Sambuca barked an order, and three men ran toward the thatch building.
It was a long, muddy slide down the steep hill, but Evans didn't mind. He was following Morton, who seemed to know his way around the jungle very well. They fell to the bottom, landing in a shallow running stream, the water pale brown with peat. Morton signaled for him to follow, and ran splashing down the streambed. Morton had lost a lot of weight; his body was trim and fit, his face tight, hard looking.
Evans said, "We thought you were dead."
"Don't talk. Just go. They'll be after us in a minute."
And even as he spoke, Evans could hear someone sliding down the hillside after them. He turned and ran down the stream, slipping over wet rocks, falling, getting up and running again.
Kenner came down the hillside with the two women right behind him. They banged against gnarled roots and protruding brambles as they slid down, but it was still the fastest way to get away from the village. He could see from the streaks in the mud ahead of him that Morton had gone that way, too. And he was sure that he had no more than a minute's head start before the alarm was sounded.
They came crashing down through the last of the undergrowth to the streambed. They heard gunshots from the village above. So their escape had already been discovered.
The bay, Kenner knew, was off to the left. He told the others to go ahead, running in the streambed.
"What about you?" Evans said.
"I'll be with you in a minute."
The women headed off, moving surprisingly quickly. Kenner eased back to the muddy track, raised his gun, and waited. It was only a few seconds before the first of the rebels came down the slope. He fired three quick bursts. The bodies caught in the gnarled branches. One tumbled all the way to the streambed.
Kenner waited.
The men above would expect him to run now. So he waited. Sure enough, in a couple of minutes he heard them starting down again. They were noisy--frightened kids. He fired again, and heard screams. But he didn't think he'd hit anything. They were just screams of fear.
But from now on, he was sure they would take a different route down. And it would be slower.
Kenner turned and ran.
Sarah and Jennifer were moving fast through the water when a bullet whined past Sarah's ear. "Hey," she shouted. "It's us!"
"Oh, sorry," Morton said, as they caught up to him.
"Which way?" Jennifer said.
Morton pointed downstream.
They ran.
Evans looked for his watch, but one of the kids had taken it from him. His wrist was bare. But Morton had a watch. "What time is it?" Evans asked him.
"Three-fifteen."
They had less than two hours remaining.
"How far to the bay?"
"Maybe another hour," Morton said, "if we go cross jungle. And we must. Those boys are fearsome trackers. Many times they've almost gotten me. They know I'm here, but so far I've eluded them."
"How long have you been here?"
"Nine days. Seems like nine years."
Running down a streambed, they crouched low beneath overhanging branches. Evans's thighs burned. His knees ached. But somehow it didn't matter to him. For some reason, the pain felt like an affirmation. He didn't care about the heat or the bugs or the leeches that he knew were all over his ankles and legs. He was just glad to be alive.
"We turn here," Morton said. He left the streambed, dashing off to the right, scrambling over big boulders, and then crashing into dense, waist-high ferns.
"Any snakes in here?" Sarah said.
"Yeah, plenty," Morton said. "But I don't worry about them."
"What do you worry about?"
"Plenti pukpuk."
"And they are?"
"Crocodiles."
And he plunged onward, vanishing into dense foliage.
"Great," Evans said.
Kenner stopped in the middle of the river. Something was wrong. Until now, he had seen signs of previous runners in the stream. Bits of mud on rocks, wet finger marks or shoe prints, or disturbed algae. But for the last few minutes, nothing.
The others had left the stream.
He'd missed where.
Morton would make sure of that, he thought. Morton would know a good place to leave the river where their exit wouldn't be noticed. Probably somewhere with ferns and swampy, marshy grass between boulders on riverbanks--grass that would be spongy underfoot and would spring back at once.
Kenner had missed it.
He turned around and headed upstream, moving slowly. He knew that if he didn't find their tracks, he couldn't leave the river. He would be sure to get lost. And if he stayed in the river too long, the kids would find him. And they'd kill him.
RESOLUTION
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 14
4:02 P. M.