a lot of choices here. One way we're taking a chance, the other way there's no chance at all."
"I'm not arguing. I just don't like it."
She didn't feel great about it, either. She hoped there wasn't any leakage of the temple's power. Letting that sick yellow glow out would probably hit this part of Turkey like a plague.
"Let's head into town and see what we can get, then,” she said. “I'm ready to take a bath and discard these bloody clothes."
"We should leave the Kalashnikovs here,” Zack reminded her. “I don't think the Turkish Army would be any happier than the Dallas Police seeing someone walking around with a machine gun."
She hoped he couldn't see her flush in the twilight. She'd completely forgotten her weapon and had been ready to leave it strapped on her back.
"Right.” She stripped off the assault rifle and leaned it against her bicycle, careful not to let it come in contact with the temple itself. “Are we ready now? Because this temple is giving me a headache you wouldn't believe."
* * * *
Simak wasn't much, but its coffee shop had a single room for rent, and it served a sort of falafel sandwich that was the best thing Zack had ever eaten.
He had to claim that he and Ivy were married before the coffee shop proprietor agreed to rent them that room—and didn't miss the doubt and lust in the man's eyes as he stared at Ivy. Considering that she was still blood-soaked and filthy from days of wandering through the mountains, Zack could only conclude that they didn't get many blondes in this part of the world.
At least no one would mistake them for soldiers. With his three day beard and Ivy's uncombed short hair, they looked more like hippies in search of the perfect drug deal than they did like members of the world's greatest fighting force. Even the ratty remains of their uniforms, mixed with the few pieces they'd saved from the insurgent gear they'd stolen, added to the stoned-loser look.
After a quick shopping trip garnered them a bar of scratchy soap and some used clothing that smelled clean, they headed for the room they'd rented.
Zack really wanted a shower, but settled for soaking in the diminutive bathtub in the bathroom down the hall.
He had to replace the filthy water three times before he was clean enough to dry off. Then he dressed himself in the rough but clean wool pants and heavy cotton shirt he'd bought and knocked on the door to their room.
"Finished,” he admitted. “The bath is all yours."
"Good. How's our money holding out?"
"I've got a few thousand left. Plus the gold coins."
"Good. If we can buy a truck, we should be able to move more quickly."
"Take your bath and we'll talk about it.” Now that they had a safe hiding place, Zack's military instincts were telling him to lay low, resupply and recuperate, and let the hunt die down. Ivy seemed ready to push ahead, but pushing without a plan and without adequate preparation was asking for failure.
His face must have given his thoughts away because he saw Ivy biting her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. She grabbed the bundle of clothing and her towel and headed down the hall.
Zack considered flopping on the lumpy bed, but the leer from the coffee shop owner kept coming back to him. Instead, he forced himself to his feet, followed Ivy down the hall, and parked himself outside the bathroom door.
Ivy could take care of herself, but there was no lock on that door and Zack figured the police wouldn't be sympathetic if he had to explain why Ivy had murdered their host.
A couple of minutes later, large brown eyes and a mop of dark brown hair peeked up from the steep stairway leading from the coffee shop downstairs. “You are needing something, perhaps?"
It wasn't the proprietor but his teenaged son.
"Everything's under control,” Zack said.
"Ask him about a truck,” Ivy shouted from the other side of the thin bathroom door.
"Right. My uh-wife and I are wondering if anyone in Simak has a truck they're interested
"I'm not arguing. I just don't like it."
She didn't feel great about it, either. She hoped there wasn't any leakage of the temple's power. Letting that sick yellow glow out would probably hit this part of Turkey like a plague.
"Let's head into town and see what we can get, then,” she said. “I'm ready to take a bath and discard these bloody clothes."
"We should leave the Kalashnikovs here,” Zack reminded her. “I don't think the Turkish Army would be any happier than the Dallas Police seeing someone walking around with a machine gun."
She hoped he couldn't see her flush in the twilight. She'd completely forgotten her weapon and had been ready to leave it strapped on her back.
"Right.” She stripped off the assault rifle and leaned it against her bicycle, careful not to let it come in contact with the temple itself. “Are we ready now? Because this temple is giving me a headache you wouldn't believe."
* * * *
Simak wasn't much, but its coffee shop had a single room for rent, and it served a sort of falafel sandwich that was the best thing Zack had ever eaten.
He had to claim that he and Ivy were married before the coffee shop proprietor agreed to rent them that room—and didn't miss the doubt and lust in the man's eyes as he stared at Ivy. Considering that she was still blood-soaked and filthy from days of wandering through the mountains, Zack could only conclude that they didn't get many blondes in this part of the world.
At least no one would mistake them for soldiers. With his three day beard and Ivy's uncombed short hair, they looked more like hippies in search of the perfect drug deal than they did like members of the world's greatest fighting force. Even the ratty remains of their uniforms, mixed with the few pieces they'd saved from the insurgent gear they'd stolen, added to the stoned-loser look.
After a quick shopping trip garnered them a bar of scratchy soap and some used clothing that smelled clean, they headed for the room they'd rented.
Zack really wanted a shower, but settled for soaking in the diminutive bathtub in the bathroom down the hall.
He had to replace the filthy water three times before he was clean enough to dry off. Then he dressed himself in the rough but clean wool pants and heavy cotton shirt he'd bought and knocked on the door to their room.
"Finished,” he admitted. “The bath is all yours."
"Good. How's our money holding out?"
"I've got a few thousand left. Plus the gold coins."
"Good. If we can buy a truck, we should be able to move more quickly."
"Take your bath and we'll talk about it.” Now that they had a safe hiding place, Zack's military instincts were telling him to lay low, resupply and recuperate, and let the hunt die down. Ivy seemed ready to push ahead, but pushing without a plan and without adequate preparation was asking for failure.
His face must have given his thoughts away because he saw Ivy biting her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. She grabbed the bundle of clothing and her towel and headed down the hall.
Zack considered flopping on the lumpy bed, but the leer from the coffee shop owner kept coming back to him. Instead, he forced himself to his feet, followed Ivy down the hall, and parked himself outside the bathroom door.
Ivy could take care of herself, but there was no lock on that door and Zack figured the police wouldn't be sympathetic if he had to explain why Ivy had murdered their host.
A couple of minutes later, large brown eyes and a mop of dark brown hair peeked up from the steep stairway leading from the coffee shop downstairs. “You are needing something, perhaps?"
It wasn't the proprietor but his teenaged son.
"Everything's under control,” Zack said.
"Ask him about a truck,” Ivy shouted from the other side of the thin bathroom door.
"Right. My uh-wife and I are wondering if anyone in Simak has a truck they're interested
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