Escape Out of Darkness by Anne Stuart Page A

outdated but still fascinating. When she ran out of stories he told her of life on the road with a rock ’n’ roll band in the sixties and seventies, of the psychedelic and sexual excesses that sounded amusing now that it was all over.
    When she grew sleepy he tickled her, when she grew snappish he made her laugh. And when she thought she couldn’t hold onany longer, when the sun was beginning to sink ahead of them, he gave her hope.
    “I hope you’ve noticed which way the sun is moving,” he said.
    “The sun isn’t moving, the earth is,” she mumbled.
    “Now isn’t the time to be a pedant, Maggie. It’s setting directly in front of us. Which is the west, unless life has changed dramatically in the last four hours. Which means we’re moving in the right direction.”
    “But for how long?” She knew her voice sounded querulous, but she couldn’t help it.
    “Not too much longer now, I would think. Unless there are palm trees growing in the ocean.”
    “What?” she shrieked, and let go of the wing. The ocean was cold and black as it closed over her head, and she shot back up, sputtering and clawing for the wing.
    Mack’s hand caught her wrist and yanked her up. “No need to get so excited, Maggie. I told you we’d make it. There are palm trees over there.”
    Not only could they see palm trees through the twilight, they could see land, and a beach, and tangled underbrush. And before long the blessed, unbelievable feel of sand beneath their feet rushed up to meet them.
    With a cry of gladness, Maggie abandoned the wing, staggering in to shore and collapsing on the beach. Mack was beside her, the knapsack looped around his wrist, and together they lay there on the beach, panting in exhaustion and relief.
    It was an odd feeling, she thought, lying on her back and looking at the darkening sky, to come so close to death and then leap back. When they were hurtling toward the sea she’d had no time to panic, during the long hours clinging to that icy piece of flotsam she’d been too busy trying to convince both Mack and herself that she wasn’t afraid to die. And the memory of Lonesome Fred, somewhere beneath the Caribbean Sea, feeding fishes, while they were safe and whole, came back to haunther. She lay there in the gathering dusk and shivered, safe in the knowledge that Mack couldn’t see her reaction.
    When she finally accustomed herself to the feel of solid ground beneath her, she rolled over in the sand, coating her soaking jumpsuit in a layer of the gritty stuff, and stared at Mack. He was lying on his back, his breath coming easily enough, staring up at the twilight sky.
    “How long do you think we were in the water?” she asked, and was relieved to discover her voice was calm and steady.
    He stopped looking at the sky long enough to turn to her. “I don’t know, Maggie. All I know is it’s getting dark, and we’re going to have to get moving before long if we want shelter for the night.”
    “Maybe there’s a village nearby? Maybe even a town, with a Holiday Inn and a comfortable bed …”
    “Dream on, Maggie. I think we’re going to be spending the night on the beach. And if I don’t do something about it right now, we’ll be spending the night in the dark.” He pulled himself upright, and Maggie could see the weariness in his big, strong body.
    Reluctantly, she followed suit, staggering slightly as she tried to stand on the motionless sand. “I’ll find some kindling.”
    “I don’t suppose moonlight will do?” He asked it gently enough, but a chill ran across her.
    “I’ll take care of the fire. Why don’t you see if there’s something to eat? A banana tree or something.”
    “I bet we’ll have to make do with salty chocolate bars and Jack Daniel’s, if they’re still in the knapsack. Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll keep a light going.” His concern was soft and gentle in his raspy voice, and Maggie wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. A fire might draw unwanted