First things first, and one step at a time.
He headed down the slope toward the cascade, and the squad, with Wiggins pushing Buller along none too gently, followed at his back.
Spray from the waterfall coated the track, making the rock underfoot slippery. When Banks licked his lips, he noted how fresh and cool the water was, and realized how dry his throat and mouth had become.
I’ve been neglecting the basics.
He stepped forward to where a small stream ran between the stones and cupped his hands to take a drink.
When he stood back, he felt better than he had for a while, and reminded himself to keep a closer eye on their water intake; dehydration would kill them as fast as anything else in this heat.
“Drink up, lads. We’re going to need to keep hydrated. And we might not get too many chances.”
He watched the track while the others drank. The sun beat hard from a clear sky. Heat rose from the rocks in waves. The day was warming up fast.
“Keep moving,” he said. “Fast as you can, lads. There’ll at least be shade under the canopy and down at the riverside.”
“How about a pub, Cap?” Wiggins said. “I could murder a pint of lager.”
“You and me both, lad,” Banks replied. “But if it’ll get you to move your arse, remember, there’s beer in the fridge back on the dredger. If we all get back there in one piece, the first round is on me.”
The banter, even if somewhat forced, seemed to perk the squad up, and they moved out as a unit, with Buller sandwiched in the middle, heading under a rocky overhang that took them beneath the cascade itself, into a narrow natural cave. The roar of the water was almost deafening here, but it was cooler, and Banks let the squad stand in the fresher air for a minute before moving them out and down again. The combined effects of drinking the colder water and standing here in the shade cleared Banks’ head of a fog the heat had been bringing on, and he was moving faster and with more purpose when he led them back out onto the downward side of the trail.
The track continued to wind downward. They were now well below the base of the tower, with bare, unworked rock butting up close to the track on their right and a sheer drop of 30 feet or more to their left. When Banks looked over, he saw they were closing on the top area of forest canopy, and several minutes later they had descended into the dense, lush, vegetation of the forest. Almost immediately the humidity level rose and it felt like walking in a sauna. The insect population took note of them again, and this time nobody had any cigarettes with which to dispel the biting swarms. They ploughed downhill as fast as they could manage, looking for escape, or even respite.
The trail narrowed, then narrowed again, the green of the jungle encroaching on both sides as they descended away from the rocky hill toward the river. Soon Banks, in the lead, had to resort to hacking and slashing with the heavy knife to clear the way ahead. The only solace he drew was that it looked like they were the first to have come this way for quite some time.
It proved to be hard going under the humidity and after a few minutes, he had to step back and let Hynd take the lead with the hacking.
“Do you know what the fuck you’re doing?” Buller asked.
Banks resisted another almost overwhelming urge to punch the man out, and answered calmly.
“Saving your arse,” he said and turned his back before the temptation got too great to ignore.
“It’s getting thinner ahead, Cap,” Hynd said. “I think we’re nearly through.”
He motioned Banks forward for a look. They had arrived at the river and were about to emerge at one end of the stone quay they’d left the night before. The docking area beneath the run of steps sat quiet and empty; their boat and guide was nowhere to be seen.
- 11 -
“Now what?” Buller said, too loudly, at Banks’ back.
“Now we’re royally fucked,” Hynd said.
“Can’t you build a raft or something?”
“Aye,” Wiggins replied from the rear. “Maybe we could at that. But it would be easier to hollow you out and use you as a fucking canoe.”
Banks had a sudden memory, a flash of Wilkes on the altar, scraped clean on the inside. He felt gorge rise in his throat as he turned and hushed the others with a finger to his lips.
“Stow it, Wiggo,” he said in little more than a whisper. “Behave yourself if you want that beer.”
He turned back and, motioning for Hynd to come with him, stepped out of the foliage onto the quay. The stone underfoot was baking hot, even this early in the day, and Banks kept moving, aware that to stand still might raise blisters on the soles of his feet in no time. They walked the length of the dock and partly along the hillside track they’d taken the night before, looking for any clue as to what might have happened. They found two shell casings, from Wilkes’ gun he guessed, and a smear of blood that led them to a trail of spatter that in turn led farther off along the stone pathway back up to the hill.
“This is where they got Wilkes,” he said to Hynd.
“Aye, I guess so,” Hynd said. “I saw the flare and heard the shots in the night. Any clue as to what went down?”
“No, but I know what happened to the big man.”
They were out of hearing range of the others now, so Banks gave his sergeant a quick rundown of what he’d seen from atop the pyramid during the night and the snakes’ feeding ceremony.
“Fucking hell, Cap,” Hynd said. “What are we into this time? And where the fuck’s our boat?”
“The answer to both is the same, Sarge. I don’t have a Scooby. But we’re running out of options. I’m thinking I’d rather use a raft than take a swim.”
“I’m with you on that, Cap,” Hynd replied. “But will we get the time to build it? Are those big snakes round do you think? And can they swim?”
Banks shrugged.
“I don’t have any answers for you, Sarge, and I don’t really care. We’re getting out of here, one way or another. And I’m with Wiggo. I could murder one of those beers back in the dredger. Come on, let’s get started. I want us back on that rig before it gets dark again. I’ve got a feeling we’ll need to be tooled up for whatever else is coming.”
They spent the next hours alternately seeking shade and water and taking turns in chopping vines and assessing what tree branches might be of best use in the building of what would have to be a rough and ready raft. McCally found some large nuts that, when cracked open, proved to be edible when washed down with water and took the edge off what was a growing hunger.
While the work proceeded, Buller sat in a shaded spot on the edge of the quay, and refused point blank to help in any way.
“I’m the fucking job, aren’t I?” he said. “Just fucking rescue me, will you? Once we get that gold out of that rock, I’ll make you all rich men.”
Wiggins looked up at Banks from where he was trying to lash three poles together with a braided rope made of stripped bark.
“I still like my idea of using him as a canoe,” he said.
“Best idea you’ve had in years, Wiggo,” Banks replied. “But the lad’s father is a big shot back home and wants him back. Although I’m fucked if I can see why.”
He spoke loud enough to ensure that Buller heard, and waited to see if there would be a comeback, but the man stayed seated, staring out at the river. Banks went back to helping Wiggins lash poles together.