So near, as it seemed, to the city, and yet not a living thing to be seen.
Hour after hour they walked, blinded by the drifting sand, but never stopping.
Max would not ask Girzilla to rest, and she was too proud to suggest it.
The sun was high in the heavens.
The air seemed like the hot blast from a furnace.
Max found his tongue swelling in his mouth.
He walked along mechanically.
All control over himself appeared to be lost.
Like the fabled Wandering Jew, he continued moving, without the power to stop.
His eyes no longer saw the sand—they were hot and glassy with the glare of the sun.