When Lightning Strikes

Blood. It splashed across her eyes, dripped down her cheeks. She felt its slimy downward movement on her skin, tasted its metallic bitterness.

She clawed at her face, screaming, trying to get rid of it, but the more she touched her face, the bloodier her hands grew. Wildly she looked down at her body, trying to see her wound. She got a fleeting glimpse of blue fabric darkened by blood.

Killian was beside her, and for the first time his face was crystal-clear in her mind. She was afraid for him, desperately frightened, though she didn't know why.

Killiannnn . . .

He dissolved into the night and the blood vanished.

Gasping, fighting for air, she sat up. In the distance, shimmering and uncertain, she saw two bodies intertwined. Sounds came at her hard. She heard a woman's crying, the roaring echo of thunder, hammering rain, gunfire. The noises fused into one throbbing din and battered her ears, deafened her.

She clamped her hands over her ears and suddenly there was silence, utter, breathless silence. Her vision zoomed across the desert, focused on the people in the distance. Lightning electrified the sky, illuminated their faces and the jagged, broken rock behind them. A huge, fiery red sun hung inches above a black plain of earth. An ornate silver cross hung suspended in the air, its shadow cast across a huge rock wall. Then the cross

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shimmered, moved, tumbled end over end across the sky, and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Alaina. Killian. Blood. Tears. Sunset.

The lightning struck again. And Alaina was gone.

Shuddering, Viloula squeezed her eyes shut. "More," she cried out, her voice scratchy and weak. It couldn't be over. Whose blood had she seen? Whose death? "More ..."

But the images began to slide into one another. They blurred, started to fade. Panic squeezed her throat, made her gasp for breath and claw for answers. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus, no ... It couldn't end yet, not yet. She didn't know enough. Whose blood had she seen, whose tears? What was happening?

Weak, dizzy, she fell backward, into a darkness so deep and black and thick, there was no escape. It closed around her, seeped into her nose and mouth until she couldn't breathe, clogged her ears until she couldn't hear, and weighted her arms and legs.

With a last, shuddering breath, she melted into the nothingness.

Lainie paced from one end of Vi's little cabin to the other, gnawing hard on her thumbnail.

"Will you please stop that? You're giving me a headache." Killian leaned forward in his chair and covered his face in his hands. A deep, heavy sigh slipped through his fingers. "She's been asleep too long."

Lainie started chewing on her thumbnail again. Panic was close, clawing at her. She fought it, tried to concentrate on remaining calm, but couldn't. She felt so damned helpless and afraid. She and Killian had been in this room for hours, waiting for Viloula to wake up. Whatever sparks had connected them before were gone

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now, lay frayed and forgotten in the silence between them.

He turned to her, and in the dim lamplight, she saw the network of lines that pulled at his mouth and eyes. He looked drained and exhausted .. . and afraid.

Lainie brought her cold hands together, twisted her fingers into a tense ball. "She shouldn't have taken it. Not even to help me get home."

Home. The word and all that it meant slammed into her. How many days did she have to get home? How long before Kelly returned to an empty house and the government stepped in to "help out"?

Don't think about it. Not now, not yet.

She released her breath slowly, concentrating on regaining her composure, or at least the illusion of it.

"Oh, God ... I have to get home."

Killian threw her a dark, accusatory look.

She went to perch on the chair beside his. Leaning toward him, she tried to make him understand. "I know you think all of this is nothing, but it's not. It's life or death, and Viloula knew it."

"Yeah. Only it's your life and her death. Did she know that?"

Lainie felt as if he'd hit her. With a trembling breath, she sagged back in the chair. Bowing her head, she stared at the hands folded in her lap until tears turned them into a pale smear against her red sweater.