Page 43 of Sweet Betrayal

“Atta girl.”

He shouldered his pack, and they started east. The airbase shimmered behind them, heat waves rising from the tarmac.

Tom set a grueling pace. There was no time to talk. All Hannah’s effort was put into keeping up. They reached the ruins in just over forty-five minutes. Red dust swirled in the sky, and sand whipped around their legs and faces.

Hannah slipped her robe back on to shield her arms. Tom wrapped his bandana around his face, and she followed suit with her scarf.

“Next to that wall’s our best bet.” He pointed to a crumbling low wall—remnants of an ancient settlement. It still offered more protection than anything else around.

He gathered heavy stones, stacking them along the wall for added defense. Hannah stared at the horizon. A rust-colored cloud loomed, devouring the distance.

“Is that it?” she asked.

He didn’t turn. Just kept building.

“It’s a wall of sand,” she murmured, transfixed. It rolled across the earth like a living thing—thick, choking, unstoppable. How were they supposed to survive that?

Adrenaline fired through her veins. She dropped to her knees and helped Tom stack rocks. They created a three-sided enclosure, waist-high, enough to provide some cover. It wasn’t perfect—but it was all they had.

The sandstorm was almost upon them.

Hannah stared at the cloud, heart pounding. It was like something out of a nightmare. The roar rose as millions of sand particles collided in the howling wind.

“Tom, I’m scared.” She moved closer.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to the base of the wall. “We’ll be okay. This isn’t the worst I’ve seen. It’ll blow over in an hour or two.”

She stayed standing, eyes locked on the wall of dust. “Are you sure? What about you?”

“I’ll be right here.” He pulled off his shirt and unwrapped his bandana. “We’ll use these to cover our heads. Give me your scarf—we need all the protection we can get.”

“Oh God.” Her voice cracked.

“Lie down,” he ordered, gently pulling her beside him. The wind shrieked. Sand pelted their legs as the storm engulfed them.

“Tom…” she gasped.

He smiled, reassuring. “I’ve got you.” He secured the fabric over their heads, tucking it tight against the wind. Then he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

She lay still, inhaling deeply in anticipation.

“Breathe normal,” he told her. “You’ll be fine.”

The sky darkened as the storm swallowed them. The wind howled like it was alive, hammering against the walls, clawing at the scarves covering them.

She wriggled closer, desperate for his warmth.

He held her tighter. “We just wait it out,” he said. His voice was calm, steady. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as the wind tore at their shelter.

His body shielded hers—chest to chest, hip to hip. She felt the strength in him, his heat pressed into her everywhere. She clung on, praying it would end soon.

The sandstorm raged. Time slowed. Hannah couldn’t tell how long they’d been huddled there. The air inside their shelter grew thick and hot. Dust seeped in through every crack.

Her breathing quickened.

“Calm down,” he murmured, his hand sliding along her spine.

She couldn’t. The roar filled her ears. Grit scraped at her throat. The air felt too thin. Panic seized her lungs.

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