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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Townsend squeezed through and reached up to receive it, lowering it with some difficulty to the ground at his feet.

“So, what exactly am I looking for?”

“It’s not far.  And you’ll know when you see it.”

Without comment, the older man picked up his case and peered back at them through the narrow crack.  The rain had stopped but left them staring at one another with wet hair and clothing.

A moment later, the professor nodded and turned away.

29

29

They knew when it started from the sounds bouncing off the walls and echoing back to where they were standing.

Just as they knew when it was over—when it all simply disappeared, leaving Angela and Rickards patiently waiting for Townsend’s image to reappear around the distant outcropping of boulders.

But it never happened.

After a half hour, they finally advanced, squeezing through the opening and scraping against the hard rock.

Once through, they continued forward and eventually rounded the boulders to witness the familiar wide-open expanse stretching out before them.  In the distance, a prominent crystal spire ascended well over a hundred feet into the air.

In the open area surrounding it was Leonard Townsend, sitting motionless, on the lightly colored dirt ground, unmoving and facing away from them.

They approached cautiously while scanning the area.  Seeing only Townsend and his open metal case, they quickened their pace and were within shouting distance when Rickards called forward.

“Professor?”

There was no answer, only a faint echo, enveloped by silence.

“Professor?!” Rickards repeated.

“Dr. Townsend?!  Are you okay?!”

Now almost trotting, they came to a sudden stop beside him, staring down at the older man’s white hair.  His face was unreadable. He was gazing forward as if in a trance.

Angela dropped to the ground beside him and touched his left shoulder.  “Dr. Townsend?”

The older man remained frozen, his dark eyes intently focused ahead and nothing moving but his blinking eyelids.

“Doctor?”

She shook him again and was relieved when he finally turned to angle his head at her.  For a moment he stared at Angela’s face, then turned to Rickards above her.

“Are you okay?”

He simply stared at them before slowly turning to face forward again.  “Everything we call real is made of things we cannot call real,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

This time, gazing at something else, the older man gently leaned forward and pushed himself onto his knees.

He rose without another word and slowly walked forward in short, deliberate steps until his movements became smoother and his natural gait returned.

The professor was still intently staring at the giant spire positioned directly in the center of the open area and surrounded by canyon walls and an open stretch of dirt.

When Townsend reached the spire, he stopped and stood fixated.  Entranced.  He examined and peered inside the thick column of clear crystal.

Softly, his hand reached out until he touched it.

“It’s hot.”

“Are you okay?!”