But it didn’t smell like smoke — not quite.
Smoke had always made him choke, made his eyes sting and run, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He breathed deeply of it, drawing it into his lungs as if it were fresh salt air blowing in from the sea on the trade winds. As it flowed into his body, he felt something he’d never experienced before, an exuberance, an exultation that infused his body with a strength and well-being that made him feel invincible.
The crackling of the fire grew louder, but he could hear something else now. A strange moaning sound, as if someone were in great pain. No, not a moaning, but the whoosh and crackle of the fire, gaining strength as it swept through the cane field, feeding on everything in its path, building on itself. It was like a living force now, rampaging across the earth, creating a great swirling, howling upward draft that sucked every molecule of air in from the surrounding area to feed the growing monster, huge now and continuing to grow, continuing to spread.
Yet still he couldn’t see the flames.
Then, at last, they came.
Only glimpses at first, barely visible flickerings of orange, like the exploring tongues of serpents, poking through the dense thicket of cane that surrounded him.
He felt the first warmth of the fire on his skin, but it was like no fire he’d ever felt before.
This fire seemed to fuel him, to impart its strength to him rather than consume him. Then, as he felt his own being thrive upon the closeness of the throbbing monster’s breath, the foliage around him began to quail before the beast. Everywhere he looked, the leaves and stalks withered before the advancing heat, then burst into flames as they succumbed to the rampaging marauder.
The tendrils of smoke thickened into the bodies of serpents, winding around his body, wrapping him tightly in their coils, but instead of struggling against their grasp, he reveled in the sensation, drawing as much vitality from the tightening spirals of smoke as from the fire itself.
The howling of the maelstrom filled his ears, and the darkness of the night was banished by the shower of embers exploding from the field. Smoke and flame intertwined, whirling around him like a living being.
Entranced, he reached out as if to gather the force of the firestorm to him, and a great cry of ecstasy rose from his throat.
He was no longer the hunted, but now, becoming as one with the inferno around him, he felt the spirit of the fire itself enter his soul.
He stretched to his full height, his legs spread, his arms flung out, and the cry of the hunter bellowed up from the core of his being.…
Jeff Kina’s whole body jerked spasmodically in response to the shout that issued from him and yanked him from the thrall of the dream. Yet as he came awake, the dream stayed with him. The fire’s heat he’d felt only a moment ago was gone, but the smoke was not. The second he opened his eyes, he could see it swirling around him, a gray-brown fog so thick he instinctively closed his eyes against it.
He lay still, his eyes clamped shut, his heart pounding, but no longer from the exultation of the dream.
Now it was pounding with fear.
The dream had been so real, it was exactly as if he’d been back in the cane field, back in the vortex of the fire, just before the men from the yellow truck had grabbed him, and Josh Malani had taken off in his pickup.
In those few seconds — those few moments while he’d stood next to Josh’s truck — he’d felt different than he’d ever felt before in his life.
Part of it had been the fire itself. There had been something about the way the flames ebbed and flowed and danced together that reached into his mind, touched something deep inside him, made him feel almost as if he’d been hypnotized. And as the smoke had filled his nostrils, he’d felt something else.
The restlessness that had plagued him all evening disappeared, and his whole body tingled exactly as it did when he was finished with his warm-ups at a track meet and ready to run a race.
Then the men from the yellow truck were on him, yelling at him, grabbing him, trying to drag him away from the fire.
He was bigger than they were — much bigger — and his right arm had come up, jerking loose from the hands of one of the men so his fist could plunge into the face of the other. Now, his eyes still closed, he remembered the blood that spurted from the man’s nose, the look of surprise that came into his eyes, and the man’s enraged shout.
But after that, everything was confused. Lights had hit him in the eyes, brilliant halogen lamps that blinded him as thoroughly as if someone had thrown a bag over his head.
After that, his memories were nothing more than impressions.
More lights.
The sound of engines; voices yelling.
Suddenly, more hands were on him, and he was on the ground, pinned down by someone on his chest, someone else on his legs.
Something was pressed over his face, and he struggled to turn his head away, but couldn’t.
Blackness had begun closing around him, and he’d known he was dying.
But now he was awake, and he was not dead.
He lay perfectly still, listening.
He could hear sounds he’d never heard before.
His own heartbeat, pumping blood through his veins. Though he knew it wasn’t possible, he even imagined he heard the sound of his blood itself, whooshing softly as it coursed through his arteries, the sound changing with every contraction of the chambers of his heart.
He took an inventory of his body, testing every muscle, but moving each of them so slightly as to appear utterly immobile.
Nothing was broken; nothing even hurt.
And he was naked.
He turned his attention away from his own body to the environment around him. Though his eyes were still closed, he could sense there were walls around him, very close by.
And he was alone.
The air around him was moving, and unfamiliar scents were wafting through his nostrils.
Not unpleasant scents, but unfamiliar ones.
At last he opened his right eye — no more than a fraction of an inch — the movement so perfectly executed that no observer could have seen the slight flicker.
Fog.
The same brown fog.
But not fog, for he felt nothing of the cool dampness of fog against his skin.
His eye moved beneath its hooded lid, scanning the area around him, though he was far too uncertain of where he was or what might be nearby to betray himself by any but the slightest movement.
He saw nothing.
He opened both his eyes then, opened them wide, the lids snapping open in an unblinking stare.
He gazed straight ahead, his mind analyzing the data his eyes and ears and nose were gathering, searching for an as-yet-unnoticed enemy that might be lurking in the miasma.
Why didn’t his eyes hurt?
Why weren’t they stinging from the smoky haze, and streaming with tears?
Why wasn’t he coughing and choking on the fumes that swirled around him?
No answer came to him.
He lay inert, only his eyes moving, flicking first in one direction, then in another.
Nothing he saw, nothing he heard, nothing he smelled, betrayed the presence of any other living thing.
Yet he was being watched.
He could feel it with a certain knowledge he’d never experienced before. Despite the evidence of his eyes, and his ears, and his nose, his skin was tingling and his nerves were on edge.
Then he saw it.
Far up, above him, and off to the right.
A camera.
