Hurricane Gold

  Move, dammit. Get away.

  He forced himself forward, outrunning the wheel. And he moved steadily round it towards the ledge on the far side. He was nearly there, but knew he mustn’t lose concentration. He wouldn’t be safe until he was standing on solid ground. The distance shortened, 6 feet, 5 feet, 4 feet, 3 feet…

  Now jump!

  There. He had done it. The ground was no longer moving beneath his feet.

  A great cheer went up from the spectators. They were enjoying the show. James knew that they would have placed bets on when he and Precious would be killed. He wondered how many of them had wagered that they would get this far.

  Except, of course, Precious had yet to come across.

  He looked back. She was still waiting.

  ‘Easy!’ he yelled, filled with a crazy elation. ‘Piece of cake. Come on. It’s fun.’

  Precious was shaking her head.

  ‘Come on!’ James shouted.

  The men above started up a rhythmic chant.

  ‘Go, go, go, go, go, go, go…’

  Precious suddenly yelled and ran.

  She got on to the first stone.

  She was very unsteady and was wobbling from side to side, but she was just managing to keep pace with it.

  She struggled round it, at every moment threatening to trip and fall. There was a look of fierce determination on her face. Her eyes were narrowed and her teeth bared.

  James felt proud of her. He would never forget how she looked at that moment. She was someone who would not be beaten by anyone or anything.

  She made ready to jump across to the second stone.

  With another yell, she flung herself through the air, hair flying, arms flailing.

  As she landed, though, her ankle turned, and she was toppling forward on to her front.

  Time seemed to stop.

  James felt his heart turn to lead; a terrible sick feeling came into the pit of his stomach, which was flushed with acid. The blood hissed in his ears, drowning out all other sound.

  And then he realised that he was in the air. As soon as he had seen Precious losing her balance he had started to move. In an instant he had leapt back on to the cold slab of stone, which was spinning towards Precious on the second wheel. He took one long step and was launched across. He slammed face first into Precious, even before she had hit the deck. James’s momentum forced her back to the far side of the stone. Then, a fraction of a second before they reached the hungry, crunching teeth of the grindstone, he pulled her to her feet, and, without letting go of her hand, ran, jumped, scrambled, flew back over the wheels and tumbled on to the platform. It had all happened so fast, and in such a confused blur, that for a few seconds, neither of them could quite believe they were safe.

  Then Precious looked at James and James looked at Precious and they both burst out laughing.

  James got to his feet and looked up at the spectators.

  ‘Where are you?’ he shouted. ‘Where are you, Huracán? Show yourself.’

  A group of men moved aside and El Huracán appeared. He walked to the edge of the parapet and smiled down at James and Precious. He was smoking a fat cigar. He took it out of his mouth and saluted them.

  ‘You are doing well,’ he said. ‘But you are not finished yet.’

  ‘We’re not scared,’ James shouted back. ‘We’re enjoying ourselves.’

  El Huracán looked at the boy, standing there so defiantly. He was quite something. A shame that he had not wanted to come and be his right-hand man. The American girl too. She was tougher than she looked. He had thought she would fall at the first hurdle.

  What a pity they would both soon be dead.

  The two of them could have no way of knowing that the reason nobody had ever made it out of the final trap was because there was no way out. Once they were in there, they would stay in there until they were killed.

  Ah well. He took a puff on his cigar, savouring the thick smoke. In his long life he had seen many people die. Some of them he had loved and had thought that he could never live without. He would gladly have died in their place. And now… now he could not even remember their faces. They were nothing more to him than characters in a long-forgotten book. It would be the same with James and the girl. People come and go in this world. Only the stones remain.

  For now, though, they had made it past Ah Mun, the god of corn and farming. Let’s see what the next god had in store for them: Ah Mucen Cab, the god of bees.

  An amusing trial, a little different to the others, a little more subtle.

  ‘Can you smell it?’ said James.

  ‘Yes,’ said Precious. ‘A sweet smell. What is it?’

  The passage gave a sharp turn, and as they walked around the bend they were met by something unexpected. The plans had shown another sunken tank, and they had assumed that it would be full of water. Instead, 4 feet below them was a sunken alleyway filled with what looked like gold, its surface spattered with black dots. The sickly sweet smell was overpowering here and big wasps buzzed through the air.

  The distance to the other end was about 20 feet and there was no way of getting there without crossing the golden floor. From up here it looked quite solid, but it was very hard to tell.

  ‘What do we do?’ said Precious.

  ‘What can we do?’ said James, who was feeling light-headed and reckless. ‘We carry on.’

  Without another word, he jumped down, bracing himself for a solid landing. Instead he hit the gold floor with a splat and sunk in up to his chest.

  ‘It’s honey!’ he said, laughing. ‘A whole tank full of honey. I’ve often dreamt of swimming in honey.’

  As he tried to swim, however, he found that it required all his effort just to move one arm. His clothing, already clogged with honey, felt heavy as armour, and was dragging him under. He pulled his shirt open and managed to peel it off.

  ‘Take off any loose clothing you can,’ he shouted up to Precious and she stripped off her outer layers.

  Even without his shirt, it was nearly impossible to make any headway in the thick honey. It was like swimming in glue, and the harder he tried, the deeper James sank.

  ‘Lower yourself in,’ he said. ‘Try to stay flat on the surface.’

  James pushed forward, struggling to keep his face above the sticky liquid. He could see now that the black spots covering the surface were dead insects. If he slipped below the surface he would end up the same way. He fought to keep his mouth and nose clear, but although the honey was more buoyant than water, to move took an immense effort, and if you stayed still you slowly sank.

  He thought of Whatzat, drowning in the mud hole in the oilfield. It would be horrible to drown in honey, feeling the sweet, sticky stuff seep down his throat into his lungs.

  Precious had lowered herself in and was trying to crawl along the surface, clawing at the stuff with her hands. She soon found how difficult it was, and how, as she kicked with her feet they simply sank deeper.

  They were creeping along, though, a few inches at a time, fighting the honey with every move, feeling it try to suck them down. It was incredibly tiring. They were using up all their reserves of strength. Precious’s hair was matted and sticking to her face. She blinked her eyes, trying to keep the gummy liquid out of them. She couldn’t wipe them, though, as her hands were covered in the stuff.

  From above the men watched the weird spectacle in silent fascination. It was as if the children were swimming in slow motion, or through something solid. There were no ripples or waves, the only thing that told you it was a liquid were the football-sized bubbles that now and then burped and plopped to the surface. It was agonising watching their slow progress. Most of the men had forgotten about their bets and were rooting for the kids to go all the way. They were fighters, they wouldn’t give up. It would take more than this to stop them.

  They were halfway, two-thirds, three-quarters. Going slower and slower. Then the boy slipped under and the girl fished him out, coughing, spitting and choking. T
hey didn’t look human any more; they were covered with gloop, like two flies trapped in a giant honey pot.

  James and Precious were almost out of energy, completely exhausted and half-blind. Doggedly, James flung an arm out and felt it hit something solid. He groped with his fingers. It was a ladder, leading up out of the pit. They’d reached the end. He clung on and took hold of Precious’s hand, dragging her through the honey.

  They climbed the ladder, dripping great gelatinous gobbets of honey as they went, and flopped on to the paving stones.

  It was almost worse being out of the pit. The honey had got everywhere, into every nook and cranny and fold. It was in their noses, their ears, between their toes, inside their clothing. They tried to scrape it off their bodies with their fingernails, but it stuck fast and was drying in the sun.

  James would have given his right arm for a shower. Never had the thought of soap and warm water been so appealing. What would he give now for some Pinaud Elixir!

  Precious groaned, trying to unstick her hair where it was plastered to her face. She swore, her voice cracking with misery.

  James gripped her by her upper arms, blinking the honey from his eyes.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘We’ve faced worse, and we’re through it, now. We’ve just got to press on. There are only two trials left.’

  ‘I’m so tired,’ said Precious. ‘I just want to lay down and sleep.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time to sleep later,’ said James. ‘When this is all over, we can sleep for a hundred years.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

  They waddled onward, leaving tacky yellow footprints on the stones. Wasps buzzed around them and they tried to wave them away.

  They had seen the plans for the next obstacle, and they had practised hard for it. The drawing had shown a large log suspended over a pit and held in place by iron struts going off to the sides.

  All they had to do was get across without falling into the pit.

  What made it so frightening, and so deadly, was the fact that the pit was filled with sharpened wooden stakes. They could not risk walking along the log, they had decided they would crawl.

  ‘We stick with our plan,’ said James when they spotted the log. ‘We crawl. Especially as we’re covered in honey. And, I don’t know about you, but I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘My eyes won’t stop watering,’ said Precious. ‘I’m half-blind.’

  They peered down into the pit. It was a long drop and the stakes looked even more lethal than they had done in the drawing. If either of them slipped they would be impaled. They would have no second chance.

  James now turned his attention to the log. To his surprise it appeared to be covered in some kind of furry, red material. But as he looked closer, he saw that it was moving.

  ‘What is it?’ said Precious, trying to make sense of it.

  James’s heart sank. This was the worst moment so far.

  ‘Ants,’ he said. ‘Army ants.’

  30

  One Death

  ‘Oh no,’ said Precious. ‘Not that.’

  She had not seen Strabo lying in the ant column in the jungle. James had, though, and the memory of it would be with him forever. These ants were smaller, but their jaws were bigger. They swarmed all over the log, scurrying madly in all directions. There was a gentle shower of them falling off the bottom and as James looked more closely into the stake-filled pit, he saw that it was teeming with even more of the little red devils.

  What made it worse was the fact that James and Precious were covered with honey. El Huracán had designed these two trials carefully and cruelly.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said James. ‘Maybe I can clear some of them out of the way.’

  ‘No,’ said Precious, hopelessly. ‘How can you? There are too many of them. Look, they’re coming along the struts from the sides. They must have only just been released.’

  ‘I can try, can’t I?’ said James with a hint of anger. ‘We’re not just going to give up here.’

  Once again El Huracán taunted them.

  ‘You can make it quick,’ he shouted. ‘Throw yourselves on the spikes and it will all be over. You can offer yourselves up to the goddess who watches over this trial, Ixtab, the goddess of suicides. The Mayans believed that suicide was the quickest path to heaven!’

  James swore at him.

  The log was hanging just below head height. He reached out, took a deep breath and gripped it, feeling scores of ants being crushed beneath his hands. Immediately the others started biting. He jerked his hands away automatically. They were throbbing. He shook them hard, scattering honey and dead ants everywhere.

  ‘I told you,’ said Precious. ‘It’s no use.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said James, and without thinking, he took hold again and hauled himself up until his chest was on the log.

  He wriggled further on until he could get a grip with his elbows and knees. The pain was incredible. It was like being stabbed by a hundred red-hot pins, in his arm, his thighs, his chest, his crotch. Every moment there was a fresh little jolt of agony as one of them bit him and injected formic acid into his flesh.

  His face was an inch away from the surface of the log, which was alive with angry, red ants. They were confused about where to go and lashed out at everything around them. The honey at least prevented them from swarming over him, but wherever they touched they got stuck. In no time at all he had a dozen of them glued to his face, their jaws slashing at him, their acid burning all down one cheek. He went to scrape them away without thinking. His hand was covered with a red fur of wounded ants and made things ten times worse.

  He grunted and in his fury tried brushing his arms across the log, but no matter how many ants were knocked into the stake pit, more surged in to fill the gap, and the more he brushed, the more of them got stuck to his arm.

  The only thing he could do was slide along the log and try to get to the end as quickly as possible. He shunted forward, feeling ants beneath his belly, watching them pile up into undulating drifts as he swept his arms out in front of him.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ he yelled back to Precious. ‘Just follow me, hold on tight and ignore the pain. They won’t kill you. Think of tomorrow. Think of next year. You won’t remember the pain. As long as you stay on and keep moving.’

  The log moved and he heard Precious gasp and then shout as she climbed on behind him.

  He started to move faster.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he called out.

  ‘I’m right behind you,’ said Precious. ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘I don’t intend to,’ said James hoarsely.

  He could see a handful of ants hanging off his eyebrow. They were waving their legs and antennae right in front of his eye, and others were biting his eyelid. Still more had sunk their mandibles into his lower lip. He raked them off with his teeth and bit down on them. Feeling them crunch. He spat them out and cursed. He was angry now, his blood was hot, the pain was making him delirious.

  He lashed out in front of him and lost his grip, lurching sideways off the log. He scrabbled at it with his fingernails and tried to cling on with his knees, but it was no use. The honey made it impossible to hold on.

  He went down, and knew that this was the end. In a second he would be dead. Then he felt Precious’s hand close about his ankle. She was holding so tightly it was like a metal vice around him.

  He was dangling face first over the sharpened stakes. If Precious let go he would be impaled. At least it would be quick. The ordeal would be over. He could offer himself up to Ixtab. Maybe she would get him into heaven by the back door.

  No. That wasn’t going to happen.

  He looked up to see Precious’s face, contorted in pain. Every muscle and sinew in her body was taught and strained; her teeth were bared in an animal grimace. He owed it to her not to give up.

  ‘I’ll get you to that strut,’ she said, and with a grunt she swung him through the air, first
back, then forward. James arced his body and reached out and managed to grab hold of the metal strut.

  Precious let go and he pulled himself up to safety.

  It was extraordinary. He would never have thought that Precious would have had the strength to hold him like that. But under stress and in fear of its life the human body can do incredible things.

  James got back on to the log and carried on, ploughing through the waves of red insects. If Precious could hold his weight with one hand, then he could put up with a few ant bites.

  Screaming with every move, he forced himself on, praying that Precious was right behind him. To lose her now would be unbearable.

  And then he had reached the end of the log. He slithered off and landed in an ungainly heap in a bed of chicken feathers.

  A second later Precious dropped down beside him and sent up an explosion of dancing, white feathers.

  James felt like he could never move again. He wanted to lie in the bed of feathers and sleep. His body was still covered in ants, wriggling in their death throes, and biting him mechanically. He barely noticed them, though. His body was almost numb to the pain and the relief of being alive was washing over him like a soothing ointment.

  He closed his eyes and a small, quiet voice in the back of his mind told him to get up, to carry on, to keep fighting. Wearily he stood up and looked around.

  There weren’t just feathers here, there were chickens as well. They strutted about, pecking corn from the ground, squawking and squabbling with each other. This part of the rat run was filthy with their mess. James trudged along, not caring what he was treading in in his bare feet.

  He stopped and waited for Precious to join him. She was a sorry sight, with the feathers and the ants and the honey stuck all over her. There were streaks of birdlime up her naked legs. In different circumstances it would have been funny. He remembered a time when he had first met her that he would have paid anything to see her like this. But this was too cruel.

  He recalled the carvings that El Huracán had shown him: how specially honoured Mayan sacrificial victims had been dressed in elaborate outfits, with beautiful capes made from brightly coloured feathers. This was a ghastly pantomime version. A mockery. Not only was El Huracán going to kill them, he was going to humiliate them first.