"Perhaps it's someone with an economic interest." She wiped her lips with the
back of her hand.
He stared at her for a moment. "Quite possibly. But that's the least of my worries right now. Let's go make a shape."
They laid out anything they could find in the plane that wasn't nailed down- magazines, toilet paper, pages from her notepad, seat cushions, curtains-and joined them together with a network of footprints, until they'd made the plane a target at the center of a circle about fifty feet across.
As they walked back to the plane she felt a weird sense of accomplishment, and a sudden breeze provided a rush of relief. Maybe they'd get out of this thing alive after all. "Damn, that wind feels good."
But when she turned to look at Zadir, he was frowning. "Wind can be a friend or an enemy."
"Why?"
"Sandstorms." As they climbed up through the door, the gusts started to toss around the objects they'd laboriously placed. Soon magazine pages fluttered and toilet paper took flight. Then the first grains of sand stung her arms and legs.
"Quick, get inside." Zadir helped her in and closed the door.
She looked out the window as sand blurred the view of more sand. "We're really screwed now, aren't we?"
"It's merely a setback." He rested his hand on her upper back, which provoked an instant physical response, tightening her nipples under her blouse and sending a shiver of awareness to her fingertips. She cursed her body and the mind she was obviously losing. He slid his hand lower, to her waist. "I have an idea."
"Oh?"
"Come this way."