, the involuntary spasms decreasing in intensity. That magical tingle was fading, but there. She continued to work her muscles around him, caressing him hungrily, hoping that maybe he might....? But that was being greedy, selfish. It was too soon for him. She knew it was because she'd felt the same. When she'd been a man....?
He started to lift her. She clamped herself tight, wouldn't release him. "Just a moment longer. A few more seconds, please." He relaxed. She relaxed. "Thank you," she whispered.
9
They were in a tunnel, or a long narrow cave.
Presumably the ground had swallowed them up and they had fallen into it. It was also logical that if they climbed through the hole in the roof, always assuming they could find both or either, they could continue their journey through the Deadlands. The prospect was uninviting compared to the alternative. When a situation was close to idyllic, why change it?
Mireille was content to proceed at a leisurely pace, exploring their strange new subterranean environment, stopping frequently to satisfy a growing sexual appetite; unaware that LaRoche's needs were slightly more complex.
He kissed her lips gently, drew away from her and smiled. "Haven't you ever wished for adventure? We're a great team, Mireille. Mine is the vision and you have the skills to make it happen."
"Why do we need a vision?" Her eyes had become used to the dim light now and she was able to study his expression. He was a small boy effervescing with excitement. It wasn't easy for her to share his enthusiasm. "Isn't just being together enough for you?"
He became moody, but with intent, probably soliciting for sympathy. "Yes, everything I've ever dreamed of, but...." He hesitated merely for effect, had already decided what came next. "I.... we were sent here for a purpose. We have a duty to follow our destiny."
His thoughts were off somewhere else. She could sense it. Not casually floating
