The Purgatorium
“Crouching, she dashed behind a scrawny shrub, a poor cover, and then zipped up a dusty canyon ridge toward the southeast, stopping behind a boulder to catch her breath. From the safe cover of the boulder to the top of the ridge was nothing but a gravelly slope. Although she couldn’t be seen from Central Valley, anyone on Sierra Blanca could easily spot her if they happened to be looking this way. But time was precious, so she took the risk and dashed up the hill and then flattened herself agai...nst the canyon ridge, prone, eyes peeking over the other side, as the ancient Indians who once inhabited the island must have done when strangers docked their boats.
On the other side of the canyon ridge, Willows Anchorage, the private pier of the resort, came into view. Empty of both people and boats, the dock was occupied by a flock of pelicans.
Daphne climbed to her feet and ran down the steep gravelly canyon wall. She slipped and fell on her hip, ripping her shorts, but got up and kept running, even though her skin stung where the rocks had rubbed her raw.MoreLess
On the other side of the canyon ridge, Willows Anchorage, the private pier of the resort, came into view. Empty of both people and boats, the dock was occupied by a flock of pelicans.
Daphne climbed to her feet and ran down the steep gravelly canyon wall. She slipped and fell on her hip, ripping her shorts, but got up and kept running, even though her skin stung where the rocks had rubbed her raw.MoreLess
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