There was no mistaking that hair, especially with the sun glinting off it in rusty highlights. There was also no doubt in his mind of what was about to happen. Within seconds the helpless boat would pick up speed and be sucked into the toothy maw and ground to pieces.
Trout yelled at Morales, “Tell the pilot to push them back with the helicopter's downdraft!”
Morales had been watching the unfolding disaster with fascination. Now he tried to relay Trout's statement to the pilot. The translation was beyond his grasp of English. He shot off a few words in Spanish, then shrugged in frustration. Trout pounded the pilot's shoulder. He pointed emphatically at the helpless boat, then twirled his forefinger in a circle and made a shoving gesture. To Trout's surprise the pilot caught on right away to his crude sign language message. He nodded vigorously, nosed the chopper into a glide, and cut speed to a walk until they had positioned themselves between the drifting boat and the crest of the rapids where the river narrowed. The hovering copter descended until the downdraft from the rotors whipped the surface like a giant electric egg beater and created a frothy dishshaped depression.
Waves rippled out in great concentric cirdes. The first undulation hit the pram, slowed its speed; then stopped it completely and began to deflect the light boat toward the shore above the
rapids. The long whirling rotor was ill fitted for a surgical operation. Waves produced by the powerful air blast rocked the pram and threatened to capsize it. Trout, who'd been leaning out the window, could see what was happening. He yelled at the pilot and jabbed his thumb upward.
The helicopter began to rise.
Too late. A wave caught the boat and flipped it over. The craft's occupants disappeared beneath the surface. Trout waited for their heads to appear. But he was distracted by a. sharp rapping noise and a shout from the pilot. He turned to see a spider's web of shatter lines in the windshield, which had been clear when he last looked. At the center of the lacy pattern was a hole. They were being shot at! A bullet must have passed right between them and hit the bulkhead inches above the head of Rutz, who was staring bugeyed. The chiclero began to shout in rapidfire Spanish despite the warnings of Morales to shut his mouth. Morales stopped wasting his breath, leaned over, and crashed his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him unconscious. Then the Mexican policeman drew his pistol and fired away at the boats.
Another sharp rap came against the fuselage, as if somebody were banging the metal skin with a ballpeen hammer. Trout was torn with indecision. He wanted to wait and see what happened to Gamay, but he knew the chopper was a sitting duck. The pilot took matters into his own hands. Cursing angrily in Spanish, he set his jaw and pushed the throttle ahead. The helicopter surged forward and homed in on the other boats like a cruise missile. Trout could see the men below frozen in disbelief until they were blasted out of the boats by the powerful rotor thrust. The down draft tossed the empty prams as if they were balsa woodchips. At the last second the pilot pulled the JetRanger, up in a sharp climb, then banked it around for a second sortie. The maneuver was unnecessary. The overturned boats were sinking. Heads bobbed in the water as the men struggled fruitlessly against the current that was drawing them into the rapids.
Gamay's boat had already started its passage through the foamy hell, and a dill went up Trout's spine as he thought of what could have happened. He was still worried about Gamay There was no sign of her or the other figure, whom he assumed was Professor Chi. The pilot made a couple of quick circles, then pointed to his fuel gauge again. Trout nodded. There was no place to put the chopper down. He reluctantly gave the pilot thumbs up, and they headed away from the river.
Trout was busy formulating plans in his mind and didn't notice how long they were airborne before he heard the engine cough. The chopper lost speed for an instant, then seemed to regain it, only to have the engine cough again. The pilot fiddled with his instruments, then put his finger on the fuel gauge. Empty. He leaned forward, scanning the unbroken jungle for a place to put. down. The engine gagged like a cholera victim. The hacking stopped, then came a sputter, followed by the frightening sound of silence as the engine stopped completely and they began to drop out of the sky like a hailstone.
Serpent
27
“DON'T MOVE, DR. GAMAY.” CHI'S voice, soft yet insistent, penetrated the gauzelike fog. Gamay slowly rifted her gluey eyelids. She had the odd feeling that she was swimming in a quivering sea of green JellO. The gelatinous blobs became more sharply defined, the blurs resolving into leaves and blades of grass. Senses clicked slowly into place. After sight came taste, a bitterness in. her mouth. Then touch, reaching up to the damp stickiness of her scalp, encountering a wet pulpiness as if her brain were exposed. Her hand jerked back in reflex.
Fingers dug into her shoulder. “Don't move again or you'll die. Old Yellow Beard is watching us.”
Chi's voice was calm but tense. Her arm froze in midair. She was lying on her left side, Chi behind her, out of sight but close enough so she could feel his breath in her ear.
“1 don't see anyone,” she said. Her tongue felt thick.
“Directly in front of you about fifteen feet. Quite beautiful in a deadly way. Remember to be still.”
Hardly daring to blink, Gamay scanned the grass, letting her eyes come to rest on a discolored dump that materialized into a pattern of blackedged triangles set against olive gray that marked the slender coils of an extremely long snake. The arrow-shaped head with the yellowish chin and throat was elevated. She was close enough to see the vertical eye pupils, the heat sensing loreal pits that looked liked extra nostrils, even the long black tongue flicking in and out.
“What is it?” she said, scientific curiosity overriding her fear.
“Barba amarilla. A big one from the looks of it. What some people call ferdelance. ”
Ferdclance! Gamay knew enough about snakes to realize she was face-toface with a killer. Goosebumps rose on her skin. She felt extremely exposed.
“What should we do?” she whispered, watching the flat head moving back and forth as if in time to unheard music.
“Don't panic. It should move soon to get out of the direct sunlight, probably into that patch of shade. If it comes this way, stay where you are and I'll distract it.”
Gamay was leaning on her elbow, a position that had grown uncomfortably painful, and she wondered how long she could remain that way. She wanted the snake to move, but on the other hand, she didn't want it heading in her direction.
The snake made up its mind a few minutes later and began to uncoil to its full length. As Chi said, it was a big one, as long as a man was tall. It slithered silently through the grass to the shade cast by a small tree and took up residence next to Chi's faithful machete, which was leaning against the trunk.
“You can move now. It's sleeping. Sit up slowly.” She turned to see Chi on his knees. He put down the. boulder he was clutching.
“How long was it there?”
About a half hour before you woke up. Usually snakes will retreat if you give them a chance, but you can never tell with Yellow Beard, especially if you disturb its sleep. It can be quite aggressive. He can have my machete if he wants it. How do you feel?"
“Okay, except that someone's been using my head as a football. What's this mush where my hair used to be?”
“I made a poultice of medicinal leaves. The pharmacy was closed.”
“How long have we been here?” she said, rubbing the arm she'd been leaning on to get the circulation back
A few hours. You slept off and an. The bitter taste you have in your mouth is a motbased restorative. You got a nasty bump on a rock when the boat went over."
Vague memories of white roaring water came flooding back. “The rapids! Why aren't we dead?”
Chi pointed to the sky. “You don't remember?”
The helicopter. The fragments of memories were jumbled like a boxful of jigsaw puzzle parts. She and the professor were in the pram out of gas. The strong current was pulling th
em toward the rocks. Then the roar of the deadly water was drowned out by a clatter. The red-and-white chopper they had sighted earlier circled above the river.
Gamay remembered thinking that they were dead, with the armed chicleros behind them, the boiling rapids ahead, and the helicopter above... Then the aircraft swooped down like a Valkyrie and hovered just off the water between the pram and the rapids. Downdraft from the spinning rotors chewed up the river in a big circle and created waves that kicked the pram out of the current and sent it in toward shore. But the blast from the chopper . dangerously rocked the light aluminum craft. With the grassy shoreline only a few yards away the pram pitched over.
Gamay was catapulted out of the boat like a projectile from a siege machine. Then bang! Her head hit something hard. Her vision went squirrely, and her teeth dunked together. A bolt of white lightning. Then blissful darkness.
“The helicopter saved us,” she said.
Apparently so. You would have been fine if you hadn't tried to split a rock with your head. It was only a glancing blow, but enough to knock you out. I dragged you onto shore, then through the bushes to this place. I gathered the roots and leaves to make the poultice. You slept fitfully through the night and may have had some strange dreams. The tonic I gave you is something of a hallucinogen."
Gamay recalled an odd dream. Paul was high above her, calling out her name, the words appearing in a cartoon dialogue balloon, before he disappeared into a vapory cloud.
“Thanks for everything,” Gamay said, wondering how the diminutive middle-aged professor managed to haul her from the water and into the forest. “What about the men who were after us?”
The professor shook his head. “I didn't pay much attention to them with all the confusion. I had my hands full getting us to safety. I think I heard some shots. But it's been quiet ever since. Maybe they think we're dead.”
“What do we do now?”
“I was pondering the same question when our scaly friend arrived. It depends on how long his nap is. I'd like to retrieve my machete. In this country it could mean the difference between life and death. You rest for a while. If Yellow Beard doesn't wake up we'll discuss another plan. I came across a path, probably what the chicleros used to get around the rapids, that we can explore later. In the meantime, we might want to move farther away in case he's grumpy when he awakens.”
That was fine with Gamay With Chi's help she stood. Her legs were shaky, and she felt like a newborn foal. She looked around and saw that they were in a small, sun-dappled clearing protected by trees and bushes. They moved to the far side of the clearing, where Chi removed her poultice and pronounced her bumps and bruises practically gone. He said he would pluck some berries to fill their stomachs while they waited for the snake to finish his power nap. Still tired, Gamay lay back on the grass and shut her eyes. She came awake a moment later. A branch had snapped. Chi would never be so noisy.
She sat up and looked around. The professor stood at the edge of the clearing with a berry-laden branch in his hand. Behind him was the chiclero leader Gamay had named Pancho. He was a far cry from the figure who'd ordered them imprisoned in a cave. The slicked-down hair looked like an osprey nest, and his white clothes were dirty and torn. His big pale belly showed through the rips and tears. The sneering smile was gone, too, replaced by a mask of rage. The pistol in his hand was the same one he'd waved around on their first encounter, though, and it was pointed at the back of the professor's head.
The man put down the pack he'd been carrying and snarled at Chi in Spanish. The professor moved next to Gamay. They stood there side by side. The gun barrel shifted from Chi to Gamay, then back again.
“He wants me to tell you that he is going to kill us to avenge his men,” Chi said. “First me, then he will have his way with you on my body.”
“What is it with these guys?” Gamay snapped. “No offense, Professor, but a lot of your countrymen seem to have their brains between their legs.”
The start of a smile started on Pancho's face. Gamay gave the big man a coquettish grin, as if the proposition appealed to her maybe she could buy time for the professor and get close enough to this goon to do serious damage to his libido. Chi was a jump ahead of her. He turned his head slightly, stared at the machete against the tree, and leaned his body forward slightly as if he were going to make a dash for it. Gamay knew Chi well enough to see the movement was uncharacteristically clumsy, as if he wanted to catch Pancho's attention.
The ploy worked. Pancho followed Chi's gaze to the long knife leaning against the tree, and his mouth widened into its toothy smile. Still keeping his eyes and gun on the professor, he sidestepped across the clearing and leaned over to pick up the machete.
The ground exploded in a blur of black triangles.
Alerted by the heavy footfall, the snake was in striking position when the man reached for the machete. It sank its long fangs into his neck then struck swiftly again, emptying the rest of its venom sac into his arm.
The gun barrel came around, and the stricken man shot the snake several times, turning it into a bloody red-and-green mass. Then he touched the twin puncture wounds next to his carotid artery. His face turned bone-white; his eyes widened in horror, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Be stated, terrified, at Chi and Gamay, then staggered into the bushes.
Chi stepped forward, careful to avoid the fangs that mere biting at the air in the snake's death throes, and followed the chicleros trail. Moments later Gamay heard another shot. When Chi reappeared, the gun in his hand was smoking. He saw the expression of revulsion on her face. Tucking the pistol into his pants, he came over and took Gamay's hand. The stony cast to his features had disappeared, and his eyes had that kind, grandfatherly expression.
“The chiclero killed himself,” he explained patiently. “He knew death from the barba's bite is very painful. The venom destroys the red blood cells and breaks down vessels. There is bleeding from the mouth and throat, painful swelling, vomiting, and spasms as the body goes into shock. Even with the neck bite, it could have been an hour or two. Remember, before you feel too sorry for him, he wanted us to die in the cave and later in the river.”
Gamay shook her head numbly. Chi was right. The chiclero's death was unfortunate but of his own doing. What an extraordinary man the professor was! How the Spaniards ever conquered the Maya was a mystery to her. Her survival reflexes kicked into gear. “We should move,” she said, glancing around. “There may be others who heard the shots.”
Chi picked up his machete and the dead man's pack. “The river is our only chance. Even if we knew where we were, it would be risky to try a trek over land.” He glanced at the bloodied body of the snake. As you saw, there are creatures in the forest far more deadly than chicleros."
“You lead, I'll follow,” Gamay agreed with no argument. They set off through the thick forest, Chi maneuvering with his internal compass until they came to a path about a yard wide that was so beaten down that the white limestone was exposed.
“This is the portage trail I told you about.”
“Won't we risk running into someone if we use it?”
“I'm not so sure. Remember what the big man said about avenging his men? I'll play scout. Stay back, and if I signal, get off the trail as quickly as you can.”
They set off through the forest, the trail running roughly parallel to the river which sparkled through the trees. Gamay walked behind the professor. Their progress was uneventful. The only sign of life other than the raucous calls of the birds was a tree sloth that looked down with lazy eyes from an overhanging bough.
Chi stopped, signaled her with a wave to come forward, then disappeared around a curve in the trail. When she caught up the professor was standing on a small sandy beach. Three prams identical to the one they had lost were drawn up under a sapling and palm leaf structure that would have kept them hidden from anyone on the river or in the air. In contrast to her last view of the river at its angriest, the surface was back to its calm brownis
h-green self.
“It looks as if they kept boats on both sides of the rapids,” Chi observed. “They could carry the goods along the path around the rough water.”
Gamay was only half listening. She had walked back from the river. to examine the cold coals of a campfire and noticed a platform built up on stilts. A flat-roofed structure like a child's tree house had been constructed on the platform. She opened the door, which was latched but not locked, and peered inside: She saw several gasoline tanks and a large metal cooler. She pushed back the lid.
“Professor Chi,” she called out. “I've found something important.”
Chi came trotting over, and when he saw the blue can she was holding, the widest grin she had ever seen crossed his face.
“Spam,” he whispered reverently.
There was more than Spam in the cooler chest. There were canned vegetables and juices, bottled water, and tortillas sealed in plastic boxes. Sardines and canned corned beef for variety. The primitive shed had flashlights and tools. The waterproof matches were a real treat, as was a portable camp stove. Soap, too. Each taking a different section of riverside, they washed their bodies and clothes, which dried quickly in the hot sun.
After their bath and a refreshing meal of improvised hash and eggs, Chi explored the area while Gamay consolidated their food and supplies. It was eerily quiet, but they decided not to stay long. They loaded the boat and sabotaged the others, sinking them under rocks then hiding the outboards in the woods after testing to see which motor ran best. Then they got in the boat and pushed out into the river, keeping the motor at low speed, above a quiet idle, using just enough power to stay ahead of the current. .
They had gone only less than a mile when the river made a sharp dogleg to the right. Caught in a pocket where the riverbed curved, along with weeds and driftwood, were two overturned aluminum prams whose hulls were dented and ripped open. Scattered among them were the stinking bodies of men, bloating in the broiling sun.