Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure by Allan Richard Shickman Page B

few sickly trees that clung to it provided the materials for a basic lean-to shelter.
    The thought of advancing further into the harsh, dry land was hateful to him. He needed rest badly and considered traveling by night when it would be cooler. Building a fire was unusually easy because everything was so dry, and Zan was glad he had done so when he felt how cold the desert was at night. He thought of the heavy lion skin he had left with Chul, and he wished that he had it. It was soon time to go, but he could hardly see a thing, so he waited for dawn. Waited….
    When Zan awoke the day was well advanced. He looked for his puddle of water but it had dried in the sun. However, the river bed was still a little soft and taking his spear, he poked it into the ground where the water had been. The hole filled, and with a little more digging, Zan had a supply of filthy, brackish water. It would not last, and as things were going, neither would he! Who knew how far he had to go? Nor was he sure that he was even moving in the right direction. Zan decided not to wait for evening. At some distance he saw a high buildup of rocky layers that would be worth climbing if only his strength held out. From its top he could survey the area and see where he wanted to go.
    Zan did not reach the hillock until afternoon. He paused for a while to rest, and became aware that two coyotes were following him. Zan would not have paid much attention to one animal, but two worried him. He took his sling from his waist and gathered some rocks. Zan had managed to keep the sling for a whole year without once using it. It was time to try it out. Pelting the animals with stones, but missing his targets again and again, he began to get the feel of the weapon once more, and finally succeeded in driving them off with pained yelps. But Zan sensed that his strength was failing him. He still had a steep climb ahead, and pressed on until he achieved the summit exhausted. His whole body, and especially his hands and feet ached and stung. He lay flat on his back and looked at the blanched sky while he caught his breath.
    At length Zan rose and looked around in a wide circle. The hills lay behind him, the declining sun still glowing on their granite tops. Before him lay the same field of stone, sand, and cactus for as far as the eye could see. But at the very limit of his vision he noticed a gleaming silver surface that could only be a lake reflecting the white-hot sky. And the lake beckoned to him.
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    Zan was dying. A week had passed during which he had walked both day and night. He no longer had the energy to hunt nor even to build a fire. He had used up his store of water, and the relief of morning dew or cactus juice simply was not enough. Jackrabbits sometimes appeared with their large, fanlike ears, but Zan was no longer able to hunt them. He remembered the weak andstarving Hru and realized that he was in their situation, only worse! They at least had water. He tried to ignore the miserable emptiness of his stomach but he could not ignore his thirst. If he managed to catch a lizard he ate it as it was, needing its moisture more than its nourishment. To cook it (had he the strength left to build a fire) would only have dried it out. He found some small eggs that would keep him alive for another day, and ate them ravenously, shells and all.
    Zan began to stagger and to fall, so that his knees were scraped. And were black vulture wings soaring over his head? The blazing, relentless sun smote sorely on him, while the hot and ceaseless wind provided no relief at all. Heat-tortured, aching, and thirstier than he ever had been in his life, only one thing kept him going—the vision of the lake as he had seen it from the high rock, gleaming silver on the farthest horizon. Zan thought of its wetness all day and dreamed of it whenever he slept, waking with his head throbbing and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Only the lake, only the lake could save