Chapter 13

"Stupid bastard! Weak old man! Wake up, damn you, wake up!"

Tuesta was leaning over him slapping his face again and again, bringing fire to his cheeks. Sharp labored for breath and came swimming up out of the blackness to look into the enraged, twisted face and receive another stinging blow.

Something was different. He could hear the lack of beat in the engines. The air had a thickness in his lungs it hadn't before. He roused himself groggily and saw the altimeter at fourteen thousand and falling slowly. He glanced out his window and saw the propeller frozen motionless.

Tuesta was ranting at him, having run forward as soon as the engine sputtered to a halt. Sharp saw both fuel gauges registering empty and remembered that Rico hadn't gassed the plane. He swore at the surly punk and then at himself for not remembering to do it. The heavy, sinking knowledge that he had botched things to hell weighted down on him and made him want to slide back into sleep. But Tuesta wouldn't let him go. And Clara was shouting and wrestling with Tuesta. From somewhere in the back of his mind came a heavy, clumping sound, as of a man running forward. Then Ken Bast was wrestling with Tuesta, cracking the Indian's wrist on the dashboard so that the pistol flew out of his hand. A few quick, hard punches and... Bast was a good man-a good kid. One of the good ones. The layer of clouds below looked soft and fluffy, like an endless bed of cotton a man could stretch out on and sleep forever.

"Come on, Winston, wake up," Ken was saying. He looked over the controls, recognizing the function of some of them, baffled by most of them. "You're going to have to fly it, skipper, it's too complicated for me. Come on, wake up."

Sharp clawed his way up again. The first few puffs were floating past them, and then they were in the cloud layer. His head cleared, and then he took the wheel. He cut back power and cut out the automatic system and took it down below the clouds. The basin was far below them, stretching out in an unending ocean of green. To the north, he spotted a dark, meandering cut in the sea of jungle and headed for it.

"I'm all right now," he said to Ken. "Thanks."

"I've been waiting for the chance. You got something to tie him with?"

"In back-cargo rope. I'm heading for the river; it's our only chance."

"Do you know where we are?"

Sharp laughed without humor. "In the Amazon, friend, that's all I can tell you. I don't know where I came over or how long I was out. There aren't any landmarks, as you can see, except the river-and that could be one of a hundred. Doesn't matter anyway. There's no gas. "

Martha brought the rope up, and Tuesta moaned, coming to. "Stupid old man," he swore. "You screwed it all up."

Ken pulled tightly on the knots, surprised by how docile Tuesta was in defeat. "Yeah," he said. "You botched it too, Tuesta. Did you know your boys back in Miami got burned out? I wonder what they'd do to you down there if we could drop you into your camp. Think they'd give you a medal? A big red star?" He pickd up the pistol from the floor and gave it to Clara. "Shoot him if he acts stupid again, Clara," he said.

Tuesta looked at her fearfully and saw the hatred in her eyes. She was a soft gringa bitch before. Why would she look at him like this now?

"Everybody get settled and hang on," Sharp said curtly. The engine coughed, caught, ran roughly and stopped. They glided silently and fell raciner over the greenness for the river. "We hit in those trees, and we've had it," Sharp said tightly. "Might be three hundred feet up, depending on how many canopies there are. Might break through and might not. The tops are woven together like a basket. The plane will be torn to hell in any case."

Sweat beaded his forehead. He curved around until he was over the river and snaked along over it, hoping. They dipped below tree level just before a broad bend, and it was like sinking between the walls of a green canyon. He headed into the curve, trying not to slip too much and lose altitude. Another curve showed ahead of them, and the sandbar he'd been hoping for stuck out of the slow-moving water like a brown spine.

"Hang on!" he shouted. He dipped quickly, then lifted, and the tail hit the water first. The belly flattened out slowly and gently the way he'd planned it and then bumped up onto the long bar. The plane slid sideways and rocked, one wing and then the other skipping off the surface of the water on either side. Then the plane spun lazily and shoved the left wing into the sand and mud ahead of them, plowing it up and crumpling like a big shock absorber. They all hung tightly to whatever they could grip until motion stopped. Then a thick, eerie silence fell around them.

"Darling, you did it," Clara said softly.

Sharp glanced at the look of love in her eyes and felt a piercing need to hold her. "We can't stay here," he said, struggling out of his seat. "By the time those rains come down the eastern slope, this bar will be ten feet under."

"How long will that be?" Ken asked.

"Maybe ten hours, depending how far into the basin we are. That means we'll have to go inland a little way and spend the night there. We'll need all the daylight we have left. Who wants to take charge of this prick?" he asked, putting his toe into Tuesta's hip.

"I'll do it," Grovebank said with an unaccustomed snarl at Wendy.

Winston stuffed the gun into his belt and made his way toward the tail of the plane. Water gurgled around the edge of the door, which was wedged shut. Sharp heaved himself at it, then Ken did. It gave under Grovebank's bulk, and he tumbled out into the river with a cry of surprise. He stood in the water up to his waist and grinned foolishly. Then he helped the others along the slanted stairs and into the sluggish current to the sandbar. As he was pushing Tuesta ahead of him, Tuesta suddenly screamed and hopped around in the water.

"Get out of there fast!" Sharp yelled at them.

Grovebank waddled as fast as he could go, leaving Tuesta to make his own way the best he could. They watched him stumble onto the sand with his leg curled under him, sobbing boyishly with pain and fright.

"What happened to him?" Martha cried.

Sharp spread Tuesta out and rolled his calf into view. There was a dollar-sized nip out of his pants and flesh that was clean enough to have been done with a razor. Winston wrapped the wound tightly with his handkerchief and watched the cloth turn bright red with blood.

"Piranhas," he said hollowly. "Goddamn it, I was afraid of this." He looked at the nearest shore, which was a good two hundred yards away and walled up with thick jungle growth. The other bank was farther, but a mud bank sloped into the rippling, shallow water.

"That's no good," Ken said, inspecting Tuesta's wound. "Grovebank, give me a couple of cigarettes."

"Let the son of a bitch bleed," Grovebank snarled with surprising viciousness. But he gave them to Ken and watched him strip the paper off and stuff the tobacco tightly into the wound. Tuesta howled with pain and cursed him. Alva came over and straddled his head, hiked her skirt up to her naked pussy, and watered his face copiously, making him sputter.

"That's what I think of you, Indio," she spat. She laughed crazily and looked at Wendy. "Go kiss your fucking lover now, fat pig!"

Grovebank laughed with Alva, and the two of them went under the nose of the plane in search of shade and privacy. Wendy watched I them.

"What about me, Bobby?" she whimpered. "Go to hell," he said.

"Aw, let her come," Alva said. "She has such soft lips, and my pretty pussy needs wiping."

She hiked her skirt again and thrust her bush forward. "On your knees," she commanded.

Ken saw their shadows on the sand. He watched that of Wendy go down quickly. Arms came up and held Alva's buttocks. Face merged with pelvis, and the Peruvian's head tipped back with a moan. Then the water-filled form of Bobby got behind Wendy's broad ass, and the shadows coupled like a pair of dogs. Moans came from behind the plane while water swirled about its tail. He got up and went to where Sharp was assessing the best way to get across the river.

"That's the best I can do with Tuesta," he said. "The tobacco will act as an astringent and disinfectant. What now, Skipper?"

Winston nodded toward a cluster of alligator-like reptiles coming back to sun themselves on the bank now that the noise of the crash was over.

"We've got to wait for one of those cayman to get in the water," he said quietly, "then hope I can shoot straight. Wish to hell I could get back inside without getting my legs chewed up to the kneecaps."

They sat and waited. Martha and Clara came up and stared at the reptilian beasts. Martha shivered. They were smaller and lighter than Florida alligators, but that didn't lessen their effect on her.

"Water's coming up already," Winston said. "Your foot's in it now."

He moved his wet shoe just as Martha held his arm and pointed to a monkey swinging out over the water to look at them.

"Everybody quiet," Sharp said, holding his arm out. He moved around and bellied down on the sand, holding the pistol with both hands. One of the cayman saw a possible dinner and slid without a ripple into the slow current. It maneuvered under the drooping branch and opened its cavernous jaws, waiting. Sharp took careful aim at the long snout. The gun jumped in his hand, and there was an outburst of roaring and thrashing in the shallow water. The other cayman ran toward their wounded friend and began to devour him. In a moment, the water boiled with a new kind of savagery as it danced with snapping, silver fish, and the river ran red downstream.

"All right, run!" Sharp shouted.

The four took off hand in hand, splashing through the shallow water. They looked back to see Alva, Wendy and Grovebank follow as fast as they could, Bobby holding his pants to his waist, his hard prick sticking out of the fly. Everybody made it onto the bank but Tuesta.

"We can't leave him there," Ken said. "Damn it, he could have run."

"He doesn't want to," Sharp said. "He's failed miserably, and he can't face it. He's a coward before himself. Bast-where the hell are you going! Don't be a fool!"

"I can't leave him. Not even him," Ken said, charging back through the water with long, high strides. Martha watched it spray around him, and she remembered the way he'd run in her dream-like that. She felt her throat tighten with fear for his safety, and she knew if he couldn't leave Tuesta behind, then he could never leave her either.

"Ken, be careful!" she cried suddenly.

They watched him argue with Tuesta, knock him cold again, then heave the dead weight to his broad shoulders. The water was quiet downstream again. Ken started out, and they could see the water was rising fast, licking hungrily around the wrecked plane now. They held their breaths until he walked up the bank and dropped Tuesta. Martha ran to him and hugged him tightly.

"Ken, I love you," she sobbed. He hugged her and made fun of her tears.

Sharp put his hands on his hips and looked at the silver wreckage of his plane. Already, the current was tugging at the tail, making the body shift sideways. Clara stood by him and touched his arm.

"There it goes," he said. "My whole life. Everything I've sweated for and dreamed with. The only thing in the world that was mine."

Clara watched his face silently. He sighed heavily and shook his head with sadness.

"Well, hell, there's work to be done," he said finally. "We're not out of here by a long way. We must be closer to the slope than I figured, the way the water's coming up. Maybe we're not far from Tuesta's buddies." He prodded the awakening form with his toe. "Would you like that, punk? Would you like us to take you in all bundled up and with a hole in your leg? Come on, fella, smile. Your life's just beginning. Yours and mine both. We're on equal footing again; shall we see who gets built back first?"

He flung his arm around Clara and laughed with an odd sound. "You're not on equal footing, darling," she said, smiling radiantly at him. "You have me to help you."

"I like the sound of that, Clara," he said. "I think I like the sound of that just fine." He hugged her briefly. "But we've got a raft to build. This river's the only road we have out of here. It has to lead into the Amazon some place-probably the Maranon first. We'll certainly get to Iquitos. But there will be villages and trading posts and guardia stations before then. The big problem is making the raft. What kinds of tools do we have?"

"Looks like three pocket knives is it, Skipper." Ken said. He looked at the tall, thick trees reaching toward the sky. "I don't relish carving down one of those babies."

"Here's a sharp rock," Alva offered, digging it out of the mud.

"I'm getting hungry," Wendy said. "What about food?"

Tuesta laughed bitterly from where he sat in the mud. "You should have stayed on the sandbar with me, hero man. You'll never make it through this stinking jungle. You are all brave wind and lightning with no storm behind them." He laughed again, slapping his heel in the mud like an idiot, slopping it all over himself.

"I'll make it, Tuesta," Sharp said. "One way or another, I'll make it out of here, because I don't quit like you when it gets a little rough. If Ken wants to carry you with us, that's his business. I sure as hell won't." He turned to the others. "Let's scout around for a fallen log. Maybe we can burn it out and lash an outrigger to it. We've got all the rope we need with these vines. Maybe there's a stand of bamboo just inside or a balsa tree. Hell, we're not licked by a long way. Come on, let's fan out and take stock."

"Winston," Clara said breathlessly, stopping him. "Winston, look."

She stared into the jungle, and he followed her gaze. Three painted bodies stood there with spears, watching them silently. Four others filtered out of the dense foliage. One carried a twelve-foot blowgun and a small quiver. A pouch of kapok was around his waist for the darts. Their bodies were red-gold and painted with bold red and blue paint. They wore strings of cayman teeth around their necks, and each had a stylized figure of a belligerent cayman painted on his chest in green, the jaws agape, the tail poised for a vicious blow.

"There you are, Tuesta," Sharp said in a low voice. "There are your Caymanos. Looks like we landed pretty close to where you wanted us to after all, doesn't it?"

Tuesta looked startled. He cowered from the Indians at first, but on having them identified for him by Sharp, he began to grin. Then he laughed. Then he crowed mercilessly and stood up, hobbling up the bank toward them, jabbering in Spanish, grinning slickly, gesturing toward Sharp and Ken with faces designed to cast aspersions on them. He fell to his knees in the mud and struggled up again, laughing like a maniac.

The Caymano with the blowgun had twisted a fluffy ball of kapok around the end of a dart and removed the palmleaf covering from around the tip. The bamboo was stained dark brown. He placed the dart in the tube, raised it and propelled the sliver with a puff of his breath across the hundred yards separating them.

Tuesta clapped his hand to his shoulder. The barbed sliver broke off as quickly as his laughter. He stared around dumbly at Sharp.

"So long, buddy," Winston said.

Tuesta stumbled to his knees again. He looked back at the Indians in startled terror. "Why, Sharp, why?" he cried.

"I guess your buddies got too pushy. I mean because they don't want your kind bothering them any more. Can you feel it yet? They say you don't until the spasms hit."

"Winston-oh, God, what's happened?" Clara cried, clutching him tightly.

"Curare, Clara."

"Do something!"

"He's already had it." He squeezed her tightly. "Don't look frightened," he said, meaning all of them. "I don't think they're after us, because we're white. We're not their enemies today, but Tuesta is."

Tuesta sprawled on the ground. His arms gave way from under him, and his legs flopped. His mouth fell open, and he labored for breath. In a moment, he was relaxed to death, and his eyes stared sightlessly.

"Oh, God!" Martha cried, turning her head away.

"Look at him!" Sharp commanded. "Smile! Show them you're glad he's dead! The piss is running down my legs too, damn it, but smile anyway!"